Threads in the machine

Chapter 2: A Fragmented Reality

Noah stood at the window of her room, gazing out at what had once been the city skyline. The sun hung low, casting an orange glow over the abandoned streets below. It seemed generated, it was like that sometimes, weird feeling she constantly forgets until it visits her again.

The world had never seemed so broken, so abandoned. College, once a promise of opportunity and future now an obligation, a decree handed down from some invisible authority. Like so much else these days, college wasn't about dreams or aspirations. It was a mandate, enforced for reasons no one fully understood.

She hadn't wanted this, not really. But wanting didn't matter when the system decided for you. Noah often wondered how she had ended up here. The process had been a blur, but then, it didn't need to make sense. It was a summons, not an opportunity.

The thing is, she had never been one of the top students in her class. Yet, strangely, luck they call it—or perhaps by the whims of a system far beyond her comprehension—she had made it in and even if she'd tried to refuse, she knew what would happen. No one turned down the letter. Not without consequences.

It didn't feel right. Noah didn't belong in the grand, echoing halls of the university. She was a relic herself, a survivor of a time when dreams were still within reach, and when the world still held a semblance of order. But that world was slipping away, and Noah couldn't ignore the growing cracks in the foundation beneath her feet. The air was thick with the weight of impending collapse, and her mind was filled with the question she couldn't escape: Why am I here?

The truth was, Noah had never really felt at home anywhere. She had been an orphan for as long as she could remember, the result of a world that had already begun to fracture long before she was born. Her parents—who they had been, what happened to them—were forgotten mysteries, erased from her life by the cruel hands of an indifferent society. She had grown up in foster homes, a string of temporary families who saw her as a brief inconvenience, a child to be cared for until she was old enough to fend for herself. But now, 16 years old—a young woman on the cusp of adulthood, the institution that had provided for her had disappeared too, as resources became too scarce to maintain the infrastructure of social services.

The last of her foster families had left years ago. Alone, she had learned to survive in a world where nothing was certain. Now, she was confined to the college campus, a place that was supposed to offer stability—a reprieve from the crumbling streets she once called home.

College was free, but that freedom came with strings. The system dictated everything—your meals, your room, your future. Food was just another ration, bland and predictable, a reminder that choice was a luxury the world could no longer afford.

She wasn't sure how she managed to get accepted into college. It certainly wasn't through family connections or vast amounts of wealth. Computers, once essential tools for navigating the modern world, were becoming increasingly rare and unreliable. Phones had all but disappeared, scavenged for their parts or traded in desperate exchanges for whatever scraps were left.

The digital world she had once known—her connection to the outside—was shrinking. The once-thriving, always-connected existence was now a luxury only the rich could afford. Most people were left without the means to communicate beyond their immediate surroundings. There were no more social media feeds to scroll through, no more constant notifications pinging her phone.

The changes felt like they belonged to another era, as though decades had passed since the world had been whole. But it had only been a few years since things had gotten this bad. Time had a strange way of stretching itself in this broken world; sometimes, years felt longer than she remembered.