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The mother reads aloud. Child, tries to understand it, tries to make her proud. The shades go down. It's in her head, painted room, can't deny something wrong.
— Daughter, Pearl Jam
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━━━━━━ September 7, 2161
CASEY WAS LED INTO a canvas tent that was parted on three sides and allowed the early morning sunlight to pour through the gaps. She could feel the breeze in her hair, see the green woods beyond and the purple flowers blooming on bushes, and she could smell the food cooking over a fire. In space, she told herself she didn't miss it. But now, it was all she had ever wanted despite how much it had taken from her.
⠀⠀⠀Now, it was ninety-nine percent wasteland with the last one percent overtaken by mass-murderers who had thrown her inside a chapel for most of her time there. The windows only let in so much light, and she couldn't just take the time to stare. Not with the guards itching for a fight. This was the first time she had actually gotten to sit and stare. And it was about to be ruined by the person who pulled her out there.
⠀⠀⠀Diyoza stepped inside the tent. Her posture remained relaxed and unphased, as if nothing in the world bothered her at all. But it was an act that Casey could see through, as her eyes told a different story. They were narrowed, sharp, and missed little as she raked her gaze over Casey, looking for something in how she held herself. Diyoza rested both hands on her chair and leaned back slowly with a flicker of a smile coming to her lips. Then, she looked over Casey's shoulder to the next figure entering.
