tens bon salud ka - how are you?

tenho bon salud, grasias - i’m fine, thanks

ke fasas ka - what are you doing?

(faso) nada - (i’m doing) nothing

bon note - goodnight

bon dia - good morning

aló - hello (informal)

the story starts out in 2075 with the main characters, nicolle and andrei, who live a normal life. nicolle is exhausted from work and andrei wants to be accepted and understood. both of them get invited to this party where many people are going, but their phones can’t access anyone and all the doors are locked and such so they can’t escape. people slowly get killed one-by-one until there’s only a few survivors.

😊 yayyy

I open my eyes again. Bright light fills the room.

I check my watch, which displays a hologram reading 08:00. It’s a Lasalle watch, and as the owner’s daughter, I got it for free. There are definitely perks to being a company owner’s daughter.

I sit up and use my phone camera to take a look at myself. I’m still wearing a white T-shirt from last night with black shorts. My blue eyes are squinting in the light, and my hair is messy.

I run my fingers through it before getting up to brush it. Thankfully, my day is free, as I leave for work at 16:45.

I change into clean clothes and grab something to eat. I choose the usual ramen. Without my coffee, I’m too tired to cook anything, and I live alone, so no one cooks for me.

While I cook the ramen, I make myself some coffee with cinnamon roll flavored creamer. Mmm. It tastes just like the cinnamon rolls from the bakery I used to go to when I was a young kid, Sweets and Treats.

Unfortunately, Sweets and Treats relocated, but they had so many good things. Desserts as far as you could see. Donuts here, eclairs there, frosted rolls somewhere else. I went there frequently, and my mouth watered every time.

We went there so much and ordered the usual, that the bakers memorized it. And I, in turn, memorized the name of the lady who we frequently saw in the bakery, Sofia.

She was there for me when I graduated eighth grade. She was there for me when I started my first job.

“You take care out there, okay?” Sofia set a hand on my shoulder and looked at me with her hazel eyes. “You’ll meet lots of new people, encounter lots of different opportunities. You’re growing up, and you’re gonna be in the working world for a long time, so make sure you love what you do and it pays well.”

I nodded. I continue to take her advice. I do love what I do, but it really does get hard for me sometimes. Especially when several eighteen-year-olds I know work from home or don’t work at all.

At least I don’t work until the evening at my dad’s work fifteen minutes away from here.

Now that I’m more energized, my head starts to clear, and I eat my finally cool chicken ramen. The flavors consume my tongue.

I spend the rest of the day either in my room, which has beige walls filled with Sequoian band posters such as Violet Echo, Ghost Lake Revival, and The Grey Days, a black carpet, and a queen-sized bed with a dark red comforter and several blankets and pillows, or on my comfy dark grey sofa, on my phone or watching various TV shows. Of course, I take breaks to eat.

By the time I actually start to think of how late it’s getting, I check my phone. It's 16:43.

I drive to work and pass by all the scenery of people’s houses and colorful plants. It looks like a painting come to life. Blues, greens, violets, you name it.

When I get to Lasalle, I don’t feel like I’m there long before my dad hands out an invitation.

“It’s addressed to you, dear.”

I open it.

“To whom it may concern,

We are having a party and want as many Sequoians as possible to come. We plan for people to interact with each other, have fun, and make friends. It’s a party for everyone, where everyone has a chance to do what they like and want, and a fresh start for some.

Please join us at 669 Pista Montanha, Division 4, on September 29th at 17:30. We would be very happy to have you.”

Looks like I got what I wished for. And today?

I look up, and everyone seems to be staring at the letter, then at me. “It’s something about a party,” I say.

“Are you going?” Samuel, the 19-year-old electronic repair guy who had a crush on me a few years ago, asks.

To be honest, I’m looking for any sort of opportunity to party and get rid of my frustrations. I nod. “It’s been kind of a long month for me.”

“Then get all the rest you need, Nicolle, and party away!” says Dad.

There’s a long silence, but Samuel breaks it. “Oh! And tell us how it is!”

I nod, and leave for the party calling it “a day off”, which is basically true.

