Bobbing his head slightly and nervously tapping his foot on the wooden flooring, N/A N/A, known by the public as "Mandragon" and by the train ticket machine as "Borislav Azurfin", was eyeing a piece of paper laid down on his travel desk, using the small bit of light that passed through the shutters. Loosely holding a cheap pen in his stiff hand, he was trying to figure out how to fill it out. The first two spaces were filled up rather intuitively, he had already gotten used to his new name and birth date. However, the crudely labeled "Race" box of the form took him by surprise. Only in Janisbure, one would be asked to decline such information on government-issued documents. He didn't know what to put there. First, he looked at his reflection on the glass standing at 45 degrees clockwise north from his face and saw only an immensely distorted version of himself. Had he stopped at that, he would have written "Alien" beneath the label. Fortunately for everyone, he instead went to the bathroom, delicately placing the form under his glass before leaving the cabin.
He walked through to the next wagon, hearing only muffled down chatters and the song of the moving train. Soon enough he found the toilet, and a man standing in front of its out-of-place metallic door. The man was small in height, had brown skin, wore a janitor's outfit, and had a pair of sunglasses on. Scratching his balding scalp with his hand, as if to attract N/A's attention, an age-stricken voice rose from his throat. But N/A didn't catch one word of it, and after giving a puzzled look amidst the heaviest silence for a good ten seconds, he stuttered "I'm so-sorry, ca-can you repeat?". Equally confused, the janitor asked him: "Do you have a smoke?", speaking in an accent N/A couldn't quite place. "Oh no, I don't", N/A replied, feeling a strange cloud obstructing his breathing rhythm. Inspecting the young man with his eyes, the janitor took on a thoughtful pose, moving his hand from his skull down to his face, forming an angle with his index below his cheekbone and thumb that pressed under his chin. "And don't you speak Kinafran?" the old man asked. A bubble of knowledge suddenly popped into N/A's brain; that was it! The accent he couldn't quite place, it was Kinafran. Of course, he didn't speak it and leaving the janitor hanging for another ten ghastly seconds, he repeated "No I-". Suddenly the metallic door creaked and a king-sized man stepped out of the toilet, slouching his back and almost crouching to avoid hitting the ceiling with his head. The man straightened his shape once out, glancing over N/A and the Janitor only briefly, before walking away from any chance of interaction. The Janitor, curious, was about to ask the youngling to finish his answer but was blocked from doing so when N/A, staring anywhere but into his interlocutor's eyes, said "Uh- it's uh uh-rrrr gent." Not one word more was exchanged. The Janitor gave an apprehensive nod, and N/A went straight into the toilet, shutting the door tight and locking it behind him.
Of course, he had lied. There was nothing urgent going on, except his 'need' to flee from the cloud that obstructed his breath, that of talking with a stranger. In fact, he didn't even need to do his business, yet wary of the Janitor's suspicion, he slapped his hand on the tap and slid it a tiny bit, letting the noise of water falling in a thin line be heard. Then he looked up, and finally saw his face. And what a face it was. Built like a brick, his jaw seemed as if it could cut your hand upon contact. And his eyes! What eyes those were! Green as grass, fitting perfectly his eyebrows black as night... a night that cast a shadow beneath his eyes (shadow commonly known as eyebags). As for his hair, it formed a frizzy ball covering his head. One of its curls dropped on his upturned nose, though wouldn't be long enough to reach his full lips. He obsessively looked into the mirror, turning his head from right to left, from up to down, from northeast to southwest, trying to admire himself from all possible angles. However, he was doing so out of what could arguably be described as narcissism. It was aimless, despite him having a specific goal to fulfill. It's that goal that made him leave for the bathroom in the first place; he needed to determine his ethnic identity.
