While still children, the new genetically manipulated vessels in the Research Academy are put through a set routine after their genetic ability upgrades to Rank 4. It follows the same lessons and activities for the next couple of years into the future, until finally, the new vessels are ready for the more advanced lessons. This mainly includes upgrading their GA and training in combat — The Academy assures all its young residents and vessels that no danger will befall them within the reinforced walls.

(One can only imagine how it is outside.)

Routine is set to ensure everything runs smoothly, no procedure will ever slip between the cracks of trepid fingers. Nothing and no one is at risk within secure walls.

Thus, supposedly, the children become more patient and mature; they begin to understand the importance of the academy rules in this dystopian world.

In other words: boring.

The last time she had said this, a long lecture on rules, respect and perspective (and some other things she had forgotten by now) was thrown at her. For the next twenty-four hours, the girl had to stay alone in an empty room, isolated from the rest of the academy.

This place of solitary confinement, as she’d come to find out with enough time, is not a common punishment for unruly students, not in any capacity. The decrepit Isolation Wing is rather equipped for outsider creatures. A curious detail she had to keep to herself, none of the other students viewing her escapades as anything prideful.

Following the white tiled floor leading towards the youths’ dorms, the girl hums a tune, awkward vibrations in her throat, her voice jumping high and low. When she passes by a Vessel clad in a crisp, black uniform, she catches the glimpse of discontent, minute furrow of the brows. The old world is scarce in the branches of the new world.

Rounding the corner, the girl is met with one of the white coated professors, expression a deep frown, while his hands and attention are occupied by a cart full with test tubes and exam papers. He’s clearly not having the best of days, the girl thinks to herself, her lips tugging upwards slightly. When a shadow falls over the cart and he notices the silhouette blocking the way, the professor raises his eyes to look at the shape in front of him. When their eyes connect, he watches the young girl smile warmly at him, her head leaning sideways a tad bit. Reddish-brown hair sways to imaginary wind, a gleam in her gray eyes, sparkles of an artificial star, accompanying the movement.

And then she’s gone, her prior presence but a fleeting memory.

The professor takes a step back in sudden shock. GMVs are not his field, but this one could be a teleporter. He will need to describe her appearance to the council, as the use of GA outside of classes is strictly prohibited.

Deciding to not waste any more time on pondering — he does have work to finish after all, the man pushes the cart forward again. Near the corner awaits another surprise, however. He trips on his own feet, body weight shaking the tubes lined up, which he attempts to stabilize clumsily. In doing all that, he forgets his jaw open, the sight comical and amusing to passerby students, whose muffled voices laugh in tones quite similar.

The surprise encounter comes in the form of an unidentifiable Vessel, adult female body barely covered by the cut uniform. She leans against the wall, limbs propped and spread strangely in an attempt to draw something from a description. Her eyes stay glued to the professor even as she bites her bottom lip. Raised eyebrows, a sly smile.

The professor’s mouth opens and closes, words stay unformed while his skin prickles. The person in front of him is not familiar, and the man confusedly ponders whether there has been a new regulation for temperature related abilities or not. He can hear more laughter now, somewhere far in the background, but his mind is too busy questioning the logicality and absurdity of a situation where the woman is really calling him, or if this is all just a dream-

Oh, a dream.

Upon that thought, as if the timer had run off, the image of the woman shatters into nothingness. The professor realizes he has, in fact, not taken a step from his previous position, the girl from before still in front of him.

It clicks then, the auburn haired troublemaker. The council had mentioned her a few times too many already. The trick is not the last thing he fails to notice, as with his mind in disarray, the professor does not see his colleague behind the girl, her expression stern as she stares down at the child. Considering the latter’s still ongoing laughter, neither has the young GMV.

“Vessel 910, your attendance is required in the Isolation Wing.” The cold voice startles the youth, who jumps suddenly and hits the cart, snapping the professor out of his self-induced daydreams. “I hope you’ll learn your lesson this time.”

The girl gulps.

Shit.