It was far past dinner time once Lawrence finished up with his work. It was worth it, though: after today, he wouldn't have to work again for the rest of the year, and being cheap, probably part of the next one as well (setting aside, of course, the debugging and aesthetic reprogramming part which was fairly easy to do and a lot less mind-taxing)

By that time, however, he was so hungry he felt he could eat a whole truckload of food. Maybe the truck as well, he wasn't in the mood for being picky.

Deciding a decent food would be better than a chunk of metal, oil and rubber, he left the studio and headed downstairs for dinner. Because he was really hungry, he decided quality wasn't a priority over quantity... Or quickness. In the end, he made himself a pot of porridge. It turned out blander than what he would've liked it, but the fact he could eat it so fast without choking was a nice plus.

Meanwhile, his mind gravitated inevitably to the matter of Wakening Season.

Saying he didn't want to see a nice notification window notifying him he had gotten a power... That would be a lie. Lawrence was a human, after all. The prospect of being different of others, better than others... it should feel great, to know you weren't just a part of the crowd. More than once today he had caught himself thinking what the lucky ones would do once they saw themselves as Heroes, or what kind of awesome powers the newest metas had gotten.

That thought was drowned by his realism. The chance of actually turning into a meta for each Wakening Season was less than one a in two hundred. In the whole world. It could be even lower in Plaza, his quiet corner of Worne YK where nothing interesting ever really happened. It was known that certain outstanding actions could improve your chance of being chosen (meta-factor for four-eyed scientist who handled the business), but that only got him even less encouraged. Lawrence's life had been so utterly devoid of any important events he often wondered if he was just another NPC in someone else's life. There was just no way someone like him would be the lucky bastard who got his power in the final hours of Wakening Season...!

Or so he told himself, each time he looked at the microwave counting the minutes left before November 30 was officially over and Wakening Season ended. He felt stupid for still keeping that sliver of hope. His stomach had grown sick of the nervousness. He felt even more miserable. And partially embarassed. What would Dean say if he saw him like this? Nothing good, most likely. Would he laugh? Probably. Probably tease him for the next couple of years with it.

"This isn't doing me any good" he decided. Torturing himself with false hopes wasn't his idea of a nice start for vacations. No: he wouldn't let Wakening Season ruin the beginning of a long period of restfulness. With that thought in mind, Lawrence stood up violently, accidentally throwing his chair to the floor.

After awkwardly picking it up and leaving it back in place, and absently washing the dishes, he reached for a dusty coat hanging near the door and decided to take a quick jog, to relieve himself from the stress.

Yeah, that would be for the best, he told himself.

•••••

The weather was even colder than usual, and for Plaza's climate, that was saying a lot. Lawrence cursed a wave of chilling wind that had almost blown away his coat. Refusing to lose, he kept jogging even after he had stopped feeling his hands and his bones felt like they had been carved out of his body, kept for days in a freezer and then placed back on their place. More than once he was forced to stop in a nearby shop just to catch a breath of air that didn't try to turn his lungs into ice cubes. Fortunately, one of them sold winter clothes, so he happily bought a much thicker coat, a couple of winter gloves and a scarf. That, among with the cup of black coffee, helped a lot with the weather, and soon, he felt a lot better about his night jogging.

Feeling quite optimistic (which was strange for him) and having completely forgotten about Wakening Season, Lawrence happily hummed a cheery tone, with his hands on his pockets and enjoying the tingling feeling of feeling his palms again. He felt so good, in fact, that he failed to notice the person running straight at him and just as oblivious to his presence.

By the time they had noticed, it was to late: the stranger, who was noticeably shorter than him, rammed their head on his chest. Suddenly thrown out of balance, he was thrown to the ground, and the other person crashed on top of him.

"Ouch!" Lawrence cursed: the blow sucked all the air out of his lungs. A second later, he realized what had just happened, and pulling the stranger away from his chest and helping them to stand up, he tried to apologize.

"Oh, I'm sorry" he mumbled, taking a better look at the figure standing before him. His apologize turned into a scream of surprise he didn't completely manage to silence.

It was a girl. Surprisingly young, at that. She had a plain expression on her face, like someone who didn't quite understand what they were being told.

What had taken Lawrence by surprise, however, was her... Peculiar attire. Her chestnut hair was almost entirely hidden by the hood of what seemed to be a... Caterpillar-themed parka? Red sweat pants were everything shielding her of the soul-chilling cold of the mid-winter night, and a pair of red sneakers, a different shade than the pants, squeaked as she stood up. A gold and red scarf covered her mouth and nose, exposing nothing but her emerald round eyes, curiously staring at him. All her clothes looked very old and filthy: there were some holes in her sweat pants and a part of her caterpillar parka looked partially burnt. She wasn't in the best of shapes either, and he was glad his own scarf helped with the stench of old papers coming from her.

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"Eh... I'm sorry?" He repeated himself, absently.

"Mucho gusto. I am Pollito" she said tilting her head to a side.

