A tall girl wearing a large white sun hat decorated with a red thread, twisted along the flap, made her entrance. Her slender body was covered by a large white sweater, decorated with various lines of blue and golden yellow. A trouser of the same color as the sweater crowned her clothing, giving it a very summery look.
What Klint noticed most was her embarrassed smile and her eyes, so deep and magnetic yet full of joy and vivacity despite the intense blue. She walked waving her hips, but without appearing vulgar or allusive, as if it were her way of moving normally.
Klint slowly stood up and smiled, approaching the girl to give her a hand. Monica herself pushed him.
< Pleasure... Lance Klint.> It turned out obviously embarrassed by the girl. She, too, quite shy, extended her trembling hand, clutching it at her faintly.
Klint held his hands over his abdomen, staring straight ahead. Without emitting a sound and squeezing as much as possible, avoiding making his presence tangible to the two, in the meantime, they were busy understanding what the boy was doing stuck between them.
< Damn, what do I do? I look strange? I occupy too much space? Do they expect me to do anything? > Panic was taking full control of his mind. Fortunately, the embarrassment dissipated when another figure appeared in the room, going down the stairs and avoiding the lonely boy.
He stood in front of Klint, checking him from top to bottom, as if he were looking at a precious bracelet trying to determine whether it was authentic or a fake. He beat his forehead, arousing his paranoia.
The figure was about the same height as Klint and was completely wrapped in a white coat decorated with blue circular patterns, while the rest of the clothing consisted of black stretch trousers and a particular black wide-brimmed hat with the same motifs as the coat.
A strange mechanical device appeared outside the collar of the dress and pressed slightly against the back of the neck, attracting the attention of Lance, who refrained from pronouncing any sound while the figure saw both recruits. A silver flask, identical to the ones Klint always saw in the hands of drunkards in the alleys at night, appeared from his pocket.
Klint and Jeanne stood up suddenly, both holding his hand while shaking it.
Klint noticed better the man now standing in front of him: he was very young and well-groomed, his face cut and especially attractive thanks to the red color of his eyes, very unusual but at the same time intriguing. However, one detail came to Klint's nostrils, a subtle but potent smell of alcohol. From under the hat, a black tuft appeared, slightly covering the forehead while smiling at both.
He said, walking towards the corridor, waving his hand backward and grabbing the flask.
Klint added looking around. The whole situation seemed surreal to him and he definitely couldn't believe he'd ended up in such a place.
He was a boy with thick black hair, long on the back of his neck and with a bit of freckle on his cheek. The rest of his face covered with a brown scarf with an ochre cube pattern. His face was young and defined.
The green and wide coat swayed as he slowly descended the stairs, continuing his opening speech in a harsh and cruel tone.
Monica clenched her fists, and a series of feelings rushed into her heart, a varied mixture of sensations overtaking her judgment. Klint could see the pain in her eyes and the resentment in her grasp, but the girl just lifted her head.
Maliard looked at her almost disgusted, until a strong blow on his cheek forced him to turn his head and let go. Klint shook his hand slightly to regain sensitivity, he had hit the boy hard. He could notice the finger marks on her fair skin and especially the tingling on her hand. Klint had been seized by an instant of anger and had snapped in the rush of the moment.
He said slowly approaching the boy who had just turned with an expression of indignation and anger.
Maliard began to squeeze his wrist, noticing with surprise that there was no way to move it from there. Turning the body, the boy violently hit Klint in the chest with the heel of the shoe, forcing him to back. Klint coughed a couple of times, but that wasn't enough to stop him from getting closer to Maliard, who had begun to take off his glove.
One hand took Klint from behind him, clinging to his shoulder. The boy rolled his head, noticing Net, still shaken by Maliard's comment.
He asked him almost imperatively, staring at him in the eyes.
< I accept with pleasure! > Klint put his hand smiling but keeping around him a severe and saturated air of resentment. Maliard refused the handshake, turning and slowly walking toward the corridor, settling his long glove.
Klint was left standing in the middle of the room and forced to listen to the voices of the people around him. In the tense air there were rumors of various statements and comments such as "he is crazy", "he has no hope", "waste of staff" but this did not change his intent.
