"You bastard."

"Dio!"

"Oh? You're approaching me?"

"Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?"

"Even though your grandfather, Joseph, told you the secret of Za Warudo, like an exam student scrambling to finish the problems on an exam until the last moments before the bell chimes?"

"I can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer."

"Oh ho! Then come as close as you like."

"MUDA—" I clicked the power button.

There was some odd feeling about this... Nostalgia?—Wait...

Wait a fucking moment—why am I watching JoJo? That's impossible. I have long gotten out of my anime days since elementary school. Therefore...

I MUST BE DREAMING—wait, calm down, I can't wake up like that. It's been a while since I've actually dreamed. About six or seven years ago, I started getting severe insomnia.

Looking around the room, I realized that it looked exactly like my bedroom. There was one of those old-timey vintage television sets on a table. When did I have a table in my room? Is this what they call lucid dreaming?—either that or...

What was I doing before? It is improbable that I was able to have a good and natural sleeping session. So there was definitely something going on—.

Flashback sequence, flashback sequence, I said flashback sequence, please. Brain cooperate with me plea—needle, hand, blond British jackass, lunch, and salmonella. So I got kidnapped or something—that is assuming that this place is a dream and not hell. It'd be quite anticlimactic if I was dead.

So how do I get out of this dream state?

"Hocus pocus, bring me to focus," I said.

"..."

Well, you can't go wrong with trying. I guess I'll try—

***

"...we...ha... expe..." Hearing some noise, I figured I was awake now.

Who would have known that slapping myself would bring me back to reality? As much as I would have liked to keep lucid dreaming, my current predicament prompts me to survive. But man, I wonder if I can get back into that state again. I guess I'll have to find some drug that'll put me to sleep when I am safe.

"And with the Survivalist on our side now, we will progress on to our next goal." Said some old guy with a type of American accent that I was not accustomed to. I live in New York, but this guy was definitely not from this state. I hadn't opened my eyes yet, but after hearing this man's voice, my intuition told me he was an old white guy who was fit. I don't know how to explain it. It's something about a scratchy coarse voice that reminds me of an old dude with grey hair.

"You say 'Survivalist,' but he looks just like any other teenager." I heard from another voice. This one was definitely a female around her twenties or thirties.

Judging by the proximity of the voices, they were within slapping distance.

"Clara, have I ever been wrong?" Replied the old dude. Perhaps calling him 'dude' wasn't a good idea. Doesn't matter since I'm going to call him whatever I want.

Now that I was thinking straight, I could tell that rather thick rope cuffed my hands together. My hands were behind me and I seemed to be sitting in a chair; a rather fancy one at that. This baby boy has wheels too, at least from what I could feel by nudging the legs of the chair with my shoes. My legs weren't tied so I suppose that's a good thing?

"Well, you are the 'Prophet,' so I guess not? But how can you be so sure it's this kid?" Replied the woman.

Since there were two voices here, that suggested there were at the least, two people. But it didn't make sense for two to have the gall to kidnap me. There's also the fact that there was that British 'fucker' who somehow knocked me out.

I should probably keep my eyes closed and gather information before I make my move. With how tight the rope around my wrists was, it was unlikely I'd be able to get it off unless I had a knife. But—I should be flexible enough to bring it over my head from the back. I guess all that flexibility training I did back then wasn't a complete waste of time after all.

"Sure? Well, why don't you ask him yourself? He's awake." The old guy said.

Now, he was definitely talking about me. So should I make a break for it or keep playing dead?

"Is he?" The woman asked.

I could hear wheels rolling back—wheels of a chair. Footsteps were approaching too. High-heels—there's no other reason for the noise. The flooring felt like a carpet that would nullify most clicking and clacking. Only high heels could penetrate the sound barrier like that.

As the footsteps neared, I squinted my eyes ever so slightly with the most minimal movement. Black lines filled my vision: eyelashes. But it was more than enough to make out colors and some visuals. With the natural height of a seated person compared to a standing person, I could gauge the distance quite accurately. Two seconds. That was the estimated time I had until the woman was in kicking distance. I was sitting at the far-end of a long table that seemed to be used for office meetings. There was one other individual seated on the left side, but I didn't have time to care—wait, it's that blonde 'fucker!'

Okay, calm down—I can fuck him up later; need to focus.

