~AI~

Discrimination is necessary.

In this modern age, an era of information, most of us recognise this, peripherally at the very least. However, recent events have led me to reiterate the fact once more.

As a way of self-reflection. A method of introspection. To understand the turbulent feelings within only barely held at bay...

I was scared. It's a nostalgic feeling.

Indeed, one of the first thoughts of mine upon greeting the emotion was; "It's been a while."

It was a genuine knee-jerk thought. I surprised myself. That was pretty cool of me. It was a line that belonged to a shounen MC.

It does not change the fact that I was scared however.

Why was I scared?

That's a rather difficult question to answer I suppose.

~PJ~

Dads come and go dime a dozen it would seem.

The word "dad" or "father" and the meaning behind it, to me, is rather fluid. By fluid, I mean adaptable.

I have used the term as a tool to leverage hope, daydream of a mysterious figure returning from sea to save mother and I, and other times as an outlet for repressed rage, the first being I could truly curse with all my heart.

There were times in my life when the word held less weight than a rotting fish carcase, and times when I have outright prayed to it. My feelings associated with the word can be described as troubled at best.

Stormy, or thunderous if you want a more honest answer.

I have, over the course of some short twelve years, experienced three measures of dad-ness.

The first two I don't talk about, and the third… well. It's a strange situation.

Some kids find a friend, perhaps even a best friend in their dad.

I have a best friend who's like a dad.

And he's currently giving a giraffe a death-glare.

"Arayan..." Others would be leery starting a conversation with the crazy guy giving a giraffe a death-glare, but my tone was uncharacteristically dry. Weird things like this were hardly abnormal. In fact this was only in the top five… this week… and it's Tuesday. Still, I was curious as to why my best friend was giving a giraffe a death-glare. "Why are you giving a giraffe a death-glare?"

"... It was eyeing my falafels." He eventually grunted back, still locking eyes with the spotty animal, "It wanted it. I disagreed." Please don't grin like that, your face gets all twitchy. "I ate the falafels… slowly." Seriously, the staff are looking. "The giraffe has not moved since. I think it was in shock, but now it challenges my honour." Whut? "We have thus entered most honourable combat." A staring contest. "I have yet to emerge victorious, this foe proves more worthy than I thought, but I assure you, I will fight till triumphant, or I will fight forever." He concludes solemnly with resolute fervour.

I gave him a look. The look. A look that speaks of withered oceans, ancient temples, the surface of Mars and burnt toast.

It was rather dry.

I whacked him in the face with a rolled up guide pamphlet.

He spluttered. The giraffe snorted. I rolled my eyes.

~AI~

Why was I scared?

The short answer was because I was superior to pretty much everyone around me.

… That's rather lacking in context however, so allow me to tell you the long, convoluted, narcissistic, cynical, pessimistic train of thought that brought me to such a conclusion.

One night, a full 24 hours after a rather thrilling run-in with the Greek personifications of fate, high up within the nape of a steel tower, I looked out the window and felt fear.

I observed the passing nightlife below with dull golden eyes. I watched as they buzzed about, in and out of concrete huts, running along grooves, stopped and started by order of coloured lights.

So many people, cultures, religions and schools of thought brushing shoulders and honking horns, this should be momentous, a festival to be celebrated, a sight displaying the variety of human magnificence!

Yet it was just another night. Full of neon lights like fireflies, so very, very insignificant.

So much life, and not a single sound reached me in my tower.

They were, all of a sudden, incomprehensible to me.

It felt like the height between myself and the ground abruptly yawned. A great maw of space opened between myself and all those people below. A toothless, invisible mouth that would stop me ever joining them, the height became a chasm.

They were aliens.

I felt alone. I felt fear.

~PJ~

"The beast should be put down, executed at once! Daring to question the absolute sovereignty of humans, the superior beast, such Insolence!" I listened to the guy who, when faced with a nest of eldritch looking four-foot tall Hydras spitting acid at him only response was a dry 'this is so Thursday' rant about executing a giraffe.

