He spent the next few months in frantic research, dropping every project before in a desperate attempt to gather as much evidence of the cycle as he could. He was a sociologist and he knew the nature of social constructs such as the cycle. They were backed by the full force of society. To reject it was to face the full force of society's disapproval, an act beyond the capacity of any man. Society defines man, and to face its disapproval is to be warped into something else.

Therefore, Harvey thought, the way forward was to convince society of the threat and together change it. But in order to do that, he needed to be heard. So he gathered evidence, wrote papers, and read the book with a single goal in mind.

The next convention.

—------------------------

This time, as Harvey walked through the door, he immediately turned to the center of the dick-measuring. It was regrettable but those people, who Harvey now recognized as the end goal of the cycle, were the ones that wielded power.

Perceived power is power, and some people are very good at appearing powerful.

When he finally found them, he hesitated at the doorway.

The ballroom was filled with people in suits, having subdued conversations. Harvey immediately felt inadequate, even with the new suit he was wearing, but he soldiered on. This was a weapon of those at the peak, exclusion. His research had revealed that it was a mechanism of separation, something that made them appear select and high class. Everything here was a status play. It made Harvey sick to see. All of the people here stood at the top of their field, yet instead of working towards something meaningful, practically everything was done for the sake of the hierarchy. With every elevation, their peers would match them and the cycle would continue.

A race to nowhere.

It was almost funny, if it wasn't so depressing.

Harvey took a deep breath and plunged into the shark tank.

Immediately, he felt curious eyes on him. It wasn't often new people joined the group. And a few people drifted over to question him.

Luckily for him, his work was expansive and notable enough to earn him a spot in this group. He just never had because of how they made him feel.

Inadequate.

Another tool of the cycle, punching down. A way of discouraging people from pursuing the peak and therefore becoming competition.

This was a nightmare for him, a never ending barrage of networking and conversation. They all probed him, circling like hungry sharks.

Yet as he remembered Ludon and the chains that bound him, he stood straighter. He had a purpose bigger than these pathetic power plays.

This was a game, a play of sorts. And Harvey, despite his timid nature, had always been an excellent actor.

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His demeanor shifted as he slipped into the role of a man who knew his worth, a man who belonged here. Inside he was sweating bullets, but outside he was every bit the charming scientist.

While being tall certainly sucked at blending in, it was useful for standing out.

The hours passed in a blur, faces merging into one faceless entity, a symbol of the system he sought to break. It was ironic, a bit like making a deal with the devil in order to kill the devil. Of course, in the stories, those plots typically ended badly.

Harvey tried not to fixate on that.

Finally, his shot came, an invitation to the balcony overlooking the ballroom. An invitation from the organizer of this convention, Hark Vlader, a renowned sociologist.

Inside Harvy pictured himself as a man huffing and puffing, his mind on the verge of giving up. But this was his shot. He stood at the feet of the stairs leading to his dreams, and he hesitated. He looked behind him, at the talking people. A few looked back and gave him an acknowledging nod. It felt good. To be recognized by people of such stature, rather than looked down upon. He wondered why he had always avoided these events. With a warm glow in his stomach, he ascended the stairs. When he reached the doors to the balcony, they swung open automatically, revealing the opulence behind.

Immediately, Harvey was reminded why he hated these people. Every single person was dressed in clothes that looked expensive enough to buy a car. Diamond glittered and shoes shone. Every single look he got upon entering was questioning and slightly condescending as if asking who let the mutt in.

Still, he let the role he played shine forth in full brilliance. Brilliance, that here, was barely enough to upgrade him to a human. Internally he was screaming with effort, but externally he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect academic. Engaging people in deep discussions, plunging through the depths of his vocabulary to find the perfect words, he slowly navigated his way through the complex net of social interaction. It was actually fascinating how they organized himself, something he desperately wanted to step back and observe. But every disapproving look made him desperately want to throw himself back into discussion to prove himself. After all, what use was insight if you were the only one that knew it? He needed a voice, and if he let up for a moment the shifting tides of conversation would sweep him away.

Finally, he managed to slip into a conversation with Hark Vlader,

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Vlader.” he said smoothly, extending a hand, “I’m Harvey Marks. PhD.”

Dr. Vlader gave him a considering look before shaking his hand,

“Nice to meet you, Harvey.”

Harvey noticed how he didn't use his title.

After a bit of small talk, Harvey got to the point.

“I’ve recently stumbled upon a small subfield of conflict theory, involving the power dynamics of the elite. I believe it is a subject of great and time-critical importance. I would like to request a speaking slot at next month's conference.”

Dr. Vlader observed him silently second, condescending eyes boring into Harvey’s being. A reminder that he was the one deciding, that he was the one in power.

Finally, he agreed,

“Why not? We’ll contact you later. Now if you excuse me I need to use the bathroom.”

Harvey watched as he walked away, in the opposite direction of the bathroom.

He supposed he had accomplished his mission, but he certainly didn’t feel any better about it. It felt like Dr. Vlader had thrown him a bone rather than help him out.

Regardless, having accomplished his goal he quickly fled the convention. Unable to take a single second more of acting. In his car, he had a small panic attack but afterward felt much better.

It was strange. He had been ignored, recognized, looked down upon, supported, complemented, and even insulted.

He shuddered.

He had not anticipated the strength the cycle pull had reached. So far he had escaped the brunt of it by avoiding it. But now he needed to dive into it to break it.

It was strange.

His mind was filled with fantasies of both validation and destruction.

Not even I knew what would win.