As I looked across the room, I noticed the rest of the seats to be empty. There was a clock hanging on the side. It seemed to be some time around three with what I could make out of the hour hand.

Moving my eyeballs... Pupils... Well, that's pretty interesting as a topic of thought, but I need to get back on track.

While moving my focus back to the front without moving my head in any way, I saw her closing in on me. With all that I saw, I closed the gap in my eyes and emptied my mind to prepare for what's next.

Visualize.

There's a pedophile—I mean a woman coming to check me out...not in that way.—FOCUS!

The setting is an office's conference room. There were no visible doors, windows, or decorations from where I was facing. I was willing to place my bet that the exit was behind me.

Calculate.

I can't... Actually, I can probably get away with backflipping over this chair. I'm certain that I am flexible enough to get my hands over my head without dislocating or breaking them. Now, this woman was wearing high heels. That could work to my advantage. When walking in high heels, a majority of women I observed on the streets, walk heel first. The initial stepping motion prompts the heel part to sustain the pressure. Because of that, it is also the optimal time to strike. If I kick someone who is walking in high heels they will usually lose their balance. The desirable outcome would be the high heels breaking. For me to land the perfect kick, I'll have to believe in my coordination skills and reflex. I will also need to time it perfectly.

Analyze.

Click. Clack. Loud. Loud. Louder.

Act.

NOW!

My eyes blasted open and looked down at the woman's legs.

I told my leg to kick that way and put full concentration on everything else. Even if it somehow misses, it should provide enough of a distraction.

I got ready to jump with my other foot and bring my tied hands behind me, over my head. I had to be careful and time my jump at the correct moment—chairs with wheels were hard to flip over. Had it been a normal chair, it would be so much easier.

*Cluk

"AHH!" That was the woman's surprised voice. Looks like I scared her. Good.

Using the sweet leg muscles on my legs, I kicked off the carpet and tried my best to backflip over the chair. I've been practicing my one-legged backflips since I was born so I ought to be fine... Wait a minute...

As I felt the noticeable increase in body temperature, my face brushed past the stagnant air present in the office. As I was upside down and about to kip my legs so I could land safe and sound, a sharp pain attacked my arms.

I tried my best, but my left arm wouldn't move. My right arm, though in pain, was still flexible enough to go over my head.

Of course, this was where the dilemma arose. With my wrists tied together, either both arms go over my head, or both of them stay glued to my back. It was a major hindrance in and of itself to not be able to use—

"EGH.”

FUCK ME.

Trying my best to move mid-air, I shifted my weight onto my shoulder and my left side. Airplanes had wheels... Darwin... May I ask why humans don't have wheels too? Well, I guess it is my fault that I wasn't able to pull off this seated one-legged backflip... How fucking delusional am I to believe I could perform such a circus trick? I can't even do a standard backflip and here I am thinking I can do this on my first try. Welp, I guess I'll have to embrace the ground—

*Pueck

Ouch...

As of current, I had become one with the ground. Let's pray to the God of Floors that I will go undiscovered. And cheers to the God of Camouflage—please bless me with the power of invisibility. And fuck you God of Backflips!

I'm getting hot-headed, aren't I?

"Hmph hmph hmph..." I could hear a particular jackass chuckling to himself.

"Coeus the Survivalist. You are awake." Said the old guy... Well of course I'm fucking awake! I'm kissing the ground for you!

My left arm started spasming all of a sudden and pain overwhelmed the entire left side of my body. Eating a Carolina pepper may not taste all that bad at first, but it is renowned as the slayer of many men. And as do all great falls; Humpty Dumpty or not; the stinging and scorching always take a moment to register with the pain receptors.

It wasn't painful to the point that I would shout in agony... I'll do that when there isn't an audience—but it sure as hell hurt enough to make me want to curl up into fetal position... Curl. It didn't hurt to try. If I was going to die anyway, I'd die trying to wiggle myself away.

As I was about to initiate Plan B and turn myself into a laughing stock, a feeling of dizziness assaulting me. But if it was just that: I would have been fine. Of all the things that came with the dizziness, my stomach and abdominal muscles started breakdancing like there was no tomorrow. The spasms made my entire body quiver as goosebumps surfaced. My stomach then growled as loud as a lion's roar and the proceeding was—

*Puf

A fart.

Damn, that was pretty loud—ah fuck, not another one.