And really, insolence, who even says that?

Unfortunately this cringy behaviour has been quite common lately. As a person of close association, I do wish it would stop already.

His vocabulary is affecting mine after all. Percy Jackson, sound of mind, saying such things like association, and describing things with rather, and saying quite instead of yes, is positively preposterous.

Next thing you know...

"I dare say Reginald, I do believe that woman just flashed her ankles!" or "Georgie, we are fresh out of napkins." and gods forbid "Sir, your southern necessities are slipping, I beg you pull them up, this is highly improper."

Worst of all, I'd say them in a British accent. Oh, how mother would weep for me. Her only son, corrupted by that dastardly fellow to realms of foreign gentlemanliness.

No! Stop! Stop I say! It's too much!

…

Ughhhhh.

What the fuck me.

Arayan whacked me up the head.

"Don't swear." Fuck you. Whack. This is you fucking fault. Whack. Now I must fucking swear all the fucking time to regain my innate fucking Americanness. Whack, whack, whack.

"Don't you know any other swear words than fuck?"

I looked at him, rubbing my head with a frown. "How the fuckidy fuck did you know I was only saying fuck?" I swear I was speaking in my mind.

Whack, whack, whack.

He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitantly closes it. "Well…" he hedges.

I frown. He doesn't say it but his eyes talk.

'You are American.'

Fuck you, you are too. And I heard that silent only bitch.

Whack… whack.

I huff through my nose.

~AI~

I did not understand them. They did not understand me. My world and their world were incompatible.

Our world, our reality, is determined by our focus. What was mine? My focus was on the gods, the demons, the monsters, the heroes and on my family.

Theirs was not. Thus they were of little interest.

I saw a great disparity between myself and those neon lit dots below.

That is good. Disparity is good. It helps us distinguish.

All are born equal, but some more equal than others, and some strive to make that gap bigger.

I am not equal to them. I am above them.

For a time, I felt kingly, I made myself feel kingly, because it was unbearable otherwise. I dressed nice and comfortable, lorded around the empty condo, practising ridiculous laughs, prancing and swaggering like a fool.

It was through self-mocking and arrogance that I brought levity to the situation. And it worked. For a time. A day, one full turd cycle.

I talked to no one, avoided Percy and Domi like the plague then glared down everyone else who "had the nerve to enter my sight." My attempts were laughable, but that only goes to show how far humans will go to run away.

Alas, eventually, It wore thin. Even my well rehearsed coping mechanisms have their limits.

One dusk, when the turd seemed to lazily hang and rest half in, half out of the horizon, something was plucked and a taut string snapped by the sound of an off-tune violin.

I think it was the beauty of the sunset.

Despite my hate for the turd, I'm rather fond of the sun. The view of it coming to rest and roost to the West, in the Hesperidean gardens, most of all.

I know that's not how it works, I'm no flat-earther, but there is something soothing about it all the same.

I sunk to my knees that evening, and cried.

There was nothing dramatic about it, I did not sob or wail, I merely hung my head and cried. Letting the tears freely flow, dripping to the floor with a soft pitter-patter.

It was a long time in the making, I think.

I cried as the sun slowly vanished, shining its last hazy rays. I cried openly under dim lighting. Drip, drip, drip, sitting on my heels in the living room, I let my mask dribble down my face.

That was how mother found me.

~PJ~

I remember, a week ago from today, when Arayan walked up to me with bloodshot red and puffy eyes.

It was a shock, like lightning in clear skies.

He didn't say anything, just grabbed my wrist and started to walk.

I very aggrieved you know? Not a word of greeting and he pulls this embarrassing stunt in public, we're not kids y'know, we're adult 12-year-olds y'know, we're badass alien combating soldiers of humanity y'knowww?

We weren't holding hands, but it's the closest we've come in years… or at least six months.

But, well, I let him. 'Cause I'm kind like that.