“Hahaha!”

A young boy points at me, laughing with a pretentious smirk with his dark hair parted to the side.

I was just sitting there, on the soft gray carpet with the Lego set provided by my classroom when he approached me.

Carlos da Fonseca.

His cruel brown eyes glare at me. Not to mention the stupid outfit that he’s wearing. A white shirt under a black suit and black pants. It’s fifth grade, for crying out loud, not a party.

“What do you want?”

This probably isn’t possible, but he grins even wider.

“‘What do you want?’ he asks. Look at this weird boy!”

Despite there only being thirty-six other eyes, it feels like about a thousand are staring at me.

“What kind of a name is Andrei Zhao anyway?” scoffs one of Carlos’s friends. I can’t tell who, but it sounds like either Pablo or Pablo’s brother, Heitor.

I clear my throat and take a breath so I can at least talk when I’m being put on the spot like this.

“Andrei is Russian. Zhao is Chinese. I was born in Russia to a Russian mother and a Chinese father.”

Despite my being perfectly level with him, Carlos seems to be looking down at me. “So, do you eat dogs every day or just on special occasions?”

The room erupts with laughter from his little gang of minions.

“This is why dogs aren‘t allowed in school!” howls Heitor. His eyes are pale blue and round, unlike mine, but he, too, is pale with shoulder-length black hair. At least he’s wearing a normal navy blue shirt with black shorts. That means he doesn’t see school as a formal event.

“Andrei’s mouth starts to water the second he sees one!”

Now they’re cackling.

I feel my upper body tense, my pale hands turning even paler as they curl into fists. Get me the hell out of here.

Pablo starts making random sounds. “Ching chong cho chu… Can you tell me if I’m saying it right? I can speak your language!”

For some reason, the teacher isn’t here. I guess I have to fend for myself.

I spring up off the ground.

“Shut up!”

Pablo stands up. “Yeah, Andrei! Show us your kung fu moves!”

“I don’t know kung fu, but I do know this!”

I punch him right in the face, flinging him against the door. He slides off, blood streaming down his nose, his long-ish brown hair sticking to it and colored crimson at the ends.

I smile in glee. I can’t wait for the white on his shirt to turn red and get completely ruined. He deserves it.

Heitor rushes to comfort his brother, while Carlos stands up, ready to punch me. When he swings his arm, I block it the first time, dodge the second. He tries to roundhouse kick me, but I dodge that, too. However, he manages to kick me again right between the legs.

Pain shoots up my body and I double over. While I’m down, he manages to punch me right in the nose.

“Looks like the kung-fu master can’t beat us native Sequoians! Not in your genetics, huh, commie?”

I look up at him. He kicks me down, stomps right on my face, and it all fades to black.

I spring up again, this time in my own bed.

How long was I out? Where are the boys?

“Carlos?”

I put my hands over my mouth. I sound like my normal 22-year-old self now, and it starts to come back to me.

This was just a dream. I don’t have to deal with those bullies anymore. It’s been eleven years. I have my own living space now with a job.

Okay, to be fair, it’s my own living space, but not a house. Much to other people’s judgment, I still live in my parents’ basement. However, with my many jobs, I should have the money to move out soon. Maybe even sooner if I get a girlfriend.

Hopefully not a racist one, either, I scoff.

I glance at the clock. 09:00.

I comb my hair a bit, get ready for the day, then go upstairs to eat and grab some coffee. I still have some time to greet my parents and such, since I don’t work for another three hours.

“Morning, son,” I hear from my parents’ room. “Heard your footsteps.”

“Hey, Dad.” I enter their room.

Dad and Mom are lying on their bed, propped up against some pillows, with my dad’s arm around Mom. They seem to be watching some popular Russian TV show.

My father, Mark Aiguo Zhao, was actually born in China to Chinese parents, but when he was only two, they moved to Russia.

Dad spent his childhood, teen years, and some of his adult life there, where he met my mother, Katya Mileikowsky.

Now, Dad forgot very much of his native language as he grew up. His family only spoke in Russian to him, and used his monolingualism to their advantage: when they wanted to keep something private from him, they’d just speak Mandarin.

