The morning was overcast. In the park outside the window, the wind hit the tree branches with a wild anger. The hallway, which had been full of people only moments ago, now held nothing but the heavy scent of sweat and the constant, annoying hum of the air conditioner. A young man sat by the door, his leg moving nervously. He had survived a difficult night, sleep wouldn't come well, yet he was certaintoday, success was waiting for him. He'd had a dream about the future, one where he celebrated a huge deal in an expensive restaurant. The only bitter aftertaste was the memory that, in the dream, he had betrayed his parents to get there. But the boy convinced himself: today, he would be the first of his family to finally escape this neighborhood.
"Come in," a voice called from the office.
The young boy entered before he could finish the thought. A middle-aged man sat behind the desk, typing away with strong focus.
"Mornin', Mr. Smith!" the young man said, his voice bright with forced confidence.
"Which position?" Smith grunted, never lifting his eyes.
"System administrator."
"Got an education?"
"True enough. It's all right here in the resume," the boy said, sliding the folder forward. "The post said no experience was needed if I had the certificate. I earned mine through that quota program."
Mr. Smith's fingers flew across the keys. He apologized for being distracted by a chat, cleared his throat, and began reading an answer directly from his monitor.
"Oh... your resume is impressive. I'd give it an eight out of ten. But unfortunately, I have some disappointing news. We strictly follow the standards set by the President. For example, we've completely stopped using paper straws. And knowing that you're an environmental activist who participated in several protests... we're forced to decline your application."
"Say what?" the boy was shocked. "You for real? You're straight up just readin' a response from some AI!"
Smith started hitting the keyboard again. He waited a few seconds, then delivered:
"Mr. Will... my abilities..." he coughed and went back to his fast typing. "My apologies, Mr. William. As I wrote... I mean, as I said earlier, our company cares for its employees and follows all orders from the government system."
William had had enough of the not funny joke. He reached out with his foot and secretly caught the internet cable, pulling it from its socket to "kick" his interviewer offline.
"And how exactly does this 'care' show itself, then?" he asked softly.
Smith began hitting the keys with new desperation. For a moment, he froze, panic washing over his face, before he started drumming on the desk.
"You got some real important messages goin' on back there?" Will sneered.
"Yes... yes..." Smith replied dryly, unsuccessfully hunting for a signal.
Realizing the internet was dead... No, I'm not writing about the Dead Internet Theory, but just in case, here's a captcha for you: FYRVA. Drop me a line with the answers and prove you're not a bot. Smith ran quickly into the hallway to find a connection. William glanced at his resume, still sitting on the desk. Across the front page, in the recruiter's bold writing, was a single word: REJECTED. William realized the interview had been over before it even started. He pulled his cap low over his eyes and walked out, leaving Smith to chase a Wi-Fi signal in an empty hallway.
Living on this planet became more difficult with every passing day. It wasn't even about that idiotic law—the one that felt like a strange and ugly order pulled from a cheap sci-fi story. You know the type: where the author wants to show a dictator's madness, so the first thing he does is bring back plastic straws just to prove he isn't "eco-friendly." A cheap trick by a stupid writer. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life. Will understood perfectly well: that was just a formal reason. In reality, he was being rejected because of the "wrong" skin color—at least, in the eyes of those narrow-minded HR gatekeepers. With a frustrated kick at an empty bottle, he walked sadly along the sidewalk toward his favorite park and sat heavily onto a bench. He stared at the sky for a long time. For some reason, he felt that help—or a final judgment—was supposed to come from up there. And the judgment didn't keep him waiting: the first drop of rain landed on his eye. Will felt a sharp sting, as if a red-hot needle had been pressed against his eye. He ran from the bench and sprinted toward his "safe place." That was what he called the tiny cafe where he worked part-time as a barista.
"Will, what happened?" Jacqueline, the waitress, rushed over to him the moment he entered.
"The sky is falling, Jackie," he joked, wiping his face. "You won't believe it, but I caught a raindrop with my eye. Direct hit."
"Why wouldn't I believe it, Will? I'd believe anything at this point. Who's the one around here getting burned ten times?" Jacqueline gave him a sad smile.
"Brad, that's who. He got a new record; he passed me yesterday," Will continued to rub his eyelid quickly, trying to kill the sting.
"Hey, William... Look at it this way: I was on breakfast duty today." Brad leaned out from the kitchen, proudly waving a bandaged hand. "I'm up by two burns today. You're losing."
"Young man, could you turn up the volume on the TV?" An old man's voice came from a corner table.
"No doubt, Locke. Give me a sec..." Will reached for the remote.
