I was upset by the way the Supreme had treated the Visionary.

I knew that the religion was fairly new, but when I joined the monks already believed in it, so I never heard them say anything different.

They always told me we would have to wait for the Visionary, the Messiah who would bring peace to the Earth.

I didn't remember what had happened in my life until a week before, when they found me at the doors of the Monastery, but I'd been told I'd been to other places like that, where I'd learnt to read. However, they said it was strange that I didn't know about Jesus Christ, and told me about him. I could see similiarities with Logar.

But when the Visionary arrived, the monks started throwing stuff at him, demeaning him and asking him things he didn't want to do, like stripping naked in front of everyone.

I couldn't have it, so I gave him my robe.

And when the Visionary arrived, he was a boy my age, small and nothing special, with hair half dyed yellow, so that left me very confused.

The first night, I couldn't sleep, and I wondered, 'this is not what a Visionary should look like'.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't think of Logar Iris as the Messiah, but he seemed like someone who would be a very good friend. I liked the way he defied the Supreme's authority. The more I thought about it, I liked his yellow hair too, and the fact that he flipped the bird at a whole room of monks who apparently believed in him.

The day after, when the monks asked him to make a show of his powers, and he failed, I knew he was very upset. I was sad to see him upset like that.

I followed him when he retreated to his room, and I waited a little before I knocked on the door.

"Yes...?" was the reply, spoken in his usual drawl. I had to count to ten before I found the courage to open the door. I was secretely afraid he'd taken off my robe, and that he would be naked.

I had briefly seen him naked before, when the monks had taken away his clothes, and I was trying to forget everything I'd seen.

"Jonath here," I said. "I want to talk."

Logar opened the door. He wasn't wearing shoes, so I noticed for the first time how small he was, compared to me. He was, thankfully, still wearing my robe.

"I need a new shirt," I added sheepishly.

Logar looked at the robe. It looked like a dress on him. "You call this a shirt?"

He sounded very annoyed, as if he was angry that I was taller than him or something. I don't know. I've always thought you can't really be angry at something like DNA.

"I like your dyed hair," I said, since he wasn't saying anything. "Mine is bleached."

"Wait, what?"

"Yes," I started feeling less anxious. I liked to talk about my hair. "The monks have a storage where they keep all things of kinds. I take the peroxide, or really any other of chemical mixture I can find, and use it once a month to bleach my hair. It's not natural."

"But... what is your natural colour?"

"A dark brown," I replied. "Sometimes, in the light, it's more honey or caramel. I can't explain. Look at the eyebrows, they give it away."

"In case you hadn't noticed, you peroxide blond giraffe," Logar said unkindly. "I can't really look at your face unless I bring a stool."

But I noticed that he was trying to look at my eyes, and that he looked a little unnerved.

"I've never seen anyone with hair like that," Logar scoffed after a while. "And your eyebrows look dark brown, almost black."

"Well, you'll have to believe me when my hair starts growing out again," I said.

"I'll help you bleach it," Logar replied critically. It was a start.

He turned around, and threw himself on the mattress he had in his room. "Sorry," he said. "But I'm a little tired today, as you can probably see, since you can look down on me and all that."

I felt self-conscious of my height. I knelt a little on my legs.

I sat on the mattress. I was still very far from him, but I saw his body tense. I didn't really understand him. I didn't want to do anything bad.

"If you'd like," I added, one last chance before I showed myself out the door. "We can talk about something, to get your mind off things."

Logar rolled over on one side. He didn't care about the tunic hitching up his legs. It looked like a dress on him, but a short one. I tried not to think about the fact that he was naked underneath.

"Alright," he said, his eyes glittering in a manic expression. "I want to talk about soccer. I haven't been to a match in a long time."

"Okay."

"When I was a teenager I always went to see my favourite team play. It was the Silkton women team. Going to those games almost made me heterosexual."

He laughed.

"Why?" I asked. "Because the girls were pretty?"

"No, not because the girls were pretty," he replied, irritated. "Because of the dumb men mansplaining the whole game, who talked to your ear throughout the whole match, without letting you look at the field."

"Oh," I replied. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to guess. The only girl I've seen is my mother."

I felt Logar becoming very tense. He looked at his robe, and pulled at it, as if covering his body had something to do with me and my mother.

"What?" he asked, to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "They told me the school must have been a private one, an all boys school."

"So you went to school?" Logar asked. I found it an irritating question.

"Yes, they tell me I was good at it," I replied. "But then, I was sent here. Go on. Talk about the game."

"Alright," Logar said. "The team sucked. They kept losing all the matches at first. In a way, it made me feel more connected. I love fucked up things, things that don't work. I wouldn't call it taking pity, because I don't do that, I'm too pitiful myself, but I like disasters with potential."

"I don't," I replied. "I really don't see the appeal in broken things. In broken people."