I want to connect with my Chinese heritage, so I’ve studied Mandarin for years, since I was thirteen.

I was raised in Russia until I was nine, where we moved to Sequoia, a very free and high-tech country. As you can see, I was bullied by ignorant kids until high school started when I was thirteen. I look a bit like my dad, with his brown eyes and black hair, but my nose is longer and more “European” than my dad’s, looking more like my mom’s. Dad’s skin is also more of a tan than either of ours.

Mom looks like your average pretty American girl, from what I’ve seen. Think Regina George from that classic old movie. Long, blonde hair. Beautiful, bright blue eyes. Fair skin, a large chest, and elegant fashion sense.

Even in countries like Sequoia, you’re more liked if you’re just mostly European or Latino than mixed like I am.

With jobs such as mine, though, people never see my face and can’t judge what I look like. That’s what I love about tech.

Dad pats the bed. “Come sit with us! You don’t start work for another three hours!”

I sit down. This is just like how it was when I was much younger.

I recognize the show. “Is this Lethal Love?”

“Yep,” says Mom.

Lethal Love is a ten-year-old Russian TV show (the first episode aired in 2065) about a woman named Tatiana who falls in love with an assassin, Misha. The thing is, her best friend Mariya is one of his targets. Tatiana knows she’s supposed to hate Misha, and she does for a few seasons. She, at one point, goes to Misha and starts talking to him to confront him, but falls in love even though she doesn’t want to.

There is a corny part, in my opinion, where apparently Misha loves her too (of course!) and she changes him with the power of love or something.

Tatiana, with her long, wavy brown hair, deep brown eyes, and tan skin is onscreen, holding Misha’s face. Misha has long black hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. According to many women on Russian social media, he’s quite the looker.

Tatiana pulls Misha in.

“I never thought love could save me,” says Misha.

“Love. Can save. Anybody.”

They kiss during the finale, something people have been waiting for for ten seasons. For a while, they’ve had the whole will-they-or-won’t-they situation, and they finally express their affections.

For the next three hours, we decide to watch reruns of Lethal Love.

I check my watch, which displays a hologram, 12:00.

“Oh, crap, I’d better start working.”

“Good luck, honey,” says Mom, hugging me. “We’re gonna watch the Lethal Love movie.”

“Hmm.” I nod and go downstairs to the carpeted basement.

The basement is actually quite big, and could probably fit three whole rooms. One is an exercise area, one is a living room, and the last one for sleeping.

I pull out my Lasalle laptop. Santos ones are slightly cheaper, but I find Lasalle has more of the stuff I want on an electronic, with higher quality.

I do quite a bit of things. First off, I’m a social media streamer on platforms like Twitch, YouTube, and Vibra. I often give commentary on movies, products, and games.

Next, I draw for money. I know a hobby shouldn’t be something you charge money for, but I can get paid good money doing something I love.

Lastly, I make music. Right now, I’m going to make a new drawing, and I know exactly what I want to do for it.

On my iPad, I lay out the sketch for it. Demons telling a boy things like “Ching Chong!”

“You’ll never be like us!”

“Pick a side! You can’t be both!”

There’s bloody marks on the boy, too, as the demons cut deep and hurt him.

Out of the corner of my eye, a notification pops up on the top of the screen.

“are u coming 2 the party?” from user celerystalk7.

“what?”

“theres a party everyones going to im surprised u havent heard about it.”

“no, I haven’t.”

“its 4 every1. misfits, tech nerds, artists, u name it. a place to hang out and make friends.”

“never heard of it. IDK if I’d fit in.”

“i said it’s 4 every1.”

I sighed. I guess that was true. I wrote them back, “I’ll think about it”.

A party for everyone, huh?

I sit at my desk in a gamer-style chair in front of a large computer, waiting for my next instruction at my job. Impatiently, I start bouncing my leg up and down. Now, I try to be serious and mean business in the workplace, and I try to be this bland woman who fits in and is only known as her work persona, but I do try to customize my stuff. After all, it’s mine, and I still want some of my individuality to show. There’s a plate on my desk with my name on it, Nicolle Lasalle, which has been there ever since I started working there at age fourteen.

