The hum of people talking, standing around, and mingling resounded through the air. As I sat there, on an uncomfortable, cold, metal bench against the cracked, brick wall, I watched the people waiting on the platform. Every now and then, I tucked some of my brown, mousy hair behind my ear or lightly cleaned my glasses.

There was a couple, both looking fairly young, standing near a column. The guy was dressed fairly fashionably, to my eyes, with a brownish-grey jacket and jeans combo. The woman, similarly, wore what seemed to be a fairly new coat and jeans, with an expensive-looking handbag at her side.

Did I know who they were? No, but I wasn’t staring at them just to pass the time. I had been sitting here for fifteen minutes already and my butt was already starting to ache; I’d even shifted my position a few times. Not to mention, the wind combined with the coolness of the steel beneath me only caused me to wrap my coat around me tighter.

I checked my phone for what must’ve been the sixth time that quarter of an hour. I knew what time it was--I had checked recently--but it at least made it seem like I was busy or had a purpose to be here.

Where is she? I thought. When the couple I was staring at noticed my awkward gaze and walked off before muttering something to each other, I checked my phone again.

With a distinct, recognisable tone that you could hear from far off, the hulking mass of iron and steel came rumbling on through, the grinding of the wheels piercing as the train slowed down to a standstill. The doors, with an eerie silence, slid open and the throng of people exited.

No one dillydallied. No one stalled, uncertain if they were in the right place. They all knew where they were going and all moved with a purposefulness that continued to elude me.

The mutterings, murmurings, and mumblings grew louder as the din of the crowd made its way towards me. I was off to the side and so only a proportion directly moved past me but the unmistakable sounds of life could be heard even if one wasn’t looking.

The train didn’t stay for long. Maybe it was late and didn’t want to spend any longer than it needed to at this station--it was a common occurrence--and soon, after it arrived, it began to depart. With a slow huffing, gradually increasing in volume, the carriages began to move and the rusted paint began to shine, blooming from the sun now hitting it.

“Hello,” A young, high-pitched voice came from before me. I pulled my gaze back from the departing train and came face-to-face with a young woman, standing at a relatively average height. Her face betrayed the trepidation she was feeling from starting the conversation. Here Her ink-black ponytail contrasted nicely against her brown skin, with her captivating, hazelnut eyes barely peeking out from under her eyelids.

Her clothes were scruffy and tattered, with holes pockmarked throughout and the colours an amalgamation of unappealing greys and beiges. Her coat was fluffy but visibly aged and stained in places. Her boots, similarly, looked like they were made for sterner stuff but had been worn down over the years.

“I didn’t expect you to actually come,” She continued, after a brief pause

“I didn’t really have anything else to do,” I answered quickly. A lie but the first thing that came to mind; I was swamped with many things to do lately.

“Is it okay if I sit?” I shrugged. I took up little space so it was not like it would be cramped with just the two of us.

When she sat down, a bag I hadn’t noticed was plonked on the ground in front of her, clearly left in her view.

She didn’t say anything immediately, thankfully. I was still wondering myself why I had even bothered to come. Eventually, the silence began to feel too awkward for me to willfully maintain it.

“You’re going to tell me about it?” My voice was quiet but, thankfully, the station was distinctly less busy than it was before the train, and she heard me clearly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Have you experimented with it at all?” A probing question.

“Not much,” I replied quickly, though, this time, with the truth.

“Heh; that’s unusual; it’s been two days and that’s all you can say? I’m sure many would’ve done a lot more in your situation.”

“Well, a lot happened...” At first, I thought to explain myself some more but the words trailed off.

“I guess it probably did.” Silence descended upon us again.

This dynamic was counter-productive; we were both here for the same thing, yet both of us refused to face it directly. Why was that? She was a stranger; I could just leave and never see her again, so why was I being so reticent?

“Do you mind telling me what the Specialisation is?” She proffered a lead into the conversation.

“Specialisation?” I, gratefully, agreed to follow.

“You know, the whole spec thing. It’s a bit of a mouthful, which I suppose is why ‘spec’ is often preferred.”

“Ah,” I tried to keep a calm demeanour but, inside, my heart was beginning to race. With my hands clasped together in my lap, I manoeuvred one thumb to the artery in my wrist, checking my pulse. Should I tell her? Do I lie? Thoughts like these began to appear transiently in my mind.