Monica forced him to turn around and as soon as she could see his face, she hit him hard with a slap. Klint turned his head to soften the blow, but he was not surprised, his move had been selfish.
Monica let go, looking down, and without saying a word, she walked down the hall, dragging Jeanne with her, still stunned. The room immediately began to empty and after a short while, Klint remained alone, surrounded by white walls and the sound of gears and doors.
He was talking to himself, trying to put the situation back in the palm of his hands.
Klint was demoralized and after 30 minutes was still almost at the beginning.
He picked it up in curiosity: a yellowish sheet full of notes and scribbles, probably one of those that Lucas had dropped.
It was the continuation of the document on the categorization of the Meta. The large bold title clarified the content of the dossier: "WAYS AND PROCEDURES OF CATEGORIZATION".
Klint began to read the sheet, swiping with his eyes in fury all the details about the categories and how to reach them.
"A Meta's skills can be sharpened just as any other talent or physical characteristic is honed, so the core classes can simply be the extension of that talent to their limit. Zwei in fact means two in the West Northest dialect, indicating a doubling or an evolution of the subject while Schritt (Progress) and Herrscher (Sovereign) result in an obvious evolution of the ability. This is probably due not only to training but also to a greater understanding and attunement to your own frequency, as seen in the previous papers."
Klint read , seized by curiosity towards that piece of paper. The section on the Korrupt category was interrupted, erased by a series of disturbing and sharp ink lines.
Klint had reached the last paragraph and was almost losing hope, but a footnote caught his attention.
"Subjects categorized as Singular are exceptions for categories: Irre who maintain the mind even in impossible conditions or Herrscher who do not present a direct evolution of the ability but only an extension in it are some examples, While Nulls are existences completely outside the scope of our experiments, their frequency is so intricate that it is impossible to study and their characteristics are too varied and unique to fit into a single category."
A long, curved arrow of ink drew Klint's attention to a particular set of notes.
"As proof of my thesis, the frequency of a Meta can be perceived as a flow of electricity or a feeling of cold that extends from the center of the head to the fingers or the rest of the body depending on their tuning. A subject labeled as a Null probably perceives its frequency as something more intimate and personal, as the vast majority of subjects responded positively to the description of the sensation when using their abilities. Given my theory about the origin of a frequency in an individual, the discharge seems to be directly emitted by the brain or heart."
Klint squeezed the paper, realizing that he had ruined it, and jumped, trying to smooth it on the table, but not satisfied with the result he left it on the same. He clenched his fists, knowing that he had made progress in his strategy.
< So this Frequency I have to understand how to perceive and channel it to do something with it, but how? I don't remember that feeling being like an electric shock or chills. > Klint began to breathe slowly, trying to remember all the events of the last days.
The creatures, Monica, the file, the pain, the sky, the blood and finally, almost like a flash, the memory of the figure in the fog flashed in his brain, with a strong pain attached.
The cold and distant but at the same time so close and comfortable warmth of the figure, of his hand, and his reborn limbs had returned to his mind. In his nerves, he could feel a faint sensation, that same and unique sensation.
Enduring the pain, he clung to the feeling that flowed through his synapses and flesh. His face twisted in a grimace of pain as he perceived his hands extinguishing and almost breaking because of that uneven union of heat and cold.
Suddenly a glow appeared in his hands, a black and white sphere that emanated a whitish and pale light. The ball floated in Klint's hands and with his fingers he managed to control it, directing it around the room. The eerie globe fell on him, almost entering his forehead, as if he wanted to return to his origin.
His happiness was put on pause when he noticed that less than 10 minutes were left before the challenge and as if it were not enough a female robotic voice caught him by surprise, lightly stunning him and making him awake warily.
Klint rose, with a new force that gave his strategy the confidence it lacked. He had been thrown into that world with enthusiasm and now he was being tested.
< This will be my first assignment in this new life! Everything for a minimum of progress! > He hummed his old motto as he warmed his shoulders, walking towards the light blue road.