[CW: descriptions of Earth food]

🌑

“Maybe thought experiments like this can teach us something about the ethics of things like simulated worlds and artificial consciousness, which we might someday have the technology to create,” you say.

“Well said, Aydan, clearly you did do the reading,” Mx. Haze says. “What about you, Zeta?”

It looks up, processing the question. “I think living in a simulated world sounds great, much simpler, easier to understand the rules. Maybe a crafty programmer could even manipulate the spacetime of that world to its advantage.”

“Interesting take,” Haze says. “What if it were a simulation more complex and convoluted than the universe that created it?”

Zeta considers the question. “It would take a more powerful computer than we’ve ever imagined I think, but it seems technically possible.”

“I don’t believe you did the reading, but your improvisation is nonetheless impressive,” Mx. Haze says.

🌑

Morning classes were nothing out of the ordinary--calculus, programming, sign language, things you’re good at. It’s finally time for lunch--you and Zeta enter the too-bright and too-loud cafeteria.

Zeta stims with its necklace, a silicone print of a pixelated character from the early days of electronic games. “You know, if we did live in a simulation, we could probably just turn down our senses at will, be able to exist comfortably in a place like this.”

“You’re still on about that?” you say.

“I just think it would be nice,” it says.

“True...” You reach into your bag and find your noise canceling headphones, and put them over your ears, breathing a sigh of relief. “We can already do that with the help of technology, though.”

“I really gotta get some of those...” it says.

You get your tray of food from the kitchen worker and find a seat at an empty table. It’s a typical meal, meat harvested right from a whole animal, vegetables grown in a massive agricultural complex, all cooked by hand. You eat some--it tastes mediocre, and you don’t really feel very hungry. You’re not sure the food here ever feels filling anyway, even when you do eat it all.

Dissociating from your body a little, your eyes glance around the room. At a nearby table you see 7, with her unmistakable light blue hair, sitting alone with her portable computer. It looks like she’s talking to someone on a messaging application. Maybe she does actually have friends.

You hear the heavy cafeteria doors open forcefully, quieting the room for a blissful moment before the noise returns. Synthesis walks in--the third year enby with white hair, shaved on the sides of their head, with their eyes covered as usual by reflective silver sunglasses. They wear the “boys” uniform better than you ever could, making up for the total lack of cute features of the long sleeved jacket and pants with the absolute nonbinary power they exert. The plain black fabric suits them perfectly.

“Oh, it’s Synth,” Zeta says, looking up from its game device. “They look as broody as ever.” For little Zeta, the boys uniform always looks too big on it, its arms not quite willing the length of the sleeves. Between the three of you you probably span the full multi-axis spectrum of enbies, you think.

“Yeah...” you say, looking at Synth, always looking somewhere far away.

Zeta glances up at you, seeing you watching them. “What do you think of Synth?”