Division-A

Episode One. (May 8th, 2123. Division-A, South District.)

'After weeks of dreaming the same thing, it finally continued. This time, the same man who told me it was my job to save everyone, said that today is the day that I start that very thing. He stated that today is the start of my efforts to prevent the second apocalypse. And, no, I haven't the slightest clue as to what he meant. I do know a few things, though:

1. He was talking to me, and only me.

2. He rescued me, from what- I don't know.

3. The airport all this took place in exploded shortly after.

4. Pods are a thing. I think they're some sort of aircraft.

5. At the end of every dream, a bright purple light flies around and blocks my line of vision, causing me to awaken.

I'm curious to see if the 'plot' my dream follows will go anywhere. I'll tell Sakagami I need a refill on the pills. Now that I think about it, I've never tried to dream without the pills. I've never slept without them either. Hm. It isn't like I could get away with just not taking them, so I'll leave it be. I got one left to last me through tonight.'

Akino closed his journal. He traced his fingers over the leather binding as he stared into oblivion, not thinking about anything in particular. He curled his toes, extended his arms, and tensed his body, and proceeded to stretch before eventually stepping out of bed.

A mess of a bed remained untouched in the plain, spotless room. Behind the head of the bed was a pristine nightstand, only carrying an unplugged lamp and a frequently ignored alarm clock. Underneath his bed was the bottle of sleeping pills and a few dirty socks that haven't seen a ray of sun in a century. Other than the clothes stacked against the corner of a wall and the pre-mentioned commodities, the large room was visibly clean and empty. A bed, a nightstand, a rug, a dresser, a journal, and a bottle of pills sitting on a slick wooden oak floor, and a boy exiting into the kitchen.

The continuous running water showering from the faucet gave off a similar sound one would hear at the beach, if it wasn't for the clanging of dishes being smacked together. Akino turned the nob on the faucet as he dried his last dish with the rag he instinctively grabbed from the stove handle. As the last sound of clanging dishes echoed through the kitchen, the sound of a sliding wooden door echoed as well.

Akino turned his head as he put the rag back. "Oh, morning," he greeted as he faced back towards the sink.

Sakagami yawned as she usually did once entering the kitchen. She sat down at the circular wooden table right behind her son as she watched, waiting for him to sit with her. "Morning." She looked around for a brief second. "You're doing dishes? You haven't done those in weeks. Special occasion?"

Akino smiled as he turned around, drying off his wrinkled hands on his thighs. "No," he lied, "I woke up before you, so why not?"

She ran her hand through the bun of blonde hair on her head. "You mean got out of bed before me?"

Akino's smile was accompanied with a chuckle. "Yeah, that."

Sakagami dazed off with a blithe expression. "Then," she returned her attention back to him, "at least let me make breakfast."

Akino stood still with an absent expression for what seemed like days. "N-no, that's fine. I'm done with dishes anyway. Thanks, though."

Sakagami was struck aghast. "What?! Are you saying my cooking is bad?!"

Akino chuckled again, with not as much lightheartedness as the last. "Y-yes, that is what I'm saying."

Sakagami shot up from her seat, her temper resembling a child's. "It's so bad because you never let me cook in the first place!"