After a series of farts, I realized that this was not normal at all. Was this what they called explosive diarrhea? Well, I haven't eaten shit for days straight since I've been fasting the entire week. No wonder there weren't any excrements... This logic doesn't sound correct. I'm pretty sure this wasn't diarrhea.

This situation kind of resembles what happened in the morning when that gang of hoodlums succumbed to their repressed urges. Wait, am I not in the same position? Holy shit, I'm going to die from induced farting!

Fuck me, I shouldn't have been so cocky before if this was what those guys had felt. Dying from explosive diarrhea... It's pitiful. I hereby retract my statement of them being weak-minded. I shouldn't have expected anything from them in the first place.

Well, it honestly wasn't too painful(says the guy who's squirming on the ground)—shut up inner consciousness!

But anyway, I did say to myself that I could endure the pain. I really did fuck myself hard today didn't I? No matter.

Mustering the power in my legs to stand up, I immediately noticed how sore my ass was. Who knew that farting could result in a sore ass?

My arms were still behind my back, but that wasn't much of an issue. Since my body was parallel to the ground, all I had to do was roll over so my face was to the ceiling.

I then brought my legs up to my chest. Transforming into a blue hedgehog, I rocked my body and planted my feet on the ground. Even with my hands squished by my back, I knew they had worse days with the amount of torture I inflict on them daily. My hands were full of microscopic calluses at almost every part. The most notable area were the two big knuckles.

Now up and standing, I walked back to the chair and took a seat.

As for why? I had a premonition that I was going to die if I ran for my life. There was also something about what the old guy said. If I recall correctly, he calls me—yeah, he called me: 'Coeus the Survivalist.'

The woman whose name is Clara, from what I hear addressed the old man as 'Prophet.'

In the end, it only takes one and one to add up to two—to solve a puzzle, you need multiple pieces. With these two known pieces; I had enough confidence to guess.

It wasn't blind guessing. I suppose it can be considered a sort of deductive logic.

Take for instance: there are five different sodas in a vending machine. There is only one of each type left in the vending machine. If two people purchase a soda, then you will know that there are only three other sodas left to choose from. Thus, the following person will only have three soda options. The person after that guy will only have two options. And finally, the last person will only have a single option. In the beginning, there is little to no information. Each soda can have a one in five chance of being picked. But as more people buy it—it gets easier and easier to predict the soda that the next guy will buy. Of course, this is only a hypothetical scenario. There are many unaccounted factors, such as a person's preference. If all five of the sodas were a grape flavor, no one would buy them because grape soda is shit. That isn't my measly opinion—but a fact. Whoever invented grape soda should suffer in the deepest pits of Tartarus along with the guy who invented pineapple on pizza. There's also the fact that this vending machine scenario is focused more on mathematical probability. Who's to say there isn't a greedy bitch who buys all five cans of soda?

That aside, I applied a similar sort of logic here.

This small group of three called each other by nicknames as if they were little children playing some sort of make-believe game. Does a name such as 'Prophet' not sound delusional and childish? Well, the old man is supposedly some sort of prophet.

Add the office table and the chairs around it; it looks to me like a gathering of delusional folks. Was this the round table of—what did they call it in those Japanese anime again? Ah yes. These guys were the knights Chuunibyou of the round table.

Since the old guy—err. Since the Prophet called me the 'Survivalist;' all it takes is to add one and one together to know with certainty that I am considered a sort of ally... Now only one question remains.

In what way am I affiliated with this group?

"You must be curious." Said the old man, who was sitting across from me.

"Let us talk alone." With a simple command, the woman and the blonde douche left the room. While the jackass left without a word, the lady gave me a hard glare while leaving the room. It was also the moment when she left that my stomach stopped contracting and my intestines were relieved of their 'duties.' My ass was still sorer than ever.

From what had transpired, I have a good reason to believe that the diarrhea-inducing psychic powers were hers. Maybe it was actually some other power that functioned similarly. But that would require further research.

I tried stretching my arms and my back while seated. My whole body was still quite sore. It was probably just good ol' muscle fatigue... Hopefully.

Seeing I couldn't rotate my arms, I made a mental note for me to practice my shoulder and joint flexibility. I probably damaged some ligament somehow.

Putting myself in the most comfortable position possible, I squirmed my hands under my but and out the other side. They were now in the area between my calves.