Over the years, however, I’ve accumulated more stuff. There is, of course, the computer, complete with the keyboard and mouse as well (as some people had trouble with the touchscreen function) but also various books, a water bottle, my cell phone, a charger, headphones with a microphone, a desk organizer, and a coffee mug.

As tech became more prevalent during what I’d say is the past sixty years, books have become rather outdated. I’ve actually been laughed at by quite a bit of my coworkers (specifically the ones closer to my age) and even earned a nickname as Grandma. I find it rather ironic since I was easily the youngest person to work at Lasalle Tech.

Technically, you can be sixteen if you go through a school program, but you generally have to be eighteen or older. I’m currently the minimum age to work here (without the program), but I may well be the most experienced eighteen-year-old at this specific building due to having four years when other eighteen year olds are first-time Lasalle employees.

I’ve only worked here for so long, though, because my dad allowed me to.

“Better to already have some experience at eighteen. You’d get a higher pay than your other peers, too,” he said.

For that very reason, I’ve been (falsely) considered among the smartest of my age group. My father seems to think so, but he’s my father, so I don’t really count it.

Speaking of which, he approaches me with a new instruction.

“Nicolle, make sure the app and site are working.”

I’m in charge of managing the websites of Lasalle, such as their main page and their social media app, Vibra. Due to the company’s popularity, as it’s basically the powerhouse of our country’s tech, which gained even more popularity with apps like Vibra, there are many weirdos, trolls, and even a rival company, Santos Co., trying to hack into it and take it down in hopes that their company will be more popular and active. After all, if you get rid of your competition, people will have no choice but to go to you. We’re by far the best, but Santos is still the second best.

I type in vibra.sq, Sequoia’s usual domain name, and thousands of posts pop onto the screen. Most of them are news posts or discussion posts, but it’s not the posts that catch my eye. My administrator profile has about 30 new notifications.

A bad feeling starts to form inside me. Most of the users are named after animals in all lowercase with an emoji, such as “bee 🐝” or “elephant 🐘”. When I clicked on Bee’s history, the title of the post read “Admin Application”.

“This looks interesting,” I mutter, barely audible.

“Hello,” it began. “I am a new user of Vibra, but I’ve used this many times as a guest, and have seen many of my friends use this site. One of my favorite things is making connections with others and making communities which are safe and can bring others together. I’d like to be in charge of doing so and getting rid of anyone who threatens that safe place. Is it possible to apply as an admin? Thanks.”

I narrow my eyes. I can hardly tell what’s a troll, what’s a Santos Co. employee, and what’s a regular user anymore.

My cursor hovers on the red “Reply” button, but I don’t click it.

I click off and decide to check the other animal name buttons, most of which have similar stuff. I decide to delete them, since they start to look like spam, and I just keep Bee as a user to check on them.

Other users are genuine, but a few request to date people or post troll-like content. Those accounts I delete.

Bored, I check the time. It’s already 22:00, so Dad should dismiss me any minute. I close out of everything and tilt my head back against the soft padding of the chair, my long black hair spreading against the whole back of it.

“Nicolle!”

I jump. My dad’s voice breaks the silence, and I know that indicates I may leave.

“Well, see you tomorrow.” I hug Dad and drive home.

My house is barely a fifteen-minute drive from the building at which I work, which is a huge plus for me. It’s things like these I think of when I’m having a rough or exhausting time.

To be honest, despite my eagerness to work at such a young age, I now feel so exhausted joining the working world and doing the same, tedious things. Sure, there’s new people and new ways to do things online, with ever-changing technology, but it’s usually so similar. Checking the site for 6 hours a day.

The second I get home, I decide to go to bed as I can barely walk in a straight line and my body slumps like a zombie.

I collapse on my back, still in my sweaty daytime clothes, with one last thing on my mind. If only I could have a break from it all and have someone else do the work for some time.

me, personally, i’m an 8. i’m talking to my fiancé but i feel sick and i got mood swings.