"What?"

"Nothing. It was a joke..." Her eyes kept staring at him. He started to feel uncomfortable.

"Errr, right... Well..." He considered what to say for a second, still distracted by the girl's... peculiarity. "Are you alright?" He finally managed to say.

"Compared to Ricky Harbor's uppercuts? Please, I should pay you the massage..." She waved her hand. Lawrence wondered if he was supposed to get the reference.

"Right, well, I'll, umm... Go... Over here" he tentatively tried to walk away from here, and seeing how she wasn't stopping him, his cautious walking turned into a quasi-jogging. The girl let out a casual "good bye" like he hadn't just crashed with her, and went her own way, quickly vanishing in the darkness of night.

Lawrence kept idly jogging for a few minutes. His mind was still going back to the strange girl. Who was she, anyways? Nobody I'd like to know he told himself. There was something... Unsettling about her. He had this feeling, like something was not quite right about her.

"Of course it doesn't" he thought out loud. "She looked... Well..." Not entirely with herself? With a bunch of loose screws? Cuckoo? Crazy? Yeah, that was probably the reason.

He did his best to ignore the strange feeling (which wasn't much, truth being told). The air had grown colder, and now puffs of white mist came out of his mouth every time he breathed, like the smoke of a cigarette.

Lawrence took this a sign that it was time to go back, and, never stopping his jogging, walked back the cold streets of night Plaza, to the coziness of home.

•••••

The hours following his comeback were just as cathartic as the evening escapade. Locking himself in the studio, Lawrence spent the next couple of hours for his sole entertainment. Games, anime, music, books: he enjoyed every single second of his time, the start of his vacations. The thought of Wakening Season ending was completely forgotten, and right now, nothing more serious than deciding which videogame he liked the most disturbed his mental peace.

By the time he had run out of fuel, and his eyelids felt too heavy to stay awake, it was almost midnight. He looked at the clock.

"It can't be this late... Or early...? I mean, I did lose track of time for a bit but this is..."

What it was or wasn't couldn't be heard, as the sentence was cut by a long and deep yawn. It was time to go to bed, he decided. Starting his vacations was well and all, but getting a headache over it next day wasn't particularly attractive. Besides, Lawrence wanted to spend at least a couple of hours tomorrow editing the raw code. The time for the deadline was closing in.

But he didn't want to think of any of that right now. No, it was time to go to bed. Let me worry about that tomorrow, he thought. I'll deal with it later.

He stumbled all the way to his bed, fighting with a couple of wobbly half-asleep legs and eyes refusing to stay open. The mattress felt even softer than ever, almost embracing him in a cottony hug...

His eyes closed and, this time, refused to open again.

Lawrence entered a state of extreme drowsiness, barely awake...

But for some reason, he couldn't fall completely asleep.

His stomach felt really hot, like a bubble of scorching magma, and his impossibility to open his eyes and move to vent out the discomfort made it all even worst. It felt like being trapped in his own body, with nowhere to run. And once again, he had to face the truth, the reason why he couldn't sleep.

I wonder how many minutes are left before Wakening Season is over...

He felt pathetic. Being a child was one thing. But he was an adult! Why couldn't he move on like everybody else? He could still hear the noisy guy next door and his terrible music. He probably wasn't affected by this whole thing. No: Lawrence was probably the only one in the whole Plaza concerned about something like the end of Wakening Season.

At that moment, he would've given everything to be the guy he was cursing early morning today. Carefree. Oblivious to all troubles.

Forget it. Let go.

But he couldn't. Why now, he asked. Why now, if I was perfectly fine the last Wakening Season? And this one as well, he hadn't paid attention to it this time, either. It was precisely today that he started worrying about that.

It's all fault of that morning news TV program.

And there he was, blaming others for his own problems. Now he felt even worst, and more childish.

"Agh, fuck it all. I'm too old to be dealing with this shit."

He forced himself, much against his will, to open his eyes, stand up and go back to the kitchen. There, in an ebony cabinet with silver filigrees, he found the plastic bottle he was looking for and, without even drinking water, gulped two sleep pills.

"There. You can't worry about shit if you can't think about it."

And so, he once again forced himself to go upstairs once more. This time, as soon as he fell on his bed, he fell asleep like a rock...

It was about that time when a mischievous deity decided to intervene in the plans of a power-hungry Hero and his plans of conquest.

Individual Lawrence Lakewood has reached critical levels of Meta-Factor. Congratulations, Lawrence Lakewood! You are now a part of the chosen people. You will be given a meta-ability and a moral alignment. Enjoy your new exciting life!

Your meta-ability is Criminal Mastermind: Every action taken, voluntarily or otherwise, has a chance of triggering a chain of reactions that will eventually favor yourself. Passive Ability --- Rank: C

Your moral alignment is Villain. May the Utmost Evil grant you strength!

There was a high-pitched sound. Lawrence’s eyes opened, his body tensed, and he frantically looked for the source of the noise.