I am full benevolence and incandescent gentleness, my eyes limpid and tender in their gaze, I could sooth all the worlds evil with but a single touch, but even then my goodwill took a hit to its hull at his next move.

He very deliberately placed me to his left and was still gripping my wrist despite us moving at pace.

The nerve of him.

His left, slightly behind his shoulder, the best place where he can cover me from. The easiest place to push, pull, shove, or shield me from an attack. The best positioning to protect me.

To coddle me.

I'm not a kid anymore. This was stupid, this was demeaning, but I sucked up my complaints anyway.

I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel the intensity with which he scanned the roofs, streets and windows. There were occasional flinches from those unfortunate enough to meet his eyes.

He has a mean glare on the best of days, but a bloodshot and baggy one?

Nah. GG bro.

I filed a complaint to Arayan HQ later of course, when he was in a better frame of mind, but for that moment, I very reluctantly allowed the affront to my dignity continue.

It was only because I could sense the seriousness of the situation okay? Only because I'm the bigger man okay? Only 'cause I'm so friggin kind okay?

It wasn't that I was super enjoying it or anything okay?

Even though I have no qualms at being handheld, in fact I rather welcome it, but we were in public. I'm the first-mate not some tottering cabin-boy, I have an image to uphold aye?

But if I said that, he might have stopped holding my wrist- not that that's important or anything- it's just that being on a slightly busy sidewalk, walking side-by-side would be inconvenient for those around us, taking up space and all, so I didn't say it.

That's it okay?

It totally wasn't that I was enjoying being led around like old times, or that I was having difficulties fighting down the waterworks at being sheltered once more…

It's wasn't okay?

It was just me. being a big man, and sucking it up for the sake of others.

I would let it be, so not to inconvenience those around us and let Arayan tell me in his own time.

Until I fished out the reasoning, I would let it be. Yes.

… And should I enjoy the process just a tiny-weeny bit… then so be it.

That's it okay?

~AI~

I told my ma everything and nothing it seems.

I told her what was happening without describing the situation in the slightest. I told her my feelings so completely and utterly without hinting at what caused it even once

I was dimly impressed with myself.

You know, I'm not even sure if I ever actually worded what was going on, or just expected ma to somehow psychically know.

Though looking back at the ease with which she handled the entire mess, she very well may have some form of psychic-mother power. She knew exactly what to say, when to hug and when to stop as I poured a lifetime of accumulated, muddy woes at her.

And they really were muddy.

They came out slow and wet, oozing out my mouth, making me sick and suffocated at times.

At some point, who knows when, we ended up on the sofa. I had my head in her lap, my body half curled, and she ran her fingers through my hair but was otherwise quiet.

My eyes were long since red and hot, ma brought me a cold towel to press on them. In that cooled darkness, I continued to talk, pushing forward with mindless determination.

I was exhausted, my throat sore and I just wanted to sleep, but I needed to talk.

"We…" I gulped drily. "We all want to connect…" I was trying to explain my philosophy. "To understand and be understood." A thing no normal twelve-year-old should have, let alone comprehend.

Would she look at me differently when this was over I wondered.

"But that's not always possible." I talked anyway.

~PJ~

My best friend let out a slight grunt as my other best friend impacted his chest with force.

Fu fu fu. Quick on the uptake as ever. Not even a moment's hesitation. She took one look at Arayan, his puffy eyes, his lack of cane, his messy hair, the grip on my wrist, and came flying.

As expected of our second-mate, fearsome indeed. I must guard my position as first-mate well, what with all these up and coming newcomers.

Domi being the only newcomer. Newcomer only due to joining the group last… which was years ago.

Not to mention we're only a group a three anyway.

Ahem.

With a poof she went all mofu-mofu on him, nuzzling the soft cotton he wore.

Mmm, even though he was without his signature pimp-cane, he still wore his trademark oversized hoodie. It was decent weather that day, neither too hot nor too cold, but he's really dedicated to his style.

