The train passed by Central Park, speeding by the empty lot. The last remnants of the lake was covered by a freshly laid layer of mirror like liquid, glazing over the bottom of the pool.

“The administration don’t want the people to look into themselves through nature,” says Edward, as if he was reading Leon’s thoughts.

Before he could ask why, his eyes caught the attention of several glass-like boxes standing in the middle of the grounds, with what seems like a figure moving within it.

“Convicts,” Edward said nonchalantly. “The Emperor decided to place those who are impure to his Empire in public. To remind the citizens of what they’re not ought to be. Then the convicts slowly starve to death.”

The figure inside the box stopped moving, and collapsed with Edward’s last word. They left at the Central Park stop, and when Leon peered between the gates standing on the borders of the park, he saw the emaciated man enclosed in his glass prison. The man’s eyes were pure as milk, his body sprawled in odd angles, with an abnormal colour growing from his stomach. He swore he heard a smirk somewhere inside the gates, as if anyone would be amused at starvation.

“He drank from the fountain,” says Edward, his eyes fixed forward. “Carries untreated water, and sometimes it’s intentionally poisoned. Don’t feel sorry for him. He betrayed his side.”

Half confused by his words, Leon carried on walking, avoiding the image of the body.

The two returned to their home with a slam. Carmille was watching a grey box, with a sliver of light emitting from the strange device.

“You’re home early,” she said emotionless, her eyes still fixed to the box.

Edward did not speak, instead, he continued to ignore each other.

At the least expected moment he spoke.

“The child is not to return to alma mater.”

“Why?” said Carmille impassively, her direction still facing the device’s light.

“Because we quit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect more from the vestige,” said Carmille in an exasperated voice. “I told you, select a nice, chubby baby, with golden hair and big blue eyes to bring home. But, no. You had to be warm-hearted and adopt a vestige.”

Leon turned to go up to his room.

“Hey, you!” said Carmille’s high pitched voice.

He turned to see her holding out a piece of paper, standing out in the air. Carmille’s hand continued to be extended, refusing to drop. So it was finally something for him. Leon approached Carmille carefully, watching for any sudden reactions from her. There were none.

“Excuse me,” he turned to see Carmille’s odd stare, “uh, I mean, ma’am,” Carmille’s stare seemed to soften in the slightest way that he noticed, “what do you intend to do with that piece in your hand?”

“An altering token, dummy. What are you, born yesterday?”

Technically, he was introduced to the Betas yesterday.

“And why, ma’am, would I need an altering token?”

Carmille finally revealed a smile on her face, the expression just lingering as if it could be taken off any moment like a mask. “Turning your hair blonde, of course. Consider it as a gift, from me. Might as well be impossible, for someone like me to gift anyone anything, especially you. No need to return it. Perhaps mention my name, and the alterers would give you something on the house... Botox, perhaps?”

“The boy is too young for Botox, Carmille,” Edward cut in, sounding annoyed. “Have some common sense.”

Leon looked at the strangely shaped piece in Carmille’s hand, then stepped away.

“Thanks for the gesture, but... I think someone else needs it more than me. Besides, I don’t see anything wrong with brown hair.”

Carmille pouted, and threw the token in the direction of the box.

An awkward silence. Maybe it was a good time to ask Edward more about his identity. Even though his mentor explained to him about his situation, Leon still felt confused about himself, and also rather the society he was living in.

“Excuse me, uh-sir.”

Edward looked at him, almost disgustedly.

“Yes?”

“What is a vestige? Why does everyone call me that?”

“Because you were under-developed prior to classification, and have been likely to be neglected by the Nurturing department.”

“I thought you work in the department, didn’t you?”

Edward gave him an odd look.

“Firstly, no more questions in this household past this point. Secondly, just because I work in the Nurturing department does not mean I know everything going on there. You are dismissed.”

Without another word, Edward left, leaving Leon with no one to turn to.

When he was alone in his room, and the eye was no longer staring at him, he quietly opened the slightly crumbled page of the report.

There was only one sentence on the report. “Suspect DNA reported as inconclusive. Likely to be not prone to positive test results.”

He pondered with difficulty in his head at the thought of another test.

He had difficulty sleeping that night again.

Tossing in his sleep, he finally could not resist the urge to open his eyes.

Ironically, that was the only smart thing he had done so far.

Leon opened his eyes and saw a world different from the one he saw before he closed his eyes. He was hidden in white and fluffy clouds, feeling the breeze wash through him, blowing his hair and clothes back. For the first time since he could remember, he felt relaxed and happy in this little realm.

Then the scene changed.

“Follow the path before you,” said a deep voice. It echoed wisdom through his own realm. Suddenly the storm thickened in his dreams. Thunderbolts and lightning frightened and shook everything. Leon saw his perfect, peaceful, lovely realm crumble into nothing and darkness.

The scene dissolved, and he was in front of the white door again. If he just knew what was past that point. Leon walked closer. He started hearing voices whispering, but the words melted into nothingness as he approached the door.

Two arbitrators, dressed in pure white, as pale as the walls behind them, stared sternly at him. They were sitting behind a white desk, a holoscreen and a keyboard before them. A door was located right behind them, but was locked.

“Sit down,” One of them said, mechanically. He sat in the white chair. A shiver went up his body.

“Age,” The other said.

“What?” He’s confused.

“Age,” The arbitrator said again, seriously.

“I don’t know.”

The arbitrator on the left smirked. His crooked smile gleamed as a gold tooth revealed itself between the lips. “Funny. The people interrogated before you all remember their birthdays.”

The other arbitrator who ordered him to sit, is now acting as a scribe. For some reason, Leon could read the words as if they wandered into his head. The scribe typed in, “arrogant, reluctant to answer, looks no more than seventeen.”

“Race?”

“Sorry?”

“Your race?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you can’t be part of us, can you?”

“Part... of you?”

The arbitrator’s crooked face turned in an emotionless slab. He placed one of his fingers on the table, and his voice echoed the room.

“Bring in the taser.”

A moment later, he saw the arbitrator with a strange tool in his hand. The scribe stopped typing, and an eerie sound occurred in his head. There was a scream, he lost his vision for a mere second, and when Leon could not hear that blood curdling scream anymore, he woke up, and was back in his bed.

The paper stayed crumpled in his hand. Now the key words haunted him: Suspect, test results, positive.

Edward and Carmille could not have known this. But what if this was not even him that the words were describing? Leon could have been handling classified information, and then the punishment to come afterwards...

When the eye stopped looking at him by returning to its “slumber,” Leon tiptoed down the stairs, looking for a way to forget what he had saw. As he stepped on the first floor, his eyes darted to the kitchen.

One possible way to forget this had ever happened: destroying the evidence.

Unfortunately, the dinner knife was not an option to obliterate the paper (and Leon would gladly never see a dinner knife in his life again). There were no other sharp tools, as Carmille never cooked and relied on Avalon charity meals. He looked towards the dust covered stove; one item in the house that no one would use.

The heat scorched through the fibres of the paper, destroying any connection it had with the writing, as the empty, white paper discoloured into a raw, dark colour. The warmth of the stove destroyed its distinctive shape of an odd crumpled ball into a charred piece of fuel. He watched it burn, and left as the last spark disappeared in the darkness.

After he destroyed the report, he felt, peculiarly, released from his stress, and fell into a rather peaceful sleep.