"Oh Will, welcome back! So, how was the interview?" Locke looked at him. "We told you to 'break a leg,' but it looks like you decided to put out an eye instead."
"Heh, well, at least it'll give us something to talk about in here," a guest at the next table said, patting Will on the shoulder. "Just don't let it get you down, kid."
"They didn't take me. 'Cause of my skin color," Will answered flatly. For a second, the cafe went completely silent.
"Right. That's it. Will, we're calling my father!" Jacqueline snatched up her phone quickly. "He's a hell of a lawyer; he'll sue them into the dirt for discrimination!"
"They said it was 'cause of my 'environmental views,'" Will said, gently catching her hand. "Technically, they're not breaking any rules."
"Hah! Clever!" Locke let out a disappointed snort. "Bastards... they found a way around the Straw Law."
"Let's not waste our breath on 'em," Will said, nodding toward the screen. "They're having a rough enough time as it is. Just look at who's become the new star for the 'elite'..."
The National Guard Commander was shouting from the screen. Journalists had quickly prepared a brief review of his history of scandal. A National Guard captain had beaten up a private a common story for a very masculine group like army, usually fixed behind closed doors. But the beating of a trans soldier? That turned it into a complete national incident. The scandal had been very loud, the public was extremely angry—the unit's reputation was already bad as it was. It looked like the end of his career. But then, as if on cue, terrorists showed up at a children's festival. Hostages, panic, blood... and our brave Captain "took them out" almost by himself. Overnight, he went from an outcast to a national hero. Now, he stood before the cameras, accepting the keys to the city from a Mayor he hated with every fiber of his being. Let's just say Mayor had a gut feeling that something was off, but he couldn't quite back it up.
"I want to thank my country!" the Captain's voice boomed, full of strong belief. "May God bless her. Every yard of her soil, every foot! It doesn't matter what race, gender, or age you are—I will protect you. But in return, I ask one thing: don't force your beliefs on me! Whether you're gay or trans—we live in a free country, and I have a right to my own opinion. God bless this land!"
"I love this guy!" the President's voice broke into the broadcast, taking control. "I'll say this: anyone who judges him... judges the Founding Fathers themselves!"
The Mayor had only just opened his mouth to speak, but the President, not letting him get a word in edgewise, continued: "Just look at that adorable kid of his! And what a beautiful wife..."
"The whole family looks like Aryans straight off a Nazi propaganda poster," Brad remarked, fast polishing a glass as he weighed in on the comic show.
"The only thing saving that Captain is the fact that those terrorists hit a kids' festival," a guest at the counter added, shaking his head in disbelief. "Awfully convenient timing."
"Just as suspicious as that 'failed' murder attempt on the President last year," Jackie added. "Will, why'd you go quiet all of a sudden?"
"You remember those weird nightmares I told y'all 'bout?" Will finally blinked, his eyes refocusing as he pulled them away from the screen.
"The ones where those bullies were beating the hell out of you?" Brad asked.
"Or where your own parents were ignoring you?" Jackie added. "We already talked about this, Will. They aren't about the future. It's just your bad company."
"Hell, if you'd gone to work as a sysadmin, you definitely would've fallen in with a bad company!" Brad laughed, trying to make the mood better.
"Brad, he is already running with Grand's bad company," Jacqueline said, as if she were trying to talk some sense into all of them.
"Look, y'all... It was him. That commander—he the one from my dreams," Will squinted, trying to memorize the face on the screen. "Only his skin color different here."
"Ah, well, I always knew you dreamed in your own shade!" Brad let out a loud laugh, but seeing the look on his friend's face, he quickly stopped. "Sorry, Will. Just a friendly jab."
"Brad, point taken, but I ain't in the mood. Somethin' bad is brewin'. I dreamed that someone... or somethin'... is headin' our way."
The group turned their attention back to the screen. The Captain was now surrounded by his family, hugging them with a planned kindness.
"Abigail and Nancy—that is my choice!" his voice shouted. "I choose my girls. I choose the good life. Amen."
Early morning on the Red Planet. As the first rays of sunlight barely went through the thick cover of smoke, the crew of Main CP-01 completed their final check. The ship no longer shook like a bucket of bolts; its hum was now deep, strong, and steady. After a very careful check of every part, the team took their seats. Breaking through the atmosphere and leaving the eternal dirt and toxic clouds behind them, the vessel reached orbit. Before them stretched the infinite black space. The crew—Wilder, Phoebe, Cheddar, Anna, Gabriel, and Sam set their course for the wormhole.