Kipping my legs into an L-sit, I used the wheels of the chair to my advantage as I got both legs through my arms. Doing them in one leg at a time, I was finally able to get my hands in front of me. This was all done under the conference table. It wasn’t as if I’d be able to actually use my hands, but if I'm assaulted, I could at least smash things and block with my forearms.

“My name is Morris Freud. You can call me Morris.” He said.

I replied, “Coeus. No last name.”

The old man looked me in the eye and stared with one of those old man gazes. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to act like a profound sage or he was just observing me. It didn’t change the awkwardness in the slightest. To his gaze, I simply gazed back.

After a good while, he blinked.

“You are indeed him. You possess the eyes.” Not only did he lose the staring contest, but he also broke the silence.

I wonder what ‘eyes’ he is talking about. Either that was a compliment, or it had some hidden meaning behind it.

“Your eyes show dedication and hard work.” He said to elaborate.

But they’re just eyes. It’s not like my soul resides in my eye. You can hardly tell someone’s personality from eyeball alone—not that it was impossible. I don’t think a senile old man like him could possess a good enough eyesight to capture all the subtleties of the eye. The pupil, redness, and direction all play a part in analyzing a person. An example would be how a person daydreams or is thinking deep when their pupils are stationary for a long time. From seeing the direction of the pupils, one can infer upon their subject of attention. This helps in psychoanalyzing behavior. The eyes are a part of the body after all. It is only natural that eye language and body language are in the same category. If a timid person always looks down in stressful situations, anyone can read him like a book.

For someone knowledgeable about body language, it makes it much easier to trick people and get into their heads. I consider myself as one such expert of body language. Although few people are on par with me, I’m sure there are actual psychopaths like me out there.

Knowing the little nuances of body language also helps in controlling my own body language too. To a logical mind, information is everything—body language is a huge part of that information. This is also nearing the boundaries of what intuition is.

Maybe this is where the phrase: ‘A woman’s intuition is never wrong’ started. It doesn’t make much sense in all honesty. Shall I define my interpretation of what intuition is?

Intuition is the subconscious process of analysis. The brain detects certain patterns and electrical stuff happens; jargon, jargon, jargon. In the end, it is the brain’s way of reacting to certain patterns. A sort of inconsistency detector.

Let's say you are taking a multiple-choice test. Out of four answers, you answer the same Answer 3 for five questions in a row. At that point, your brain notices a pattern: the last five questions were all the same. That’s when intuition kicks in. ‘The answer to the next question can’t be Number 3 again!’ And by all golly, after doing the math, you arrive at Answer 3 yet again. Now, you have the premonition of doubt, bringing you to review the work for the previous questions. After all, ‘There are way too many fucking 3s on the answer sheet!’ And thus, you change the answers to the previous questions only to find out later, that answer 3 was the correct answer for all six questions. Isn’t that mind-boggling?—moral of the story: intuition is tricky and should be considered carefully. In some instances, it is right. And others, it is wrong. It is like how the immune system reacts to certain things. You eat a peanut that is supposedly harmless to the body. And yet, a physiological manifestation occurs in what we call an ‘allergy.’ Sometimes the immune system is right—you shouldn’t be eating dogshit or poison ivy. Other times, the immune system goes bonkers and assumes that an apple is a deadly virus infiltrating your body.

There’s a reason why other animals have intuition too. They can also sense patterns. Parrots can sense a pattern in a voice and copy it. This is more bordering the field of biological instinct, but intuition is related nevertheless. Heck, dogs have one of the best intuitions since they can hear and smell things from many metres away. They can differentiate their owner’s footsteps from strangers. This is pattern detection. With enough training, I also got to the point in which I can recognize people by their footsteps. This includes knowing how loud it is, the time between each step, etc. To do it requires developing the habit of analyzing everything. Ever since I got used to analyzing people, my insomnia days reached an all-time high. It could be a result of my misophonia evolving along with my analysis skills. Would not recommend it to anyone who read my diary but—yeah. No one can find my diary as long as I’m alive.

I’m not saying I am a dog here—nor am I suggesting that women are dogs. Sure, they may be able to ‘tell when you lie,’ but from my observation, that phrase is a myth. Men and women are both humans; are they not? Intuition is an innate thing. Unless the male brain is significantly more retarded(worse) than the female brain, then it should have little impact on intuition. Intuition is basically natural sensing. Saying that a woman or a man is superior to the other is the same as saying female dogs are superior to male dogs. It doesn't work like that. But in the instance that cats are superior to dogs, it is debatable since they are two different species.

