He dreamed a most peculiar dream that night. A video was set on replay, muttering about how hopeless he would be without them with people of his kind.

“Terresios of the great nation Avalon had been grateful to accept you, the cursed, into their prominent city. You have nowhere to go. Terresios is your only hope to survive in this world. You could have been killed in the cruellest way outside these great gates. In order to return the city’s great kindness, you are asked to help build Avalon to the world’s greatest Empire with your hands... ”

He stopped listening to the screen. It was as if a great wall had risen before him, blocking everything before him. The wall crumbled after the voice silenced in the video.

Most of the people in the room with him are clapping enthusiastically, convinced and quite scared, after the video ended with the roar of the panther of the national emblem of Avalon.

The overhead speaker sounded after the clapping diminished.

“Please head to the room assigned for resume writing.”

The sergeant ordered everyone to stand in a line, in between two rooms. There were no indications of what the rooms contain of. Then it was his turn. He thought that he was determined to go through the right door, perhaps finding an exit to this unknown prison. The sergeant saw his scrawny self as he marched slowly on.

“Left.”

The white door opened immediately.

He walked in, trembling, fearing of the unknown.

The floor crumbled as he set foot on it, breaking like glass creating a shattering sound as he embraced his head with his arms. He fell into nothing but darkness. A house is breaking up into millions of pieces, furniture, books, bricks, and wooden boards flying everywhere around him. The wind whispered a name into his ear.

The voice was weak, and then it was quickly engulfed in the gale. He forgot the name immediately when a bullet set flames to the pieces of what was once his home. A burning photo album flied before him, igniting a moving (yes, he remembered it was moving) family photo of a man without a face, a baby, and a young woman with her hand holding another hand. He could not see the person with the hand that she was holding, for it was burnt, and the small pieces of the photo flew away, transforming into tiny birds.

He woke up to a terrible headache, sitting up in his hard, rocky bed. Opening his eyes, he saw grey, concrete walls. Windows with strange iron-patterned bars. The light colored synthetic floor, with multicoloured shades of brown stripping the ground. Pure white furniture, the colour so empty it looked deadly, lined the shabby grey walls, leading to a door.

Peculiar, he thought. Getting out of the bed took quite some effort. His bones made a crackling sound and his muscles ached. It was like an after effect of being drugged, or anesthesia.

The oddest thing was he couldn’t remember anything, and this place was not in the slightest, familiar to him. The dream still lingered in his mind, as he quietly walked towards the door.

The feeling of being monitored washed over him. He looked straight forward, and jumped a little when he saw a glaring eye out of the aperture in the door. The eye stared at him undistracted, watching his every action.

He felt the urge to go back to sleep. Just as he was closing his eyes, suddenly, the door slammed open, almost knocking him off his balance.

A middle aged woman, with grey coloured eyes, and dark blonde hair, with the same surprising look he had, stood in front of the doorway. Her expression turned from surprise to disappointment.

“Peculiar,” she said, as she walked to his side, twisting his hair like he was some kind of doll, “I am sure I did not apply for a brunette boy.”

Frantically, he tried to distract himself, and looked towards the door. The aperture cannot be seen from the outside surface of the door. Was he possibly hallucinating about the eye?

“Edward! Something is wrong with the boy!”

Something was wrong with him? While he possibly possesses imperfections, for one, he cannot remember, and two, this woman has barely knew him, or at least he thinks she barely knows.

A man, tall and skinny, with large spectacles and in a charcoal grey suit walked into the room. As he walked forward, he noticed that the man’s skin was a malnourished grey colour, his hair combed back and greasy, and most interesting of all, his small but eye-catching tattoo on his wrist. The tattoo had an arranged series of numbers and alphabets, and an image of a head in a square box.

The man’s hand wrenched for his head, as he bent near to closely observe him like he was some artifact. Finally letting go of his grip, he delivered his final statement.

“I see no wrongs with the boy. He is just as perfect as I.”

The woman looked further dissatisfied with the man as she crossed her arms and knitted her brows. “Honestly, Edward, you need to schedule an appointment with Alters. You look terribly out of shape.

“First there’s you in this household, a pathetic middle-aged man who has worked in the pitiful Nourishment and Conditioning Department for over a decade, as a nurturing assistant.” The woman pointed her stubby fingers at Edward, who was unconcerned by her anger, as slowly, her finger directed itself to him. “and now a misshapen runt like this?”

Rage sparked between the words of judgement. He never felt such animosity and confusion from a stranger whose conclusive criticism are based by the insignificant appearance of a person.

Suddenly he was unconscious again, but he could hear everything.

“Carmille, perhaps we should save this for another time.” whispered Edward to the infuriated woman in a soothing voice.

An eerie silence.

“Yes, you’re quite right.” She said in an almost automatic voice.

He had listened to their little dispute but only generated with more questions, adding onto the large mass of confusion he was trying to suppress. For some reason, he felt he should be calling this place home, only to get another hunch that he should be calling it prison.

The couple’s argument (or at least he thinks they’re a couple) dropped dead during his pondering. Static filled his ears again. It was an annoying addition to the silence, somehow torturing his ears each passing second. Then he saw them again. Edward is as pale as he can imagine, but still has an odd glint in his eyes that made himself flinch. And Carmille... the woman looked like she was brain-dead for a moment, before returning to her senses as a calm wave washed over her.

“Excuse me,” He said timidly, “Um... sir,” he added quickly when Edward’s glaring eyes behind his glasses met his, “but what am I doing here?”

The middle-aged man’s eyes lost its spark of life for a brief moment before returning him with a broad, but rather cold smile.

“I apologize for our little,” Edward paused, carefully selecting his words, “disruption during your initiation. Now, as a true member of the Betas, I welcome you home, Leon Toseveone Beta.”