Chapter Text
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.
For the one addressed as Vessel 175, the key lesson of the passing years is that routine is a vital thing. Precisely at the same time each day, the white clothed people would come in to examine her condition. Precisely the same time taken, precisely the same procedure.
One exception is the rare case of fluctuations, when the white people rush into her room earlier than usual, yet even then, there’s a routine.
So the young Vessel blinks, her head tilting to the side in confusion as she hears the doors of her ‘house’ open. The timing is off, unusual, but it doesn’t exactly make any difference in the girl’s daily routine. Planting her feet on the cold floor by the side of her bed, she steadies herself and walks towards the balcony.
The light is dim, but she’s already used to it (not that she’d ever come face to face with anything brighter than a screen). There isn’t much to see anyway, apart from the dark walls, the toilet, a bed in the upper level and a table in the lower. The table is for the white people, they always put their tools there when they visit.
Certain tests do not require the trip like weekly ones do.
Yet, she blinks, again, confusion growing stronger as she catches sight of an unfamiliar figure. They are not wearing white, no, the color rather resembles a muted version of the walls. To a person who has only seen white-clothed men for over a decade, the person is wholly weird. She tries to find the name of the color of this person’s hair, she’s sure she has seen it during one of the lectures.
The person comes closer, clearly searching for something, small frame, lips stretched wide and eyes holding something she has never seen.
(Life? Over the years, every interaction with the researchers is the same dullness of rehearsed words and repeated actions. There is no visible sign of reciprocation or interest towards her spontaneous desires. Has she even derived the correct definition of the word?)
The person, a girl, stares up, satisfaction painted all across her features. She chooses to not acknowledge the inhabitant’s presence yet, rather quickly runs up the stairs and examines the area.
Usually, she would spend her detention in a single small room without light, in contrast to this noticeably spacious one, a part of it elevated to give the illusion of a balcony, but still not as furnished (or lit) as a normal dorm room.
“What are you doing here?” Vessel 175’s voice holds no concrete emotion, neither does her expression. Perhaps if she were given a mirror, she’d imagine the reflection of a researcher staring back at her. Nevertheless, the troublemaker doesn’t care to pay much attention. She’s rather happy to finally find someone in this hell of a place, momentarily ignoring the fact not just anyone made it in isolation.
“I used my GA to trick the guards, haha!” She laughs loudly, earning a confused look from the other girl, stiff posture and slightly taller. (She still keeps a safe distance away from the illusionist, but the walls grow closer.)
“Were you not afraid this would be the room of an outcast?” 175 asks calmly, a tint of curiosity present in her voice. This is her first interaction with someone different — an outsider — and it scares her as much as it excites her.
(At least that’s the only way she can describe the sudden feeling crawling up her throat)
The intruder — auburn haired, she finally remembers — stares in place, a hand under her chin, while her eyebrows furrow. “I never thought of that.”
An exhale, less controlled than what is warranted by routine.
“I’m confident I’d beat their remaining cells outta them anyway!” Small fists ball up in front of the girl’s face, her eyes sparking with fire. Vessel 175 mulls the words over, tilts her head to the side. “Or well… the Researchers will find out I’m here shortly anyway. The hallways probably have trackers and I can scream pretty loudly.”
The inhabitant nods, her eyes still glued to the girl’s expression. Said girl, in turn, seems to be growing more and more annoyed as the seconds tick by. A curious reaction.
“Anyways! What’s your name?” As soon as it came, the annoyance was gone. The girl is more talkative than what 175 is used to. The last time she could remember someone properly talking to her was when she was being taught how to speak. Questions are good though. Questions she can do.
“Vessel 175.” She answers in a small voice — the other bursts out in laughter. Confusion builds up within, a weight of having done a grave mistake settling itself in her chest.
(And mistakes are something she can’t afford, not when she has to worry about weekly examination results dropping.)
“No, you silly! I’m sure no one was lame enough to name you Vessel One-Seven-Five.” (“And this place is lame” she adds in her mind) while still laughing, the girl takes steps closer to the taller, almost missing the other flinch and take small steps back.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
The girl avoids her, looking anywhere but at the auburn tresses or fiery eyes. Her gaze jumps from one corner to another. A name? To everyone and everything that matters she’s just that, a number. A vessel code to identify an expendable asset. An identity? She thinks back to hushed words thrown carelessly and approval given mindlessly. None of her doctors have names, at least none she knows of. It’s always Vessel 175 this, Vessel 175 that. It’s never anything else.