“Ehem.” I heard a cough from in front.

Bringing myself back to reality, I picked up on the old man wiping the side of his head before returning to an upright posture. His eyes were still on me, but they were no longer staring into my eyes, but somewhere around my forehead. If before, he stared into my eyes with no hesitation, then this shift in posture, as well as eye direction, meant a lot. He was probably anxious.

Ah, I accidentally did it again.

It seems I’ve stared at him for far too long. It is understandable why he would feel uncomfortable by my gaze. Maybe he thought I was glaring at him? This is funny. But I do have to applaud him for being mindful of his body language. Instead of looking away completely like an amateur, he knew enough about etiquette to not look away in the face of intimidation. Very professional for his senile age. I’ve glared at myself in the mirror before so I know full well how intimidating my eyes are.

But it doesn't make much sense for someone of his position to act in such a way... A grown man normally wouldn't be afraid of a toddler—unless the toddler holds a gun. In this case, it means he is putting me on the same standing as him. But for what reason? Maybe he is going to propose a sort of offer or contract to me? But what did he have to gain? As a simple high school student, there was nothing I could give to a person like him. From the way he was dressed and how he was sitting at the end of the conference table, he was most likely a rich businessman.

Like I mentioned earlier, when the pupil is stationary for a long time, that means the person is either daydreaming or in deep thought. Or the person isn't thinking at all. This is the single body language that I find the hardest to control. I hate to admit it, but this is one of my flaws. Maybe it is the fact that I am aware of my thinking habit that I hate it so much. Welp, not like I’m going to do anything to change it. The only reason I lose focus so much is that life is boring and ultimately meaningless.

Moving my attention to the clock, I noticed it was four o’clock already. If earlier, it was three something, then I had wasted quite some time by staring at this old geezer. But that says more about him than it does me. The longer he took to bring me back to the conversation, meant the more intimidated he was of me. Either he was intimidated or he could have also been in deep thought like me. But judging by the way this old guy talks and his actions from the very start, the chance is small. By now, his previous ‘wise sage’ demeanor had disappeared completely. And that, my friend, is how you unmask a wannabe Gandalf. If he grew out his beard and hair a bit more, he could act the part.

As if the imaginary gag on his mouth never existed, he started talking.

“I’m sure you have heard of my former company’s name: Exon. It is now in my son’s management. That’s my backstory before attaining my powers.”

Exon is one of those global tech giants. I recall they released a new phone a couple weeks ago that caused quite a stir in the media. As a person who doesn’t read the news often, I only know about it since it was literally the only thing on the news that wasn’t about the emergence of superpowers. The CEO of the company should be one of those famous trillionaires—I don’t seem to be able to recall his name. It’s good to know that my brain is working fine since I try my best to filter out useless information.

“On the first of January at exactly midnight was when it all started.”

Oh shit, here goes the flashback sequence.

“I was watching the New Year’s Countdown at home when a sudden pain encroached my mind. I do not know what the pain was caused by, but I know for certain, it wasn’t of this world. The pain could not be compared to any physical or mental wound. It felt like a knife had stabbed through my soul—I didn’t even believe human souls were actual things until that moment.” He took a sip of water from the mug.

“The pain stayed and worsened for an entire month—.”

“Did you check with your doctor?” I cut in.

He looked at me as if I was being disrespectful. It was the same look that the school nurse gave me when I asked for a bandage. Instead of giving me a bandage to prevent an infection from a large cut, she would give me a fucking ice pack.

“No, I didn’t. But I know that it wasn’t any physical wound.” He said with the most resolute expression I had ever seen on an old man. If only he were saying something like, ‘Get off my lawn!’ Paired with this determined expression, it would be comedy gold. The guy looked to be around his 60s or 70s and he looked exactly like those old grandpas who guarded their lawn. That overly serious face only made me want to spit on it. I wonder what his reaction would be.

“After an exact month—.”

“30 days or 31?” I said, pretending as if I were actually curious. My true intention was to see him react when I interrupted his long monologue. I wanted to test how long he could maintain that demeanor. A person’s reaction tells more than what they say after all. An easy way to lie was to add a tinge of truth. I was actually curious whether his month was thirty or thirty-one days. But my curiosity was limited and my true inclination was toward gathering feedback rather than the person’s glorified descriptions of their experiences. You can understand a person better with actions than words.