"Stop talking to me then," Logar joked.

The truth was, I didn't think he looked broken. A little bent here and there, maybe, if he was so sure of it.

"I don't have to find you appealing to talk to you," I replied instead.

Logar smiled. His smile was so bright and so contagious, that I finally saw through his scowling, insufferable mask. I was surprised to see he was very handsome.

"Finally," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"Finally, maybe, I found someone who understands," he explained. "It was hard before. No one understands, not even Percie."

"Oh," I said. "But you see, I don't even understand what we're talking about."

"Don't worry, it's all good," Logar looked a little agitated now. "I know what I mean. I like to say things out loud."

I laid on the mattress, not next to him, but close.

"You said I was freaky in a positive way," Logar said.

"Yes."

"You see, you understand. I try to be."

"It's a really good thing," I replied. "I would like to be freaky in a positive way."

"That you are, Jonath," he said, taking my hand. "That you really are."

After we've stayed there for a while, I started feeling more vulnerable.

"I am not worth anything," I whispered. "I thought you should know."

"What do you mean, Jonath?" Logar did not look at me, but I could hear his tone was startled.

"My mother didn't even give me a name," I said.

Now, Logar looked at me. "What do you mean, Jonath? Jonath, explain."

But I was starting to feel as if telling him had been a bad idea.

"I chose my name, Jonath," I replied. "My mother didn't even give me a name."

When Logar understood what I meant, his whole body tensed. "Why are you telling me?" he asked.

"Because I need you to help me," I replied. "I need a surname."

"You don't have one?"

"Well, I don't know who my father was."

"Well, most families in the US-UK Alliance are named after asteroids," Logar said. "Choose one."

"Cincinnati," I said.

"Jonath Cincinnati," he tried to make the name roll off his tongue. "Why?"

"Because it makes me sound American," I said.

"It makes you sound... what?"

"And because I needed a surname starting with C anyway," I explained. "When the prophet Michaim asked if someone else wanted to be Visionary, a boy replied saying they could choose him because his initials were JC like Jesus Christ. When I arrived here, a week later, I told the boy to scram and run away because I needed his clothes. And I am a little afraid of Michaim, so I want him to think I've been JC all this time."

Logar dropped my hand, as if he'd just realized he was holding it. "You're afraid of Michaim," he repeated. "Why?"

I shrugged. "You should know. He's your boss. He is pretty intimidating. Besides, you've been here for longer than you remember. You've been brought here about a week ago, a day after I was transfered. But you were in a coma or something."

Logar's eyes were wide now. "Say what?"

A few days later, I bumped into Logar again. He was there with the rest of the Power of Sight, which meant one person other than him. I guess I never really thought about Percie, or had an opinion about him, until I met him that day.

And something clicked. I realized Logar already had friends, whatever he said about them. They were a group, they were mourning together, and I just didn't belong.

Unless, of course, I turned his friends into my friends.

"Hello," I greeted.

"Oh, look at that, Logar," Percie said. "The little monk wants to be your friend!"

"So, Logar," he added, raising one eyebrow at me. "Are you joining us in the gym?"

"Please, do tell," Logar replied. "What do we need the gym for? We're not gymnasts. We're not super heroes pirouetting around in spandex. We're a bunch of people who have to talk shit, a lot, and shoot while dressed in silk. No one expects us to jump on buildings or get some politician in a chokehold."

"Maybe they don't expect it," Percie's eyes darkened. "And no physical training could have saved Lix, but I still believe we need to become better if the people out there want to fight us as much as we want to fight them."

"Which is zero percent, right?" Logar asked. "Right?"

"Look, I don't like violence either," Percie, said. "But I also know you're not stupid. You understand that when we're out there in the world, and things get pretty scary, we want to have honed all the skills we might need, don't you?"

"Maybe so," Logar said. "You do make a lot of sense when you want to. But be warned, I'll probably never develop muscles. I'll never be a Prince Charming kind of super hero. I am, as Dickens writes of the Artful Dodger, 'as dirty a juvenile as one would wish to see'."

"I look dirty too, but it's not true, I like to take a good shower from time to time," I offered.

They turned around to look at me with an identical expression on their face. I couldn't really understand why they said they didn't get along. When you saw them from the outside, you could tell they were on the same wave-length.

"Do you?" Percie finally asked. I couldn't even tell if it was sarcasm or if he just didn't know what to make of me.

I nodded. "This place is not so bad," I said. "We all have a mattress, and there are showers and you can nick a lot of things from the basement, but don't tell anyone I told you so."

"He takes the peroxyde to bleach his hair," Logar explained. "If we're going to the gym, I want Jonath Cincinnati to come too."

"Jonath Cincinnati?" Percie asked.

"Yep, that's his name," Logar looked as serious as ever.

