Rule #4: I wouldn’t bother the world as long as it didn't bother me.

Yes, magnanimous me would willingly resign myself to a life of absolute normalcy as my act of great service to this world, so long as it didn’t bother me. Not a small feat since I hadn’t experienced thinking like a normal person. Neither could I relate to such.

However, I was quite adept at approximating an average person’s actions in most situations.

As the saying goes—it’s the actions that count.

That’s the correct saying, right?

One might wonder why my main rule wasn’t Rule #1. Simple. My Rules were numbered in the order they were established. Rule #1 mandated that I always stir any liquid back and forth instead of in the usual circular manner. Dad stirred his coffee this way, one of my earliest memories. Pretty kid me decided it was going to be my first Rule.

Did it make sense? Not really. Just an impressionable child copying her father. But no one questions the Rules.

Not even me. Especially not me.

Dad influenced my first few Rules, including Rule #4. He’d tell me, “Be a good person if only not to add to the bad people in the world. There are more than enough of them already.” Something like that. Hard to recall his exact words because it had been so long since we last talked.  

Not sure what other parents taught their kids, but even as a child, I sensed that Dad’s life lesson was odd. The way he phrased it… he could’ve stopped at ‘be a good person.’ He might’ve suspected that his beloved daughter wasn’t exactly normal. Sadly, or the approximation of sadness I could muster, I couldn’t confirm if my guess was correct because he’d been dead for nearly ten years.

Dead in an official way.

Many people, especially Mom, believed that he was recruited by the CoreBring Hive, with his death a cover to keep us safe.  Me? Sure, I’d buy that story. The circumstances surrounding his car accident were funky—also, no body at the funeral. 

Though he might be truly dead by now, killed by an Adumbrae during some mission of the Hive. It wasn’t exactly a safe line of work.

While Dad chose to be a good person by virtue of his moral compass pointing the socially agreed upon right direction, I, on the other hand, having no such compass, chose to approximate a good person out of consideration for everyone. In the end, I did follow Dad’s advice… somehow.

Call it good manners, like not chewing loudly in a restaurant because that’s super annoying and disgusting for the people at the next table over. In turn, I'd appreciate it if other people had the decency to leave me alone. I was already doing my best to be a run-of-the-mill citizen.

Hence, Rule #4.

Little did I know that I was going to get bothered today. 

---

 

Back and forth, back and forth, I stirred my cup of chamomile tea, staring at the strings of golden honey dissolving in it, inhaling its relaxing fumes. Don’t hit the sides, or something terrible will happen, I continuously chanted in my head, timing each stroke of the spoon with a syllable. Nothing scientific about it, and it wasn’t like any culture believed that hitting the sides of a cup while stirring brought bad luck.

Still, remember Rule #1.

My vibrating phone on the grey linoleum table snapped me out of my mini-ritual, its gentle buzz echoing in the empty cafeteria. “January 20, 2020, 6:57 a.m., Sunrise, La Esperanza City, California”, the screen displayed.

Thusly, the sun rose, welcoming the start of a brand-new day the world should count itself lucky I had Rules restraining my cute self.

I took my cup and walked to the window walls overlooking the West Coast. The sun’s rays crept over the horizon, running over the expansive waters. An ominous jagged tower protruding from the blue blanket that was the Pacific Ocean, the Black Spire, blocked the sunlight's journey. The shadow cast by the Spire continued traveling across the ocean in the light's stead.

Enjoying the serenity I monopolized, I took small sips of tea while watching the shadow crawl toward the shore. A faint reflection of my innocent-looking face—handy for blending in—stared back at me off the otherwise transparent glass.

At the start of my first semester at law school, the cafeteria was the prowling grounds of wide-eyed freshmen. Come early enough in the morning, and one could set up a pretentious study nook with stands to cradle thick law books, a whole platoon of highlighters representing all the colors of the rainbow arrayed like ammunition for artillery, a laptop to the side that wouldn’t be used, and stacks of printed notes.

Fuck the trees. Law students needed to use highlighters and loudly flip through pages to display how hardworking they were.

I didn’t like studying if there were lots of people around, so I avoided the cafeteria then. After a while, my fellow 1Ls noticed the upperclassmen didn’t study at the cafeteria. They immediately left after eating. We soon learned one of the campus legends—whoever studied in view of the Black Spire wouldn’t graduate. Consequently, everyone came to the cafeteria only for lunch or coffee, studying elsewhere.