“It ended on the first of February so it is 31 days.” He said.

“And what happened?” I inquired. I was no longer the listener, but the interviewer. Isn’t it interesting how easy it is to assert dominance over others by asking questions? Of course, it requires a thick skin and knowledge of what questions to ask. You basically have to pretend as if you were a news reporter looking for a scoop.

“A book appeared in my mind, it was called the Oracle, and in it, was information about seven titled people. The book referred to me as the prophet and I am one of the seven titles. You are also one of the seven. I can also see the destinies of people by looking into their eyes which is how I knew it was you."

Cool, so I'm the chosen one. How cliché.

“Unlike the other titled people, there was no information on how to find you or anything about your identity. But there was a lot about your powers. Your destiny is also very vague compared to the others.” He said.

This guy sure is exposing a lot of valuable information to me, isn’t he? Now I’m questioning if he is making all this up. But the argument of why would raise itself. What does he have to gain by misinforming me?

“I, as the Prophet, can read everyone’s destiny. That includes the destiny of this world.” He said.

This guy sure is setting up something big. I swear the amount of exposition in his speech is more than a fucking book. How the fuck is any of this destiny stuff related to me? Get to the point already.

“You, me, and five other individuals are titled by the Oracle. My current objective is to gather all seven of us. Right now, we know me, the Prophet; Clara, the Psychic; Jack, the Fighter, and you, the Survivalist.” He said.

I honestly don’t know how to reply to such a superficial scenario.

“According to the Oracle, the world as we know it will be consumed by the ‘Invader.’ The only people who can prevent it are us.” He said.

I don’t know if any of this is true or if that book he claims to be in his head is actually a God fucking with him. I find it unbelievable, yet at the same time: the most believable thing I’ve heard in my entire life. I swear the way all this is progressing is as if I was the main character of this world. Maybe this world is actually a book. That would explain how he could read the destinies of people in the book. Because that book may be the world we are living in.

But even with the knowledge that this world is a book, it doesn’t make much of a difference. If this reality is fallible to illusion, then what makes us so sure that the reality unveiled is truly the objective state of reality? Maybe reality as we know it is The Matrix but a million times more complex? We could very well be living in a matrix of a matrix that is in another simulated reality.

If I keep dwelling on this train of thought, it will only lead me to Solipsism(believing that only myself can be proven to exist).

But that in and of itself is a problem. This old man—what was his name again?—claims there is an Oracle in the form of a book in his mind. If that is the case, then how can he be so certain that the Oracle is correct? What if it was actually an April Fool’s joke by some rogue God? There’s a reason that certain Gods are known for their trickery. In Greek mythology, literally, every single God is known to fuck with us mortals from time to time. There’s also Loki in Norse mythology who’s been popularized by superhero comic books. If you think hard enough, everything can be questioned. Abstract models such as this ‘Oracle’ are especially prone to skepticism. I can even raise the question of gravity.

As humans, we all assume gravity exists because scientists and other authorities tell us with 'evidence.' You see, people mistake gravity for a theorem when it is still a growing theory. Scientists today are still thinking about what gravity is. Is it a force? Is it the result of the unequal distribution of mass? Is it the result of one-dimensional strings that vibrate? So yes, gravity does exist. But its properties and things about it are uncertain. You can't simply say that gravity is the force that keeps us on the ground—it's much more complex than that. We should not assume such things about gravity if we do not try to understand it.

So how do we know gravity exists? Is there a fundamental and universal law? Well, sure. There’s Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation. But it was superseded by Einstein’s general relativity. So who’s to know which is correct? There’s also the recently popularized string theorists. They seek to tie quantum mechanics together with general relativity. So what of it? Well, all these ideas and theories are about the abstract; things that are intangible to the human.

Objects on Earth, fall, therefore gravity exists? Well, in that case, I can say: feathers fall, therefore they are heavy. It is not an incorrect statement, but the term: heavy, is subjective. Feathers are heavy, therefore they fall. Gravity exists, therefore objects on Earth fall. Isn't this just circular reasoning? Because A exists, B happens. And if B happens, A exists. But gravity does cause objects to fall—to the human observer at least.