Remembering his set objective, N/A turned off the tap and put both hands on the sink, intensively staring into his reflection. Green eyes are without a doubt a Bulbazian feature, as for black hair, well that was fairly neutral. What caused his doubt, to begin with, was his skin complexion, it was swarthy. He had been told in his youth, as he recalls, that his father was a prince from Janu, a grand befallen empire that once reigned on most of the southern lands. That would nullify his "Bulbazian" status. But then again, he was also told his genitor had passed away in a trip to the moon ( the first one of its kind, nonetheless), at other times the cause of death was a rare disease contracted from one of his expeditions to the remote Anaday islands, or even a thunderbolt striking him while he was barbecuing outside the mansion. The stories N/A had heard about his father were all more grotesque than the other and most importantly, always were conflicting. All in all, he knew absolutely nothing reliable, besides the place of burial, which he never once ended up visiting as traveling on his own to Janisbure or anywhere else for that matter, wasn't a luxury he was allowed. As for his mother, he didn't try thinking about her more than what was needed. He knew by all means that she was Bulbazian, she in fact took a suspicious amount of pride in it. The "Race" box would thus remain untouched by ink, as N/A was still flipping his brain cells upside down trying to find an appropriate label.
A few minutes later, he was back into the cabin and after opening the shutters, sat down amazed at what he was seeing. The train was closer to the end of the line than he had thought, he could already see Janisbure's most famous glass tube towering over the 4 million people rich city. The Arbaaz Tower was a gem of architecture, being nearly 3000 feet tall and making the other skyscrapers around seem ridiculously small. Its glass structure gleamed with the sun's reflection, leaving N/A mesmerized. The city was full of modernized buildings, some prettier than the others. Experimentations were being done constantly with new residential areas; making it so that one would find himself in a retro-futurist town walking on one avenue then in a gothic revival experiment two streets away, and of course, would end up in a vibrant metropolis fit for flying cars upon crossing few streets more.
Janisbure was unique in its aesthetics, environment, culture, and demographics. It was hailed as a success story by every outlet; a remote city-state that by following all the rules became one of the richest countries on earth. The word "paradise" was thrown around every time Janisbure was discussed. It was an icon of the modern world, a bastion of optimism. To the privileged it said "I'm one of yours", to the downtrodden it shouted, "Hey! You can do it too!". However little was ever talked about its history and culture outside its borders. Reading the latest economic gazette you'd think Janisbure has no history, simply popping up 30 years ago out of the earth. It was impossible to truly know Janisbure without experiencing it. N/A had tried to consume as much local media as possible, however, he didn't find anything truly local nor informative. The movies made in Janisbure were all publicity stunts for how rich it was, and were confined to the boundaries of tourism; as for the v-logs they were all done by expats and confined to the boundaries of their luxury residences.
The superficiality towards Janisbure reminded N/A of himself. Whenever he was spoken about it was as Mandragon, the one guy that saved the world a couple of times by spitting fire out of his mouth. He was known only by his powers, and by his 'person of color' status inside HeroKorp, branding him as an outsider that was integrated by a changing world. He too, exhibiting the speech patterns of the bulbazian majority could say to the privileged "I'm one of yours", and by his slightly darker skin tone shout to the downtrodden "Hey! You can do it too!". Mandragon was another person altogether, a flawless confident hero, deified on numerous clothing items and toys for children. He was fearless, always getting out of any hard situation. Yet the distance between N/A and this persona was so big that he felt like an entirely different person when he put on his stupid scaley mask and cloak.
But it was just a feeling. He never could escape his true nature, only hide it using catchphrases in front of the microphone and faking a smile on pictures with his colleagues. He got tired of trying to escape himself, and so decided to retire. But now he's escaping to a place he's never been before, without financial security and an ounce of life experience. 23 years he had lived if you can call that living. People imagine superheroes to be like their on-duty selves, hanging out with their partners, at all times ready to go back on their crusade against evil, semi-gods. N/A was nothing like that. Despite having the might of a hundred volcanoes, he felt weak. Anytime he'd remove that costume and have to interact normally he'd feel completely lost and vulnerable. The vast majority of his life had been spent behind shut doors, losing himself in games, stories and other distractions, always too wary of what others would think of him had he gone into the world. From his early days, he was homeschooled, being told by his mother that he was 'too smart for school", despite never showing much genius at all.