And now, two weeks into the second semester, this was my own private study area in the morning before the food service people came in to prepare lunch. Law students were some of the most superstitious people on the planet, though the Black Spire thing wasn’t that farfetched considering its story.

Taking out my phone, I aimed its camera at the Spire and tried to get a closer look with zoom. Just the usual spinal spike of a gargantuan interdimensional monster that renovated the West Coast by sinking hundreds of square miles of land, including the people on it, into the ocean.

Stories about ghosts emerging from the waters were common. And this is the remains of an Adumbrae Titan. Could it radiate some bad juju? Probably not. The government wouldn’t allow people so close to it if it weren’t safe, right? They could've removed the whole skeleton instead of leaving part as a monument to the tragedy.

Anyway, that wasn’t one of my Rules, so here I was while everyone else packed into the library.

I finished my tea and went back to my table to study. An hour to go before International Law.

I was reading the fifth case from the section of the syllabus assigned for today's class when my phone buzzed again. A text from Amber Deen, our class monitor-slash-beadle by default. She asked me where I was and that we should go to class together.

Part of Rule #4 was that I’d be friends with everyone—an approximation of friendship. The concept of being friends was easy enough, but I didn’t know what my feelings were supposed to be toward said someone. Not really important. What was important was that I acted friendly. If everyone considered me a friend, that meant I wasn’t a bother to anyone.

Yet, I always stopped short of actually entering into a close-knit circle of friends.

First, no one would feel chummy-chummy enough to bother me. Second, the way to be friends with everyone was not to be close friends with a select few. And last, it required much effort to be a close friend, as I understood.

But for some weird reason, Amber Deen adopted me as her close friend. A best friend even.

Annoying as fuck.

I sighed, texting back, “Sure, I’m at the cafeteria.”

Checking my appearance on my phone’s camera, I ticked off the components of my timid-nerdy-girl face.

Just a light touch of makeup to achieve the supposedly no makeup look—pale girls like me were like vampire victims if we didn’t have makeup on. I ruffled my black wavy hair just a bit so it wouldn’t look like I was particularly interested in my appearance. A bit of a slouch, a bowing neck, and to finish it off, I wore my glasses.

These were not prescription glasses; my eyesight was very much fine. I wore them because they were an integral part of my face for law school.

Face, not mask.

All of my faces were real for every person I tailored them for. Calling it a mask implied I was hiding something beneath, that it was something that would be taken off, and that the person viewing it would know in the future what I was hiding. But the person I made a face for would never know what was on the other side.

As far as they were concerned, what I presented to them was my real face.

My current face was to make me look as unthreatening as possible to the enormous egos of law students, female law students especially—an important factor in being friends with everyone.

“Erind?” Amber Deen’s head poked through the doors of the cafeteria. “Yoo-hoo, Erind.” When she saw me waving at her, she swung open the door and strode in.

Amber Deen was the poster girl for the A-type personality, and there were many of those in law school. Immaculate blonde hair and corporate makeup—how she found the time this early in the morning, I had no idea—and dressed too formally for a law school class. Navy blue skirt suit over a pristine white camisole and black heels with sharpened tips that wouldn't look out of place as an exhibit for a murder case—the kind of outfit you wore for an interview for law school, in contrast to my usual attire of shirt and jeans.

Overly casual clothes while going to the prestigious Cresthorne College of Law signaled non-conformity and a hint of rebelliousness, a dab of personality injecting independence to my otherwise diminutive persona. I did bring along a blazer for classes with strict professors who wanted everyone to dress as if we were going to court—they couldn’t see I was wearing jeans under the table anyway.

“Hi, Deen.” 

People usually called her Amber. Most weren't aware of her second name, Deen. A likely play on Aberdeen, as she had mentioned she was part Scottish. I called her by her second name to set myself apart from others and make an impression on her, making it easier to be her friend. My plan worked a little too well, and she thought we were close.

"Studying here again?” she said. “How I wish societal pressures of irrational traditions didn’t bind me."

“Silence is very conducive to learning.” I jerked my thumb towards the Spire. “And I know you don’t believe that nonsense.”

“I don’t believe it. Not entirely, anyway. But—”

“But it couldn’t hurt following it,” I finished. That was what people here always said.

Deen grinned. We’ve had this discussion several times already. “Let’s go. Class starts in twenty minutes. I must confirm with Adrian my understanding of the third case assigned.”

“Patterson v. Washington State? Twenty minutes to discuss that? You just want to talk to Adrian.”

“Nu-uh. It’s a complicated case, especially how it shaped the modern transformation of the ‘humanity above all’ principle.”