One of the first things that made me understand the two of us could bond was that he'd never betrayed my secret. And it was more than that.

I didn't have a name, or a surname. Logar wanted me to have them, so he used them, and he used them with respect. At first I couldn't understand why every time we talked together, he called me 'Jonath' all the time. When you're talking to someone, you don't have to use their name necessarily.

I should know. My mother never did. But Logar did, all the time, and I understood that it was because he wanted me to have a name, like anybody else.

It's weird to say, but I don't think I was feeling much like a person before Logar came along. I kind of always felt a waste of space. But he made me feel just like any other, and, as if it wasn't enough, he also made me feel like his best friend.

Which is why it's fucking unfair that he's in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Logar would never kill someone. He's the exact opposite of an assassin.

Whatever that is. I went to school, but not for long.

"Jonath Cincinnati," Percie repeated."Yes, of course, you can join us."

"That's good," Logar raised an eyebrow. "I really wanted to see a ripped, shirtless man to cheer me up."

I thought he was mostly joking, I mean, he's not a pig, so I said, "As you wish!"

However, for some reason, I caught another weird look from Percie. Maybe no one had ever replied to Logar as if they knew he wasn't talking seriously. I remembered what he'd told me.

You understand.

I was starting to understand.

"Let's go," I insisted. "And anyone who wishes can take off their shirt! We believe in equality here."

"We're in a Monastery," Percie pointed out.

"Exactly, we're all prisoners," I replied. At the time, I really thought it was what a Monastery was, a prison. I was just under the impression I'd be the first to get away.

"Okay," Percie said. "But it's not my fault if someone gets flustered."

"Who me?" I replied. "I don't like the likes of you."

"Oh, and here I thought he was an Oscar Wilde, like me," Logar said, putting an arm around my shoulder. Well, he tried to. I had to bend a little, and it looked like I was carrying him.

"I read Oscar Wilde! I like him!" I beamed.

"Well, alright, as long as there are no girls joining us, I don't see the harm," Percie said. I, of course, wasn't really going to take my shirt off, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

"He's heterosexual, that one, probably with an unrequited crush," I said.

"You're receptive," Logar said appreciatively. "It took you two minutes to understand. I think it took me three, the first time."

I laughed.

"That's the first time someone laughs at Logar's jokes," Percie pointed out, surprised.

"Well, I don't see the problem, they're funny," I replied. "He's witty."

I wondered if the others had some kind of prejudiced, or maybe deserved, antipathy towards Logar. I didn't think it was very fair, considering that they had to give it to him. His jokes were funny.

Or maybe, as Percie later pointed out to me, his jokes made me laugh because they were not about me. It could have been a reason, surely. Over the time we've had our disagreements, and I understand how Logar could be a lot to handle.

However, I mostly know him as the man he is under the mask, a very compassionate, empathic and funny man. He's kind, and more in tune with his, and other's, emotions than many other people I've met.

I'll never, never be able to show him how much I appreciate that he'd given me a chance, back then.

When we arrived at the gym, however, a man was waiting for us.

I'd seen him before. Prophet Michaim. But that day he was wearing a suit with tiger stripes with a striped tie.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Ha ha! Ha ha! That must be one of the most terrible outfits I'd ever seen!"

Everyone looked at me, shocked. I realized that, even though I still didn't know anything of their upbringing, it was easy to guess. Percie was handsome, and his silk clothes appeared to be stylish, but I knew for a fact it was The Anti who chose them. Or pretended to choose them, or else, how could they have been that stylish?

And Logar... he struck me as if he'd known a thing or two about most things, really. But it was easy to see he wasn't the type of man who likes fashion, or would admit it. He'd probably never read a fashion magazine in his life, or he simply wasn't about to fess up and let us know.

"How... how dare you?" Prophet Michaim sputtered. I was wheezing.

"Harper's Bazaar," I said. "The first and the best magazine of fashion in the world."

Michaim raised an eyebrow. "That is women's fashion."

"You never," I wheezed. "You never mix stripes with a tiger's stripe pattern."

"You shut up, you beautiful blond grasshopper," Logar taunted me. "No one pays disrespect to The Anti. Everyone just pays the consequences."

"Cindy Lauper is right," The Anti said. "I do what I want. And since I do what I want, I am no more Prophet Michaim to you. From now on, you are excommunicated as a monk."

My laughter stopped very soon. "You are not that badly dressed, sir," I said, soberly.

"Um," The Anti said. "Okay, fine, I do not really want to excommunicate you. I have no reason to. This religion has too few followers. But, consider yourself warned, Jonath."

He stepped closer to me.

"If you pull something like that again, or distract anyone on my team, you'll be excommunicated. And you don't want to go back to your mother, do you?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Is she alive?"

"I don't know," Michaim replied. "Want to find out? If she isn't, you're on your own. I suggest you to speak wisely, from now on."