[CW: descriptions of Earth food]

🌑

Hours later, the next day dawns. You open your eyes to the morning sunlight in your room. You activate your terminal, finding an unread message.

2024-12-17 07:20:21 明子 > good morning ^^

2024-12-17 07:30:37 Aydan > おはよう〜

2024-12-17 07:30:46 明子 > everything feels so weird today

2024-12-17 07:30:51 Aydan > what do you mean?

2024-12-17 07:31:04 明子 > my clothes feel like sandpaper and my skin feels like glass

2024-12-17 07:32:12 Aydan > sounds like sensory hell

2024-12-17 07:32:16 明子 > it is!!!

2024-12-17 07:32:24 Aydan > *hugs* some days are just like that I guess

2024-12-17 07:32:33 明子 > yeah *hugs*

2024-12-17 07:32:40 明子 > meet you after school?

2024-12-17 07:32:44 Aydan > same place same time!

2024-12-17 07:32:50 明子 > yay <3

You extract yourself from the warm blankets to your cold room. You open the curtains--snow! The neighborhood is blanketed in white. But you’re used to the chaotic weather of the early carbon catastrophe. You get out your winter uniform--its red plaid skirt, white shirt and peach-colored jacket. You tie your blue ribbon around the collar and pull on your tallest, warmest purple striped socks.

Grabbing your bag, you head downstairs, intercepted again by your mom, Ælita.

“Aydan! You’re not leaving without having your breakfast. Your body needs more calories when it’s cold,” she says.

“Fiiine.” You follow her to the kitchen, defeated.

You sit down across from your mom, Yelena, drinking her black coffee. She’s wearing one of her nicest suits, vantablack fabric tailored to her imposing figure.

“Good morning Aydan,” Yelena says. “I’m meeting a very important client today. From Cybernautics Corporation, the company that owns your school.”

“Yeah, I know them,” you say.

“Breakfast!” Ælita slides you a plate of fried eggs, green olives, rice with furikake, and a croissant.

“So, you need to be on your best behavior in the next few days,” Yelena says. “An embarrassment from you could cost us a security contract.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll only embarrass myself,” you say. You take a bite of a surprisingly sweet-tasting olive.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Remember, Aydan.” She points to the wall beside you, at the company poster hanging there:

REDSHIFT’S FUTURE IS YOUR FUTURE!

“I know, I know.”

You bite into your croissant, so spicy that you reach for your orange juice--but it tastes so salty, you can’t drink much of it.

“Huh...”