His social relationships were restricted to his mother and the psychiatrist that would come a few times per month to 'assess' his state. It didn't expand much more as he grew older and was discovered by HeroKorp, who groomed him not to become a successful socialite but to fight monsters and appear good in front of lenses. He never made friends there. The only person with whom he grew accustomed was Fabius, his 'manager', whose mere memory was sufficient for N/A's facial expression to turn to disgust.
Brushing away all deep thoughts, he decided to immortalize the view. He turned his back to the window and grabbed his bag down from the top shelf. The zipper opened, and he buried his hand into it, soon pulling out a dashingly new camera. He turned again and waited for the ideal shot, he had it when the view cleared up and next to the Arbaaz Tower the world's biggest dove stood above its golden dome. It was Janisbure's Peace Stadium, generously donated by the city's top magnate. Satisfied with his shot, he went back to his seat. 5 minutes later the train stopped.
There he was! Finally! But he had not emitted any sigh of relief while standing in front of the train station. Instead, he was sweating. The temperature in Janisbure was exceptionally high, it's a tropical place after all. However, N/A's problem wasn't with the temperature; in fact, he never felt too hot in his whole life, which is to be expected from someone who vomits flames. The heat he felt wasn't from the sun but from the realization that there he was! Finally! Left all alone, without guidance, free to roam the world...free get his head bitten off. He was nothing more than a little fish that lived in a flower jar all his life, and there he was, in Janisbure, having made himself the choice to jump into a pond of sharks. If only he was above, he could burn his problems away as easily as he had burned that giant hedgehog above Andostaadt. But he couldn't do it where he was now, miles under water.
He looked around, seeking the 'contact' that Fabius had promised him. Finally, his green iris caught a sign spelling out "Bardislav Azrufin". A complete slaughter of his new name, but it was to be expected. He himself wasn't familiar with Taigaian names, not really knowing why he was given one anyway. He walked hastily towards the short man holding the sign, introducing himself as Borislav Azurfin. He let the sympathetic cab driver put his luggage in the trunk, while he took his seat and looked out the window. The driver soon came in and turned the engine one, grabbing a piece of paper above the dashboard, he asked: "So, Walnut Wharf, Vayner Avenue, 19 Wallow Street?". N/A frowned and reached for his pocket, unfolding out the form he had tried filling earlier. Reading the address on top of it, he confirmed with a "yes", but the driver was still looking at him through the rear-view mirror. It went on for a bit before N/A realized he had spoken too softly, "Yes, Wal-lnut Wharf, Vayner Avenue, 19 Wal-low Stre-et" he added, this time making himself heard.
As the car roamed across the city's roads and passed by multitudes of flashy buildings, N/A was torn between yawning and gasping at the city. The driver picked up on it and visibly disturbed by the silence tried to initiate a talk; "Didn't sleep well?" he asked, "I...just didn't sleep-at all" N/A answered, in a fluid manner. His anxiety had already toned down by a lot, simply feeling the comfort of the seat and not seeing who he's talking to allowed him to relax. "You flew straight from Kamongard?" the driver inquired, making the passenger's brow raise at once. "I didn't fly... I took the train" the latter replied. "But you were just at the airport?", the short man scratched his neck. It left N/A open-mouthed, trying to dig up mental images from the train station. He looked back and tried to locate the station that was then far away. He didn't see it, yet he clearly saw an airport tower nearby. Was it possible the train station was next to the airport? It wouldn't have been unheard of, and since he was paying little attention to the building once out of the train, he might not have noticed. N/A suggested, "It's possible they're in the same place...I think", "It is, I'm not really familiar with this part of the city either." the driver added.
N/A didn't know if he should add anything, he just stayed quiet, observing the city.