The Silk Moth Dream (Season 1 Complete)

EPISODE 1: MOST DAYS

BOULDER, COLORADO, 2040.

Radical Terrorist Found Dead in U.S. Capitol with Self-inflicted Toxic Exposure.

The article says that she had co-conspirators (who they are now searching for) tie her to the pole with duct tape, and allowed her bare skin to blister in the acid rainfall that occurred overnight. The morning sun and greasy smog caused her injuries to pus and rot in a matter of hours, rendering the terrorist's face almost unrecognizable. In another article, a pair of solemn-faced parents renounce their 14-year-old daughter. "There will be no funeral service," they say to the Sacramento Times reporter. "We are deeply ashamed and want to extend our sincerest apologies for her despicable actions".

All of the gruesome images and descriptions are forwarded to Fiona in a group chat by 9 AM, complete with a cheerful emoji from Shailene who says big changes are coming!!!! Fiona smooths back her strawberry blonde hair and sighs. She swipes away. She swipes back.

In solidarity, across all the major cities in what remains of America, other bodies have been found similarly. In all instances, there'd been coordinated attacks in other parts of the city to distract the Compliance Order. It looks to be a coordinated instance of mass radical terrorism, announces all news articles, which are nothing more than propaganda machines at this point. Do you think Left Behind did it? asks an anonymous forum commenter. On a mapped article of the bodies, Fiona finds a dot right down the street from where she works.

Well. What a perfect start to breakfast. Yogurt or pancakes?

Fiona considers the two boxes of powder, kettle whistling and rattling on her dingy stove. The only thing that indicates morning is the steaming cup of coffee on her laminate countertop — the murky sunlight that slips into her apartment can just as easily indicate a waning evening as it does the smoggy morning. It's the worst type of day to wake up to. Nothing bad to look forward to, but nothing good either. Just a whisper of sun behind an endless sludge of gray.

Most days look like this.

She'll have to leave early today to make sure that they've cleared the body from the street. She studies the blinking interactive map in the Sacramento Times website, zooming into the Boulder area, unsure if the marker is on the corner that her students usually cross to get to school.

The boiled water hisses as it hits the grayish powder, before mixing into an echo of what Fiona remembers of yogurt in her childhood. It tastes more or less the same, if maybe a little more watery and grittier than she remembers. Today it tastes like despair.

Just like any other day, Fiona straps up in her civilian model Sheltersuit, paying extra attention to make sure that everything is zipped up right. It's a bit tight. Did she gain weight? She mindlessly checks herself in the full body mirror before going out. When Sheltersuits were first released, Fiona would wear some type of clothes or coats on top, feeling somewhat exposed. Over time, her prudence gave way to the most basic instinct. Survival. She inspects the helmet for any cracks and wears before putting it on, and steps out of her apartment.

Just like any other day, she's immediately bombarded by the brilliant neon billboards and cacophony of metals clacking as soon as she steps onto the street. A soothing, robotic voice repeatedly announces, "There is an unusually high trace of aerial toxins today. Consider upgrading your Sheltersuit or staying indoors." Just like any other day, she ignores the message and trudges alone to the abandoned storage unit she calls her workplace.

When things started to turn to shit, a lot of people killed themselves. And even more people racked up countless debts on random shopping sprees, indulged in wild fantasies, lived like there was no tomorrow... and then killed themselves. And apparently, people will now kill themselves as political statements. Not Fiona. Maybe it's because everything snuck up on her before she even realized so much had changed.