I've seen him wear those hoodies during sweltering hot summers. I mean, it's not as if he's not hot, he wears shorts and rolls up the sleeves, but why though?

"Habit" is no reasonable excuse.

Anyway.

After Domi joined the party, we continued our quest to our usual hideout.

Said hideout being a rooftop shack. What was once an open air cafe/bar with a great view. Now it was an urban ruin of sorts, boxed in by slightly higher apartment blocks it has a hidden, secretive vibe to it.

We had tents, blankets, food and ammunition stocked up there. A child's dream made adult.

It was sorta squatting, but eh. Even our mothers use the place from time to time, for drinking and girls-night-out stuff.

It's hardly the worst we've done anyway, not when you have aliens impersonating mythological monsters breathing down your neck. Some harmless "repurposing" would just slip through the cracks.

A drop in the river of criminal charges as it were.

Mainly arson.

Arayan seemed a little better once Domi joined, it's hard to keep a serious front when you have a ball of white fluff flopping around below your chin.

Is this what you call charisma break?

With myself to the left and Domi practically hanging of the right arm, we took up enough space on the sidewalk, rendering previous excuses invalid, but I conveniently ignored that.

People were no longer flinching at Arayan's gaze, but sorta went "aww" at the sight of someone who had clearly been crying being comforted. Then they flinched.

Arayan doesn't like being pitied.

But I took it as a win.

We would get our answers soon enough anyway.

~AI~

We all want to connect. To understand and be understood.

But that is not always possible. We are all born different, yet equal, with some being more equal than others. These differences breed disparity. Disparity breeds discrimination.

However that discrimination is necessary. We must distinguish and discriminate to show love.

To treat a stranger with the same kindness as your own family, would that not mean your family are no better than strangers?

We must withhold kindness, treasure it and guard it, so we may give it to another more important in order to display our feelings. There are times when we give freely, that is called charity, but that is often impersonal and structured.

On a personal level, when you look the other in the eye, we consciously choose who to connect to. Because we can't afford to be free with our affections, for that cheapens it.

Separating. Sifting. Straining.

This process of choosing, this pressure, is discrimination.

"At least in my eyes," I clarified. "It's necessary, it's necessary but…"

I fear disparity. I fear what it leads to. I fear how it makes me feel. It makes me feel lonely. It makes me shiver and shake.

We are all alone in some way, but being alone and being lonely are two different things. To be singled out in a crowd is not scary, not for me, not anymore.

At least I would be somewhat a part of the crowd.

I've died, simple isolation just doesn't cut it. - I didn't voice that bit.

It's the chilling, creeping, crawling sense of being completely unnecessary- of being unloved and unwanted that gets me.

Of being so above, so below, that it doesn't even matter. That I don't matter. That I never mattered. That I am unnecessary.

Of never being in the crowd in the first place.

These things, negative emotions and notions, are like wet, cold mud that slither down my spine and clog up my throat.

I had been bearing those feelings within all my life. Ever since I was three and I woke up to hear you crying. Ever since I was conscious enough to understand.

Ma jerked a bit at that, but never stopped running her fingers through my hair.

All that mud broke free today. The dam fell and out slid the muck.

Out came a child's philosophy (fear).

I fear disparity. Because I know that it is necessary. I know someone must take the hit. I know that for two to be together, one must be alone.

But I don't fear being alone. At least that one was necessary for the two, If the one were lucky, perhaps they might even be remembered.

I fear not being a part of the equation altogether. I fear being the fourth looking in. I fear being relegated to the position of observer.

Being alone- being discriminated against as a human- being the "one" sacrifice for the "two". I do not mind.

Being lonely, trapped in space- beneath/above the notice of humans- being the "fourth" unseen by the "three". I could not bare.

Humans discriminate against each other for many reasons.

"We know that well." Memories hung heavy.

But why would humans discriminate against an alien they don't know?

That was the crux of it. The sense of alienation I feel.

