“They WHAT?!” Xenaphelia asks, eyes wide in terror as Kaeyla sits down behind her sister and begins to braid her long dark hair. “They kill them.” Xenaphelia’s head whips around. “Xena! Don’t move!” Her sister scolds, twisting a few dark strands around her finger and continuing to braid them into an intricate plait. “But… why?” Kaeyla sighs, her hands stilling for a second. “You’re too young. I shouldn’t have told you.” Her sister turns around again, despite her sister shooting her a dirty look. “Kaeyla, I’m fifteen! That’s when you found out! This never would have happened in Sector 10…” she trails off. Kaeyla snaps suddenly. “Well, we live in Sector 7 now! And in 7, people that don’t fit the beauty standards die! Every. Single. Day.” She pulls at the strands of dark hair stronger as she says the last part, as if to back up her own point. “And for your information, 10 wasn’t any better.” Kaeyla continues. “Here it’s if you aren’t pretty enough, they kill you as soon as they see the first wrinkle. Why do you think Mom and Dad wanted to move in the first place? And it’s not like they execute you on live holo or send you to the hunger games from those old books you read—they study you. Try to find a way to stop aging by hooking you up to tubes, injecting poison into your veins, watching over you day and night, checking your vitals, using electronic shocks to see how it changes your neurological patterns…” she trails off. “That’s disgusting!” Xena spits, face red and fists clenched so hard her knuckles are white. “Relax your face. The vein in your forehead might burst, and that is not a pretty look for a young woman. They won’t like that.” Her sister orders. “Don’t you mean vain?” “Huh?” Xenaphelia shakes her head. “Just a joke…” she sighs. “Jokes are what end you in the slammer. Watch your mouth.” Xena knows better than to argue with her sister, so she bites her tongue, swallowing the sarcastic comment laying on it. “Can I just ask—” “No.” The reply comes fast, loud, clear, and far too cold. “I’ve already told you too much. Your hair is done anyway. Didn’t you say you had to finish a history project?” Xena nods; prodding wouldn’t help anymore. “Yeah. The global pandemic of 2020.” Kaeyla stands to leave the room. “Well, get cracking. History repeats itself, and by the looks of it soon no one will want to go outside ever again, with the SS1/17 patrolling again.” Before Xena can ask what she means and what the SS1/17 is, her sister leaves the room, leaving her behind more confused and intrigued than ever.