In the Shadows We Fight (for justice and ourselves)

Who is the hero?

A young man sits in a waiting room with uncomfortable plastic chairs and achingly off-white painted walls. There were a few generic paintings on the wall of landscapes that were beautiful but vague enough to be a rendition of anywhere. The young man slouches in one of the plastic chairs in the corner, playing around with the fabric of his pants. It was clear from the way he dressed that he was there for an important reason. It was not often he wore a suit, but he had made sure that he looked the best he possibly could. He even had his suit ironed at a professional dry cleaners before he showed up for the appointment, and he had spent half the morning on various videos on the internet that were meant to teach him how to properly tie his tie. For the most part, he looked like he belonged there. It was his philosophy that looking the part was half the battle. The other part of the battle was solidifying the fact that he was fit for the part.

He had been there for a little while. He wasn't sure when he was going to be called in for the interview. He figured that waiting for the interview was actually part of the process. They wanted to see how he dealt with stress and how he would react under pressure. He was fine, though. He was a little nervous, obviously, but who wouldn't be when they were being presented with the opportunity for all their dreams to come true with the only caveat being to impress one interviewer? A little case of dithers was nothing to get worked up about. All he needed was a deep breath and to remind himself of his resolute will. He would survive not only the excessively long wait, but he would also pass the interview with flying colors. He would have everything he wanted. He was prepared to beg, grovel, and lie if that was necessary.

The door that led deeper into the building swung open with a low pitched creak. A woman stepped out of the hallway into the waiting room. She looked around the room before her gaze settled on the young man. She had black hair combed over to hide one of her eyes, but the one he could see was sharp and fox-like. She looked him up and down before gesturing for him to follow her. She didn't wait for him to get up. She just turned around, and he was left scrambling to follow her. He couldn't let her get too far away lest he get lost, but he didn't want to rush because that would seem unprofessional.

The woman led him to a room that was oddly similar to the waiting room. The walls were painted the same color with a collection of paintings as ambiguous as the others. The main difference was this room was smaller with a table surrounded by chairs. The other room was all chairs and a couple of magazines thrown in one of the seats. The woman sat down in the chair that faced the door they entered through. The young man slid into the seat across from her. The woman put a manilla folder on the table, flipping it open to a set of papers. The papers were filled with questions and lines, but it was blank in the answer portion. He guessed the interview was going to start immediately.

"Please state your name, age, and date of birth," The woman said, placing a pen to the top of the page, ready to write down everything he said. He took a steady breath to mentally prepare himself. The moment his mouth opened, he would be laying himself bare for this woman to judge him for everything he is currently worth and everything he could be worth to the institution he was applying for. He wasn't scared about that. He didn't mind this brief moment of complete honesty and vulnerability. No, he was more terrified of failure. This was his dream, right in front of him, taunting him. He could hold onto his dream, and he needed to. This woman could snatch it away from him if she saw him unfit.

"My name is Eryn Cyberonix. I am seventeen years old. I was born on July 29th," The young man said. That was the easy stuff, he knew. He could tell just about anyone his name and age. It wasn't enough for anyone to truly understand who he was. No, the heart of the storm had yet to wash over him.

"State your place of birth and your current address," The woman continued after writing down what he told her on the paper with her pen.

Eryn took a deep breath. He didn't like discussing that part of his origin, but he had gone over the facts in his head long enough. He had discussed at length with himself whether he should lie or be vague. He decided that he would need to tread a very fine line between ambiguous and veracity. "I was born in the country of the Nether. My mother is a native from there, but my father came from Essempei. When my parents were killed in a fire, I moved in with my father's parents in the Las Nevadas district on the coast. I've been there ever since."