“… ji… min…” she tries the words carefully, the syllables heavy on her tongue, raw with a strange kind of vulnerability. The intruder leans her upper body closer as if it’ll help her hear the mumbles better. “Minji.” her throat is dry. “My name is Minji.” She whispers. Yet, it’s somehow enough to make a smile form itself on the small girl’s face, while the other still avoids eye contact.
“Pretty name.” She practically beams with the words, but Minji doesn’t react beyond a quick glance to and away. “I’m trying to give you a compliment.” A pout, then she huffs a breath and tries again from the top.
“Nice to meet you, Minji!” The girl brings with her a lot of emotions, so many that they suffocate Minji. “I’m Micha, Micha Ancora.”
If Micha was attentive enough to notice the discomfort or just too into her own world, Minji still inhales in relief when the other walks away and towards the ‘balcony’.
Now finally having a name for the new face, “Micha.” she tests.
Micha nods her head, fingernails tapping against the cold metal of the balcony bars. She scans the area again, the setting not sitting well in her mind. While the area in itself is nothing compared to other places in the Academy, it is too… good to be for punishing.
“Minji, what’s your ability?” The question startles the girl, who had used the short moment of silence to go back inside her own world. Micha raises her eyebrows, briefly examining the other, then staring at the wall again. She was trying to hold a conversation, she was trying.
“Huh?” Minji blinks, a routine reaction, as she leans against a corner near her bed, where the weak light bulb only passes a ray of light as an excuse to be there. With her face shrouded in darkness, she feels at peace.
“Your GA? Genetic ability? You’re a GMV, right? Why else would you be here?”
“Oh. Eh…” there is conflict in her eyes, an inner fight of sorts. “I have none.”
Micha snaps towards the voice’s direction, gaze narrowed in what resembles the doctors’ suspicion. Minji can’t blame her, she knows this society has long passed the time when only select people had genetic abilities. She knows that having been born without an ability is a strange thing to claim.
The only exceptions to the current ‘Rule of Nature’ are the Outcasts, who, during a period after their birth — commonly a few months to a couple of years — begin to show signs of deterioration, thus becoming unable to activate or identify what their GA is.
This much is common knowledge. Even without asking, Micha can tell Minji is way past that time period, she is too old for that to be a possibility.
At least that’s what all students and inhabitants of the Research Academy are made to believe — life is perfect here, there’s no other place offering such opportunity.
“You…” Micha needs closure, but she also doesn’t want to voice her worry. The girl’s features look fine, hell, even from a distance, she can tell the girl is pretty and will grow to be a beautiful woman. Micha has her fair share of experiences with beautiful people, not so much with beautiful Outcasts (or with any real Outcasts, if she’s being honest). “You’re a fifth ranker?”
Minji nods, small, curt.
That made sense. They wouldn’t let a Rank 5 mingle with the academy students, since the ranks would turn everything unfair, not to mention her lack of knowledge regarding her ability.
Yes, that’s it.
“Micha.” Minji’s voice sounds raspy, unused. Her eyes drop again, lips in a straight line as she enters her thoughts again. She’s unsure what to ask, if she can ask.
“My GA is Illusion, I’m Rank 4.” The other girl smiles widely, trying to brighten up Minji’s mood. The latter’s expression doesn’t change much, but Micha remains stubborn.
“I’ve never seen the outside.” Minji’s voice is unsure, small, much like everything else about her. Irony, Micha is supposed to be the smaller one between the two. She cocks her head in question. The Outside?
“Oh!”
“What’s it like Outside?”
Micha leans away from the balcony, turning her full attention towards the unusual Isolation girl. There’s a lot she can talk about, but also nothing much. She doesn’t know what exactly Minji wants to hear about either. Running a hand through her auburn hair, Micha hums in thought.
“I’ll show you.”
Minji’s mouth opens to speak again, startled by the sudden presence next to her. Micha, however, quickly grabs her gently by the shoulders and turns her attention on her. (The touch burns, take it off, shove it off— no, no, no, the white man will be angry) Now that the smaller girl has the chance to properly look at Minji, she notes the purple color on her soft looking hair and the slight discomfort on her otherwise expressionless face. Upon making eye contact, Minji sees the girl dissolve in smoke.