[System Specialisation initialisation…]

[Specialisation has been chosen: Blossom of Fate]

Those are the words I heard on that fateful day and they’d be stuck in my head ever since.

“Blossom of Fate… Can’t say I’ve heard of that one. Though, I can’t tell you of any two people who’ve had the same spec so it’s not really much of a surprise.” She was talking to herself towards the end but her intention was clear--silence was less preferable than saying what you could.

“I don’t know why it’s such a pretentious name.” I gave my own thoughts.

“They’re all pretentious, that’s just how it is; no use complaining about it” Her voice was cheery and light-hearted.

“I suppose.” While my tone was rather flat.

“So...” She began, understanding this was where the actual intimate conversation began. The rest were merely superficial pleasantries. “What’s the description?”

[System Specialisation: Blossom of Fate]

[Grants the user the ability to see an image of the future of whatever is in her sight]

“Vague as always,” She didn’t say anything immediately, digesting the information.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s a precognitive ability? A ‘future-vision’ of sorts?” Her lax tone began to imbue itself with energy when we began to discuss the specifics.

“I think so.”

“You look somewhere, activate it, and see the future?”

“Sort of?” My tone was unsure, “It’s a bit different to looking at a screen, though. It’s like when you imagine something in your head, and then try to superimpose it onto your vision; it’s there but only when you focus on it.”

“Did you know the time-frame it gives you? How far into the future can you see?” She replied without missing a beat, almost as if she had these questions prepared before the meeting.

“I don’t know. It works for things soon to come but I haven’t tried anything else.”

“Let’s try now, then.” It wasn’t a question but I didn’t feel like disagreeing. “By looking at the tracks, can you see when the next train will arrive?”

“In fifteen minutes but I know that from the timetable, not from what I can see,”

“The trains are always late; check to see if it really is going to be fifteen minutes”

She was being bossy but I was interested too so I acquiesced. I activated my System Specialisation, my ‘future-vision’ as she termed it, and looked towards the track.

The feeling was strange. I had done it a number of times by now and so, the pressure on my brain, I had mostly gotten used to that. It was the multitasking aspect of it that was difficult; you have to focus on what you see now, what you see in the future, and diagnose it all in your head. One night, before I went to sleep, I gave myself a splitting headache by leaving it on for too long.

There was no train, though--at least, I didn’t see a train--but I didn’t see nothing. A faint, hazy mist of red barely perceptible floated along the track but coming to a stop.

[t%+ 17 minutes]

That was how I could tell the time of my visions. I didn’t know how it worked, or what the system meant; all I knew is that when I wanted to see something that was happening in the future, I didn’t have to watch all seventeen minutes of something; I could see the precise moment in time I wanted to.

I didn’t even have to consciously parse the time; I intuitively understood the time differential from the present--I wouldn’t need to work out or actively understand what the time meant.

“So it is going to be late after all,” the woman replied with a bittersweet tone.

“Well, what did you see? What will the train look like?” She queried further, wanting to know more about it than I did.

“I don’t know; I hardly saw anything. If it was sooner, I could get more detail.”

“Ah; are you able to keep it on, then? To get more detail?” She didn’t sound optimistic.

“If I felt like getting a headache then, sure.”

“Always a catch?”

“A ‘catch’?” Her words intrigued me.

“It’s never how it appears in comic books. Invulnerability means you lose your sense of touch while you need to be aware of when you need to be aware to see the future. It’s never easy and simple like you want it to be.”

“You’re invulnerable?” My eyes were wide and my tone not dripping with the uninterested and laconic tone that tainted so many of my words.

“No, I didn’t mean myself. I’m actually even worse; I’ve got a spec that doesn’t even do anything,”

“That’s unfortunate,” Do I try to comfort her? How would you even comfort somebody?

“Not for much longer, I hope.” She didn’t offer any more information than that. She was clearly trying to lead me on, get me to ask what she meant.

“I suppose that’s where I come in.”

“Yep!” An unprecedented bubbliness and optimism overflowed her as she leapt up off the bench and picked up her bag. “Come on; We should start now.”

“What are we going to be doing?” I know what it looked like; I was going to follow a strange woman I didn’t even know and do things for her without any payment. Why? Well, I simply didn’t think I had anything to lose.

“We’re going to look for some hives!”