Another nightmare. This time of childhood. Page sat up in her bed and leaned forward, holding her face in her hands. For a moment, the dreadful dream yet clung to her, haunting her, echoing through the darkness of her room like a ghost through a hall of mirrors. Then, with a slow drawn breath, it faded back into Page's subconscious, waiting for some other night. For the cycle to begin again. 

Page searched her bedside for her glasses as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Her day had begun early once again.

As she climbed out of bed and into clothes, careful to do so quietly in order to not wake her family, Page wondered for the umpteenth time if things would ever be different. If she could ever escape this pattern. Page once again decided that "Maybe?" was the best she could hope for at the moment. 

She began her dreaded routine for the day. Not that it was an especially horrible task of course, it was nothing if not easy and droll; but routines made her anxious. Was she the one in charge of the pattern, or had the pattern gotten charge of her?

Page hastily ate, took her meds, and headed out the door. She knew there was no need to rush - due to constantly being woken by nightmares, she was always far from late - but Page enjoyed the thick silence of the early morning. She wore it like a heavy quilt, protecting herself against the chill of the dawn. 

She stood lonesome at the station, staring out at the morning dew as it twinkled under the streetlights. Trying to gather her thoughts into some semblance of a focus.

The Pole arrived exactly on time, as was expected. It was a clumsy, rusted old capsule, which surely broke down at the end of every day; but the Repair Mechs still managed to get it working by the time it was needed once more. 

Page pulled herself through the narrow aisle of its faded, black-and-white checkered interior, and sat herself at the back row of the otherwise empty vehicle. The Pole vibrated harshly as it lowered itself into the tunnels deep beneath the asphalt streets.

Why it was called a "Pole" was still a mystery Page wondered about. It was more of a pill, really. A large, moving capsule which could travel through land, sea, and air. Usually they had a shiny silver exterior, but this one had long been covered in rust - adding even more to it's medicinal aesthetic, Page thought 

For some reason, Pole interiors were all oddly themed after 1950's diners. Or at least, similar to how '50's diners had often been depicted- 130 years can make the reality of history quite fuzzy. Their rows of seats were organized into full, red, glossy booths, and commercial lines even had restaurants in them.

The particular Pole that Page was in unceremoniously hissed to a stop, jarring her forward in her seat and startling her from her thoughts. They had reached the Academy.