"So there. That's it." Tired. "That's the best way I could word it." So tired. "You asked me what was wrong…" Let me sleep. "So there."

I was finished. Mentally and physically exhausted. But I had one last thing to ask.

"Do you think me abnormal now?" I wore a crooked smile.

She slapped it off.

~PJ~

The rooftop-shack. I reminisced. Many things have happened there.

It was there, one summer day, that Arayan explained to me why we must fight. Of the so called "aliens".

Pah. As if. But my best friend rarely lies without reason, in fact I cannot recall a time where he would resort to fibbing unless absolutely necessary. In fact, he would rather resort to violence- knocking someone out, breaking legs, blatant blackmail- rather than lie.

… Though that may just be personal preference anyway...

Still, it wasn't like he expected me to believe he was telling the truth, just believe his lies. His first line was "for now, believe my lies" afterall.

So I let it slide. I'm a big man with a big heart. My endless kindness deep as the sea, my grace wider than the oceans. Forever on the verge of ascending, but choosing to remain within the mortal planes to guide those pitiful lost sheep. I am a modern Buddha. Go me.

Anyway: rooftop-shack.

It was slightly windy, but the once private tiki-bar thing shielded us nicely. Having grown used to it, the wind is more of a pleasant breeze than any inconvenience honestly.

Especially under the summer afternoon New York sun. Like jeepers, It's friggin hot dude.

Especially bad for Domi with her compulsory skintight thermal second-skin. She wears it to help with the unfortunate skin conditions that come with being albino. It's not bad in the winter, it can be a bit muggy in the spring and autumn, but her summers are things to be endured, rarely enjoyed.

Today too, she wore a sporty black "swimsuit" make that came down her wrists and ankles, under a loose t-shirt and long shorts combo.

She was especially warm snuggled up to Arayan's chest, going to town on his hoodie with her face.

I was warm too. I had a portable heater.

I wasn't jealous or anything okay?

I decided to break the silence by throwing out some bait.

"You look like shit Yan." A whole bucket load of chum.

He grunted.

It continued like that for a good five minutes, I won't bore you with the dialogue.

Me talk. He grunts. Repeat.

Even Domi's hugs started to lose vigour.

Eventually… "Fucking- C'mon Yan, I'm breaking my back trying to carry this. Just…" Screw baiting him. "What the heck happened you damn glob of snot?!"

There was no grunt. Only silence and a slight frown. Not even a comment on snot or swearing.

I got fed up.

Feeling slightly disgusted, or rather disappointed at having to talk to a wall when I wanted to speak with my friend, I threw up my hands. "Fine. If you don't want to talk. Fine. But you don't have to ignore me."

I got up to leave. Though my temper is not nearly as bad as it used to be, my precious friends can all too easily become the source of old habits flaring up in the form of turbulent storms.

My tantrums were legendary back in the day.

"-No wait." I waited. "Sorry… it's not that I won't talk… I'm just a bit tired."

I sat back down. The storm dissipated.

His voice was hoarse as you would expect given his appearance, but I've never heard it so weak.

"Fuuuuuuu~" He let out a long sigh, head tilted back, legs stretched out in front.

He pulled Domi into a one armed hug, the first time he reciprocated her actions since we got here. Domi squirmed happily. I swear, she's less of a third-mate and more like a neophyte of the Arayanian cult (name pending) with the way she acts.

… Foreshadowing...

Then he looked at his other arm and frowned. He made waving motions and grabby hands, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

Then he looked at me with blank realisation.

"No." I said no. "Nooo." I said it some more. "Nope." I expressed my most profound disagreement to what I suspect he might suggest.

He waved me over. I went over.

- But I didn't hug him!

He hugged me.

There's a difference.

I ignored Domi's giggling.

"Fu." Yan let out a small… snort? Huff? A sound of contentment. His legs stretched out further, I felt his body sag slightly. There was a rare, small smile on his face. Not a grin, or smirk like usual, but something soft and satisfied.