“Now where do I begin?”
Micha’s voice resonates in her mind, the surrounding now only a swirl of white smoke. Minji moves around in panic, but there is no end to the new white dimension.
“Hey, hey, calm down! I told you my ability is illusions. Now relax.”
Taking a deep breath in, the Vessel steels herself for what’s to come, her determined expression earning her another round of loud laughter from Micha.
The sound is new to her… it’s nice.
“Let’s go with the basics.”
The white smoke morphs into blurry images of white walls, escalators on multiple corners of the spacious hexagon shaped building. Glass separates parts of the space into formal cubicles, signs and banners with illegible writings decorating the walls.
“Sorry, I’m still not that good with this. Anyway, for some reason the Academy is divided into the Numeral Vessel Division and the Lettercode Division. We’re both from NVD.”
Minji tries to walk around the place, palms nervously reaching out to get a feel of everything, her mind trying to remember as much detail as possible.
“I don’t know much about LCD, but NVD is made of 4 Wings: Academic Wing,”
The image fades away just as Minji was about to try ride the escalator, startling the girl and making her jump away. The white of the walls didn’t change, but this time there are faceless people frozen still along the halls. A pause in her steps and everything is gone again, only for her eyes to blink in surprise as she finds herself sitting next to Micha in a room full of tables and chairs.
“This is a classroom, and that is usually my friend’s seat.”
The small girl chuckles and Minji feels heat rising to her cheeks at the bright smile the girl shoots at her. Without the dim light of her room, she can see the girl clearer now, calmer, a strange warmth in those eyes she realizes are gray like Lockdown walls, yet not as coldly embracing her under their weight.
They change locations again, this time sitting on the sidelines of an empty fighting arena.
“Depending on which year you are, we have theory, practical classes and combat classes. The last one is strictly for this place. I heard the audience area is guarded by some invisible force field.”
The arena turns to black smoke, the gas quickly reshaping itself into a small map with messy drawings, one she assumes Micha had just made out of memory.
“I’ve never been to Lockdown Wing, but it’s said that an anti-GA force field envelopes the entire area, thus being ideal for wild or uncontrollable GAs with inexperienced Holders. The field greatly weakens their abilities or even temporarily shuts them down, depending on how strong it was to begin with.”
The map is a cluster of hexagons, tightly stuck together with four lit, triangular shapes enclosing the upper and lower parts. Minji assumes these are the respective areas of the Lockdown Wing.
(Micha confirms her guess soon after. Minji wonders if illusions can read minds.)
“There are multiple floors to the Academic Wing, though it is focused mainly in the center of the building. Lockdown’s a pair in the north and south. Should have extended it west and east and then nobody would have to walk all the way to a specific area.”
The blinking blue of the Lockdown Wing dies down, but the same shapes light up red on the aforementioned sections, these ones extending beyond the cluster.
“Is this where we are?” Minji asks, the surroundings turning back to the white smoke it was before.
“Mhm. The 3rd Wing is the Isolation Wing. It has rooms to supposedly punish rebellious GMVs, detention you could say, but also to house all the newborns whose Rank has yet to improve… like your case. You already know what your room looks like so I’ll tour you to mine.”
“Are you one of the rebellious students?” There is curiosity and a sudden smirk in Minji’s voice, it soon morphing into a short laugh as the image of a pouty Micha shows itself within the illusion.
Minji feels nice. Different, strange, but nice.
The white smoke morphs into blue and purple, finally settling into a room with two beds, couches, a table, a wardrobe and nightstands beside the beds. It’s simple, Minji notes.
“I haven’t decorated much, as I just moved here. The academy made me change roommates so that’s how it is for now. I’ll have to show you again when my roommate finally decides on a theme.”
“There is also the 4th Wing, Research Wing, but that section is forbidden to all students so I’m not sure where it even is.”
“I think my tests are taken there.” Minji muses, putting a finger under her chin to try and remember. “There are a lot of screens there. And people dressed in white. Everyone is the same there.”
“Professors and Researchers dress almost the same. Students also got a dress code, the only time you don’t have to wear it being during free days. The uniform we need to wear depends on your rank and year. The year is the lining detail in the uniform and the rank a band people wear somewhere visible on their body.”