“Everyone’s making it more complicated than it should be. The main point is… there’s no point trying to sue—”

“—the superheroes saving humanity?”

“—the people who can grind cities to dust.”

Deen laughed at what she thought was a joke. Most people assumed I had dark humor when I said what I had in mind. “You can’t answer the bar exams with that,” she said. “Come on, let’s go already.”

I didn't want to riffle through my closet of faces earlier than I had to, but appearances had to be kept. Mingling with the student body was a mandatory part of upholding normalcy. It was also needed to keep my faces updated. As a consolation, observing people interact with each other was enjoyable, especially law students. Resigned to my fate for the day, I packed my things.

“Who’s that?” Deen said, looking at someone behind me. “Kelsey?”

“Someone else was here?” I said, surprised.

A girl with wiry disheveled hair stood at the far end of the cafeteria. She gazed towards the ocean with sunken eyes. I may have seen her before, but the name Kelsey didn't ring a bell. It meant I hadn’t interacted with her yet and crafted the appropriate face.

“That’s Kelsey, right?” Deen asked. “From Section 2?”

I shrugged. “Guess so…”

“Kelsey, hello," Deen called out. "Is everything fine?” This Kelsey girl didn't seem to have heard her. “Didn’t know someone other than you stays here this early in the morning,” Deen whispered.

“Neither did I.”

Not sure how Kelsey, if that was really her name, entered the cafeteria without me noticing. I had a full view of the cafeteria door. Had she entered while my head was down, reading my notes, or facing the window, I still would’ve heard the door open or her footsteps. I was about to suggest we should go and leave her alone, but that didn’t sound like something a good person should say.

Instead, I said, “She looks sick. Do you think she needs help?”

Deen nodded and approached Kelsey, as was my expected reaction after passing her the chance to take charge. I wasn’t going near this weirdo. “Are you okay?” she said to Kelsey. Again, no response. Deen reached out to pat her shoulder.

Kelsey suddenly jerked back, her body convulsing.

I sure do hope those aren't her bones cracking. It sounded like almonds opened by a nutcracker amplified by a megaphone. Kelsey scratched her face with such ferocity that she drew red lines of blood. Deen fell back in surprise and landed on her butt. Kelsey clawed at her face more vigorously, shouting, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

“Deen, come here,” I hesitantly ran towards them.

Before I got close, Kelsey shrieked at an inhumanly high grating pitch, ten times more painful than the worst microphone feedback I had experienced.

“Fucking bitch,” I inadvertently spat out, covering my ears. I turned to Deen to see if she noticed me cursing out of character. She was transfixed on Kelsey’s bloodied face.

Kelsey rushed to the windows, screaming, “I’ll die a human!”.

“Wait, wha—?” I said. A human? My mind focused on that one line.

“No!” said Deen, picking herself up to go after Kelsey.

But it was too late. Kelsey smashed through the glass, the sunlight bouncing off the broken shards framing her in golden shimmers. Screams grew faint as she fell to the waters below. Then we couldn’t hear her anymore.

After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, Deen cried out. “Oh my god!”

There should be rocks below. Even if Kelsey missed them, we were on the fourth floor, plus the cliff’s height. High chance she’d be too hurt to swim. Suicide right after my morning tea wasn’t…my cup of tea. Thank you for coming to my show. Applause, please.

I noticed Deen’s horrified look. Wait, what’s the appropriate reaction here? “Oh my god!” I echoed her. “Help! We should get help!” Embarrassingly lame and forced—I lacked practice pretending to be shocked. “There are rocks below,” I added, covering my mouth and approximating a panicked face, hoping that’d distract her from my delayed reaction.

“You’re right.” She rushed to the smashed window and peered over the opening. “I can’t see Kelsey! Come, help me look.”

Help you look for a dead body? Eww, gross. No way. “I’ll call for help,” I said, dialing campus security. They came five minutes later while Deen continued to look for Kelsey in the waves.

My morning wasn’t going well. Pretending to be distressed about what happened to Kelsey for five minutes was five minutes too long—bothering me to the max!

While pretending to care about someone who possibly killed herself, as an average empathetic human should, my thoughts went back to what Kelsey said. Something about dying as a human?

Is she… an Adumbrae?

I had no personal encounters with Adumbrae or someone in the initial seeding stages. Not interested in being anywhere near one of them anytime soon. I liked my peaceful life, thank you very much.

Watch it, world. Tone down with the shenanigans, I warned inside my head.