"Where to start..." He pondered aloud. "Well… when I was three…"

I, we, listened to our best friend's story attentively.

A feeling welled up within my chest, and within my eyes.

~AI~

There's a lot of things I don't remember, it's all a bit of a blur, but she had a lot to say indeed.

Starting with my stupidity and ending in my idiocy, she really ripped me a new one. Like, no mercy bro. I think half the reason I don't remember what she said was just due to me going into shock.

K.O.

She went to slap me multiple times, but in the end just ended up stroking my cheek, or falling into another shaking hug.

Where did we get the energy from I wonder. I was about to black out from exhaustion just a moment ago, but seeing the person I respected most in my life acting so… humanly frail, pulled on reserves from places unknown.

It lit a raging self-hating fire.

In retrospect, a good cry was a long time coming for ma too. She who has dedicated her life to me, it was trying for her to say the least, even after I started bringing in the money.

To call it merely difficult would be an insult of the highest order.

I've worried her greatly. I've wronged her by just being me, being me and not the child she should have had. I'm an abnormality, an alien impersonating her child.

It only made me more frantically guilty when she addressed each point I thought and never voiced.

She said she knew I was different, but didn't care. That only crushed me further, because she would never, never realise just how different I was.

"You're special." She said, half sobbing, each shudder a stab to my heart. "Don't hate it." She whispered. "You're a star." She clutched me tighter.

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." She looked me in the eyes. "You're my star."

I couldn't help but bury my face in her shoulder.

"I'm always looking at you, you silly boy." Her words were like light shining down. "I'm your mother." Words from above.

In just a couple of sentences she tore down, ripped up and spat out my insecurities…

Honestly.

Is it any wonder I love her as much as I do?

She who was so large and bright and warm in my eyes. She who had toiled to provide for me. She who I had watched helplessly, she who I could only sing for.

She who made me feel rather insignificant in comparison.

I do wonder how much of that angst breakdown was fuelled by my inferiority complex, but I couldn't help it.

All those years ago, It was a perplexing state of ruin she found herself in.

An abandoned lover of a god, bereft of family, adrift her country, lacking in funds and burdened by a newborn babe.

She held me in her lap, cradling me tightly to her chest, her face to my head. I clutched her back, body curled and weak.

We rocked back and forth gently.

As our tears gradually stemmed and shaking subsided, I shuffled slightly so my chin was resting on her shoulder.

I looked at the ceiling. It was nice. No holes. No dangling light bulbs. No stains. No exposed wires. No discoloured paint. No bugs. No damp patches. No…

When I think of my childhood, I think of rain, chilly nights and the silent glares of derision.

Now, Now…

The room was secure and safe. We were high up, nobody could see us. We had each other to stay warm.

"... We've come quite some way huh…"

She hugged me slightly tighter. This time the exhaustion was to heavy to stave off.

Well... the living room was warm enough to fall asleep in anyway.

…

~PJ~

"You alright?" I blinked, then looked to who asked the question. Yan was staring at me through the corner of his eye. His full attention on me.

I smiled "Yeah… just a trip down memory lane."

He looked away with a grunt, satisfied. He didn't bring up the giraffe again, seemingly forgotten about its insolence completely.

He has gotten a lot more protective since that talk last week.

Or would possessive be a better word? A mix I guess. He's also stopped talking with other children as much as he used to, focusing on us "the family" more.

Sure he still helps the kids when they need it, still with the same fake disgruntled-dad, you-can-do-this-you-lazy-brat, but-I'm-going-to-do-it-anyway-because-I'm-a-big-softy-but-don't-tell-anyone look.

He has an odd charisma that puts children at ease despite the unnerving impression he gives many adults. Eyes especially.

Normally a soft brown at odds with his intensity, they will occasionally flash an intimidatingly beautiful gold. The haunting hue suiting his intensity much better.

He doesn't like them. I've no clue why.

That's all cut back a bit now.