Take atoms as an example. For things that can’t be viewed even under microscopes, scientists have been able to develop models of it based on experiments. But to confirm whether the model of the atom actually looks like the real thing requires us to see it with our eyes. Perceiving with the eyes is a whole other issue, but for the sake of my brain, I don’t want to think about it. There’s a reason why scientists use tools instead of their eyes to measure things.

Anyway, the point is that assertions lack definite proof. Something that seeks to predict destiny and the future is especially questionable. Why else would people be so skeptical of fortune tellers? There’s also—

“You have a special power.” He said.

What? Powers that I don’t know about? Huuuuh(*collective gasp).

“Your soul is somehow connected with your body, but it resides in another dimension. Normally, a human’s soul remains with their body, but your case is different. I don’t know why this is the case, but because of it, you are less connected with your body. Because of that, you think much faster and your body’s pain tolerance, as well as endurance, is higher. Even if your physical body dies, your soul will probably remain unaffected. But this is only speculation on my part.”

There are 'other' dimensions now? Are three-dimensions not enough for humans to be satisfied? Is that why four-dimensional movie theaters exist?

Wait, it makes complete sense—no, it doesn’t. What does my soul have to do with thinking? Thinking is a phenomenon led by the brain. It has nothing to do with souls... Well, that's what I'm assuming. Science hasn’t even proved the existence of souls yet. But assuming that souls are real, then it would provide insight into human consciousness.

“I see that you are confused. What’s happening, is that the dimension your soul resides in—.”

“Time moves much faster so I can perceive things faster,” I said.

“Pretty much.” He confirmed my suspicions.

But with this confirmation came an even bigger question. This way of thinking, I’ve always had it. I wasn’t exactly using it efficiently until past eight years old, but I am certain this has always been part of me. But what does this have to do with powers? Is he implying that I was born with superpowers? That doesn’t really sound right. Maybe I am some mutated species of the homo sapiens? There’s just not enough information to form a concrete hypothesis. I don’t know the first thing pertaining to the soul. Different cultures have different explanations of what a soul is. Because of that, it will be hard to research.

This old guy—his name was Morris, right? So he is the Prophet because he has a book in his head. The woman is the Psychic because she can induce diarrhea in people. And the blonde dude is just a blonde dude. He is no 'Fighter'—actually, he was fairly strong for a grown man. But I could have choked him to death. And somehow, I am the Survivalist. At least these guys had something related to their title, but in what way am I related to survival? Because I could think fast? Then why not call me the Thinker?

To dismiss everything as bullshit is easy. But with the advent of superpowers, it is hard not to consider the crazy things people say…

Maybe it takes a crazy person to believe another crazy person.

Either I'm crazy or my life is boring enough for me to go along with it—I may be both.

“The Invader will soon start its takeover of this world. I won’t force you to join us, but I will still ask. Will you join us?” He asked, raising his arm out for a handshake. Does he not realize how long the conference table is? You want me to walk on the table to shake your hand?

His offer wasn’t exactly appealing: I could give two shits about humanity. But doing what these crazy people were doing did not sound boring. Kidnapping children like how I got kidnapped sounds pretty fun. At least it’s better than going to school.

If the offer wasn’t appealing, I’ll have to make the bait myself.

“If you give me money, a private gym, a home, and get me out of school—I’ll join.” I proclaimed without caring about my visible greed.

“I can do that, but for school—.”

“Don’t fuck with me. You and I both know how corrupt the education system is. Besides, the legal age for dropping out is 16. I’m sure you’ll be able to help out somehow.”

“Education is important—”

“That’s what the authorities want idiots to think. They instill the idea that education is the ultimate goal, which gets people to pay the exorbitant college fees. But if you actually use your brain, the only reason people seek higher education is to find a better job. And if you give me money, then I wouldn’t need to get a job—meaning I won’t need education. Besides, highschool material is useless to me. The actual education part starts in college. Don’t you find it strange how the path to higher education in America requires money? It’s a result of this capitalist society, no?” I said, knowing that he knows what I’m talking about.

This old guy despite his stupid appearance was the guy who founded Exon, one of the big tech companies. Even if he was retired, he should have a fuck ton of money. And he would not have been able to make Exon such a prestigious name if he didn’t even know the dark side of this society.

“Hehe. You sure are wise. The Oracle really wasn’t wrong.” He gave a bright smile as he kept his arm extended: expecting a handshake.

In reply, I put my hands on the table.

"...”

Does he really expect me to shake his hands? My wrists were tied together for fuck's sake!