The smoke is blown away and Minji is back in her room, eyes roaming around before landing back onto Micha’s closed ones.
“Sorry, there’s a time limit.” The smaller girl smiles apologetically, eyes still closed as she tries to keep her breathing cool.
“Does it tire you?” Minji asks, her hands traveling up to hold the ones still on her shoulders. She doesn’t know much about common human interactions, but Micha’s smile encourages her to continue the slow circles her thumb is drawing over the other’s knuckles.
Micha exhales shakily, gasping softly when she feels Minji’s forehead against her own. Minji parts her lips to say something, unsure what exactly. Is she supposed to express gratitude? The same as the relief when her examination is successful? Or is she looking for forgiveness, much like when fingernails dig too deep and mistakes slither beneath the table. The conflict rends her speechless, thoughtless mutters and exhales passing over her tongue. Micha feels the breathing tickle her nose, so she open her eyes to gaze into Minji’s closed ones. Her brows are furrowed in concentration. A warm smile finds its way onto Micha’s lips, something blooming within her chest at words she hasn’t heard yet can somehow understand. There’s sincerity to the secret not spoken between them.
When their eyes meet again, the same conflict is still present. In a world such as theirs, is she really wondering how her ability affects her? Minji would be one of the few, which made the stranger quite precious in the young girl’s eyes. She can’t really pinpoint the peculiar feeling at the moment, but it pushes her to enjoy the short time they have, rather than ponder on it.
“I want to show you more.”
Minji doesn’t protest, understanding from the way Micha’s eyes shine that this isn’t a topic to go around of, instead only giving a small smile as her own gaze focuses entirely on Micha’s.
Just like earlier, Minji’s room dissolves into smoke, waves of it dancing around them before settling down into the color green. It overtakes the floor and parts of brown walls, light filtering through cracks and numerous bulbs. Flowers grow between crevices and along crisscross patterns on the ground, creating a harmonious disarray in the closeted space.
It’s the first time Minji sees a chaos so vast. Whenever she’s surrounded by four walls, they all follow the same scheme, each a perfect copy of the other. It makes unity easier, yet also makes individuality so much harder, because Minji can hardly tell where she is and when she last was there.
This is a safe haven, their garden, Micha explains. At least it is that to her and her close friend.
(The illusionist wouldn’t normally share such a private piece of information with anyone, but considering Minji’s case, it felt safe with her.)
The garden is a hideout for a close circle of teens, who all seek a place away from the strict observance of the researchers, pondering on how everything used to be before the Dystopia, or even Utopia. There are books of the eras even, but Minji only passively stares at them. The letters are foreign to her and the words have no meaning. Her lips press into a thin line as she scans surfaces for anything resembling her exam sheets.
(Would it be absurd of her to assume an intention behind the different alphabet she has been taught?)
The beautiful garden shatters like glass, the green crystals melting into a sandier tone, falling onto the illusory floor, leaving behind a desert.
If the academy is the outside to Minji, this wasteland is the outside to Micha.
“I’ve been toured briefly outside the academy once. Everything looks so… empty. But there are still living creatures out there, all fighting for survival.”
The desert and destroyed buildings collapse on themselves, Minji falling with them, until her feet securely plant themselves on soft grass again. The illusion isn’t perfect, and neither are the feelings, but she still takes everything in, ready to grab at straws if she has to.
It will also take her some time to get used to illusions as a concept to begin with.
The next second, the grass leaves place for the hard floor of her room, the two girls pulled out of their daydream by a robotic voice down the hall.
“They finally realized.” Micha exhales with a voice that holds a foreign emotion, one Minji can only guess came from their moment being interrupted. “Thank you for making this trip interesting, though.”
Thank you?
“Minji, I’ll see you again, and I’ll show you more!” Micha caresses her cheeks with her thumbs, the taller girl not even realizing their change of position. “I’ll introduce you to my friends, too! Maybe help you learn reading…”
At that time, Micha’s words held a lot of promises. They made Minji feel a change in her heartbeat — excitement.
However, when the heavy doors slid open and a guard walked inside, Minji hurried to imprint Micha’s features in her mind.
Because that was the last time she saw her in the Isolation Wing.
Vessel 910 Micha Ancora, Age 17 GMV-GAH GA: Illusion Rank 4