I feel guilty for thinking this, but I like it. I like it when he's with me and Domi and not the other children. It's naughty of me to think so, but I don't like sharing.

Guess I'm also a bit possessive huh?

"You wanna get a drink." He abruptly asks. "I need something to wash down the falafels."

I smile wryly at his obsession with the food. But… "Sure."

He leads the way. Still walking with that stiff posture that makes him look taller. Sad thing is that it works. He does look taller and more intimidating.

He's acting like a peacock, puffing up his chest. That breakdown from a week ago still affecting him heavily, he's yet to fully recover.

Most passerbys subtly give him his space as we walk. I very consciously move a bit closer.

It's strange. I don't mean adults being unconsciously cowed by a pre-teen- I've gotten used to that- it's just our positions are reversed.

In the past he was always the silent support to my mute fuming. Whenever I screwed up he was there. Sometimes overtly, sometimes not.

It's not like he's sulking from a mistake or anything though, I'm not sure really what to call that, but the actions I'm taking so naturally…

The way my eyes so easily slide over to him every once in a while to check up on him: are his shoulders are stiff? Is he shuffling? Is he distressed?

The way I place myself. Not behind, not ahead but by his side, occasionally brushing shoulder as if to say "I'm still here."

The way I'm letting him talk and simply listen attentively. Giving him space at times while still being in the corner of his perception.

This… this is all stuff he's done for me.

The view I see now, Is the view Arayan has seen gods know how many times? The view of a boy's back in need of support.

"Hello Perseus..." That guy with a scary voice I first saw from behind mom's skirt.

He's looking back at me now. Waiting for me to catch up. Those eyes that frightened me at first, now my second favourite colour.

"Fu." I let out a small… snort? Huff? A sound of contentment. Hehe. He raises an eyebrow at my smile.

"We've come quite some way huh?" I did not expect the sudden bark of laughter, but I took it.

"Yeah." He chuckled. "But we've only just started." He twirls his cane.

"... That was corny as fuck."

Whack. I wasn't even mad. It felt good to laugh together again.

He told Domi and I a lot that day in the shack. There's still more he hasn't said, but it doesn't really matter. He's still not fully better, but it doesn't really matter.

He'll get better. He's tough. He'll tell us. He's my best friend. I know it. But until then...

He's like a dad… but… lately I've been thinking, I'm fine with being brother too.

I glance at him. "Hehe." Brother. "Hehehehe."

I kick his pimp-cane.

Siblings annoy each other right?

"Wha- You brat!" "Bwahahahaha~"

Mmmm.

… Could do without the inferiority complex that comes with being the younger brother though.

~AI~

If not for Percy, if not for Domi, if not for mother, I would be a raving mad sociopath by now.

The trigger for the most recent breakdown was a sense of elevated alienation after all. Discrimination outside of discrimination if you will.

I perceive myself as far too different to those around, to the point I doubt I would be able to form meaningful connections during an orphaned childhood.

A superiority complex perhaps? Psychopathy maybe, sociopathy definitely. My innate sadism would become less playful and more vicious I suspect. That would likely continue as I grew, blooming into something disgusting and wretched.

I don't like the thought of me without the people I know around me.

Even now, as a "reincarnation", the disassociation I feel is even greater than what a normal demi-god would feel. Don't even get me started on the whole fictional world shite.

If not for my anchors, my family, who knows…

Still. I'm glad it happened when it did.

"Good morning class. Due to the unexpected, but joyous news of pregnancy, Mrs Sanders has elected to retire from her job as History teacher for this and likely next year." The man said, his voice a pleasant timbre.

"As such, the school has seen fit to hire me." He looked at us from his wheelchair. "I'm your new History teacher."

When he smiled his eyes crinkled, crow feet showing his age. His entire presence was warm and welcoming. His neatly groomed beard and immaculate pinstripe suit exuded a sense of scholarly culture.

"My name is Mr Brunner." He wheeled over to the desk. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

I ignored the whispers. This time I had no interest in the gossip of my fellows. I simply shared a glance with Percy, then Domi.

Internally, I sighed.

He's early.

.

.

.

AN: Rants. Character development. Character development focused dialogue. Spit-spit.

Tis been a while. This was meant to come out earlier this week, but I was distracted by Shimousa over on FGO. My apologies.

This was also meant to be a lot longer, in fact it was. Standing at a proud 12,000 words, written over the course of months… it was shit.

Allow me to rant a bit about rants.

I tier rants. The come in levels of quality.

- Level 1. At the bottom is the shit tear. The Troll tier. The crappy stuff you're honestly not sure if written as a joke, or the speaker is an irredeemable idiot.

- Level 2. One up you have the "profound 14 year-old." They are the lil dipshits who write "When I opened my eyes. I can see." and caption it over some pretty girls eyes. Well we can't really hate on them too much, they are young. It's just really cringy and occasionally you get the obnoxious one who actually needs to be told to tone it down for their own good.

Incidentally, this tier could also be named the "high as fuck" tier, but I think they are Level 2.5 instead of Level 2 like the "profound teen" tier. Mainly because the shit high people spout are generally (at least) a little funny.

- Level 3. "Rubbish, bet eh." Most internet denizens have been desensitised to quality of this level. It's the poorly executed rants that are full of grammar mistakes, lack sources, bad spelling, often completely baseless and unwarranted, but sometimes we can get the general gist of it.

- Level 4. Average. "School work." things the average student would submit for English homework and get a C on.

- Level 5. Above average. "Something that might be praised if posted online". Maybe. B grade.

- Level 6. Good quality. "Not bad bro." Things we understand. Things we can relate to. Things that evoke empathy, utilise pathos and etc. Things we might remember for a week or so. B~A grade

- Level 7. High quality. "I get you bro!" Solid A grade. This is the level at which intelligent lifeforms rise up to read, analyse, nitpick and argue for and against in a civilised manner.

- Level 8. "It's so fine, imma smoke it." The stuff that picks you up. It's the well documented smackdowns Harvard millennials lay upon boomers. Things that are worshipped on Reddit. That stuff.

- Level 9. "We were not prepared." The stuff that empowers you as a woman even though you're a 30-year-old married man. The stuff that would have you offer your ass to the monitor in submission. The stuff that drives you to watch alpha-male hypno videos on porn websites to regain your masculinity… all in vain.

- Level 10. This is the "8man" tier, named after Hikigaya Hachiman. Now I know, re-watching the series years later, I realise what I watched wasn't quite as good as it was the first time. There are holes in his philosophy, but that "something sincere" rant hit me so hard at the time, I sorta put the anime on a bit of a pedestal.

Anyway. Level 10 is the stuff you carry with you. Doesn't matter the source, if it's something you find yourself agreeing with, without even realising it, then it's something good. Those rants word things you never knew how to.

… I'm not sure where this Levelling system came from exactly, but there you go.

Now what Arayan does in this chapter is not quite a rant, but it's close enough I think.

The monologue is around Level 4 with Level 5 grammar checking (god knows how many times I've re-read this), but I'm afraid the subject topic and base is more Level 3.

To be honest, I've re-read this chapter so many goddamn times, I've lost an objective point of view. I honestly don't know how this will read to others since I have it almost memorised inside out.

Also. This was waaaaay longer before. As I said 12,000 words. Wtf.

I spent longer editing and condensing and refining and rewriting than I did actually getting those 12,000 words down.

Now the chapter is at a cool 6,500 words, or thereabouts. I cut this thing in half bro!

Jeez.

Whatever. I've done all I can here.

My apologies if this is a let down to all those who waited, each and everyone of your likes were like stabs to the heart. I do so very apologise for the long wait.

I'd like to finish this with an apology for disappointing you all, but that would be in bad taste, so instead let me say:

Thanks for reading. See you next time.