Ogologos High School
8:00 AM, 13/04/xx2025
The morning sun, sharp and unforgiving, slammed against the steel-and-glass walls of Ogologos High as if trying to uncover something hidden beneath its gleaming façade.
Seven stories of shimmering, arrogant confidence loomed over perfectly mowed fields and sanitised courts. The building didn't merely shine; it flexed.
Bold. Gleaming. Proud.
Like a supermodel that knew precisely how beautiful, how untouchable, she was. A monument, stark and imposing, to the Nordurljos Kingdom's relentless obsession with perfection.
Thomas Baker stood alone at the front gates, his new navy coat buttoned up tight against the brisk morning.
His backpack, a designer piece his mother had insisted upon, hung awkwardly over one shoulder. She'd even added a small panda charm and, to his quiet chagrin, threaded a jade ring onto the zipper pull. To her, he was still five.
Cold air scraped across his face, dry and sharp and real.
He liked that.
It reminded him he was awake.
Around him, students flooded in through the gates—laughing, chatting, their eyes locked onto the glowing screens of the glossy smart glasses.
Perfect teeth flashed.
Perfect strides carried them forward.
Perfect lives unfolded around him.
They moved like they belonged, an effortless current flowing into the grand edifice.
Tom prayed to go unnoticed.
The universe obliged. For now.
That's fine, he told himself, taking a shallow breath.
One mission at a time.
First: survive the walk to the building.
He looked across the street. The giant digital billboard on the bus shelter pulsed with an almost blinding light, its screen displaying a perpetual loop of manufactured success.
A well-polished voice, serene and omnipresent, echoed across the street:
"Welcome, Future Leaders!"
Onscreen, students danced in labs, solved impossible equations with joyful abandon, scored impossible goals in roaring stadiums.
Smiles, wide and unblemished, were everywhere. Always smiling.
Tom turned away.
I wonder how many of those smiles are real.
The screen changed again—two teachers, impeccably dressed, shook hands dramatically as the narrator promised a brighter tomorrow.
He scoffed, a silent, bitter sound. Sure. Just like the last time.
Another hiss. A sleek, silent shuttle pulled up behind him, braking with a sigh of hydraulics. Students spilled out, a fresh wave of perfectly coiffed youth, like they did every morning.
Then she stepped down.
And everything slowed. The world blurred around her, the vibrant chaos of the students receding to a muted hum.
Cacey Summers stood for a moment in the shadow of the bus shelter, her hand clenched tight around her bag strap, a small, defiant anchor.
She looked like she didn't belong in the shot—like she'd wandered, accidentally, onto someone else's meticulously directed movie set.
The jade ring on her finger, plain and unassuming, caught the sunlight, flashing a brief, quiet gleam.
Just a trinket.
Her mom had picked it up in some clearance bin at a jewelry stall.
Nothing fancy. Still, she never took it off.
The building loomed before her—so clean, so perfect, so impossibly expensive.
Her stomach twisted, a familiar knot of dread.
A fresh start? That was the lie.
This was her sixth school in four years, a weary procession of hopeful beginnings that always curdled into bitter endings.
Every one had started the same: new shoes, new dress, new rules. And always, new rumors waiting to bloom like insidious mold.
The last school? Expelled over indecent photos. All fake. All spread like wildfire. This time… maybe she could just coast. Head down. Quiet. Unseen.
But deep inside, she didn't believe it. She never did.
The digital screen next to her looped the same endless ad Tom had just seen.
Gleaming smiles.
Floating books.
Improbable hugs.
Unadulterated joy.
It made her want to throw up.
Cacey, just turn around. Get your GED. Don't do this to yourself again…
But her legs moved anyway. One foot in front of the other. Right into the lie. Right into Ogologos.
Tom watched her walk across the street. Something about her stride—cautious, rigid, almost brittle—sent a chill down his spine.
People didn't move like that unless they were bracing for a hit. She looked like she'd seen too many of those already.
He knew the feeling.
Then something weird happened. The screen behind her, mid-loop, gave a sudden, sharp glitch—static flickered, briefly replaced by the face of an old man. Wrinkled, sharp-eyed, with a wispy beard.
The kind of man who might sell magical trinkets from a shadowy stall in a fairytale alleyway.
Tom blinked.
Gone. Just a glitch? The screen reset, looping back to the relentless smiles, the ceaseless lies.
He shook it off. Don't get distracted.
Then she passed.
Their shoulders almost brushed, a breath too close, a spark of proximity in the vast indifference of the morning.
Tom twitched, a reflexive flinch away. "I… I'm sorry!"
Cacey paused.
Turned.
Her gaze, direct and assessing, locked onto his.
Just for a moment…
Tom froze, caught in the sudden, piercing awareness of her.
She didn't say a word.
Just stared.
Appraising.
Curious.
Then, with a subtle shift in her eyes, dismissive.
Hmm. Cute. Quiet. Probably a troublemaker in disguise.
She turned and kept walking, her cautious pace unbroken.
Tom's heart pounded against his ribs.
She looked at me. Damn it. She saw me.
That was bad. That was very, very bad.
He waited until she was a good ten steps ahead before he dared to follow.
No one noticed the jade rings—one on his backpack zipper, one on her finger—glowing faintly, a brief, emerald shimmer, as they crossed paths.
And neither of them looked back.
The gates loomed in front of Cacey—black steel, ornately wrought, wide enough for a few cars to drive side by side.
They yawned open, a vast maw, swallowing her whole.
Her feet slowed on the perfectly smooth school path, not by choice, but by some invisible resistance.
Too clean. Too quiet.
No snow here, even with the massive, jagged peaks of the Ogologos Mountains lurking behind the city.
Just tidy lawns, smooth concrete, endless, unsettling perfection.
Digital signs blinked in gentle, inviting colors:
Welcome, New Starters!
Join the Prestigious Ogologos Debate Society!
Tryouts for Quantum Athletics end Friday!
All cheerful. All hollow.
She felt her shoulders crawl, a prickling sensation that made her want to shrug it off.
Every poster felt like it was watching her.
No, not just metaphorically…
Actually watching.
Something about the walls.
The lights.
Even the sky felt subtly fake, a painted backdrop.
She tried not to look at the blinking lenses embedded in the ceilings, small, unblinking eyes.
Surveillance bots, silent as oversized bees, floated past.
Her breath fogged briefly, a tiny cloud in the sterile air, and she tugged her coat tighter. Not because of the cold. Because this place, this perfect, shining monument, already felt like a trap.
Tom followed behind at a safe distance.
Always the background character.
Girls like her? Off-limits. Too pretty. Too dangerous.
He knew what pretty girls did.
Not that they would ruin you.
It was the people around them who would, the orbit of expectation and envy they drew.
Boys like him didn't get seen by girls like her. And if they did, it never ended well.
He kept his eyes low. Still, something about her movements struck him.
She wasn't just pretty. She was on guard.
Like a soldier marching through a minefield. Like him.
They walked into the main building. The shift was instant. Sunlight died, replaced by the cool, artificial glow of recessed lights.
The air turned colder, laced with ozone and the sharp scent of sterilizers. The hallway was enormous, stretching into the distance. Blue-tinted digital panels blinked instructions:
Orientation begins at 9.
Hall pass system fully digitized.
Your biometric ID is your access key.
Voices echoed, strangely muffled despite the vast space. Students grouped up, swapping information, sharing laughs, weaving through the impersonal corridors. Cacey didn't stop, her pace unwavering.
Neither did Tom, his steps quieter still.
They passed under the lights—her steps careful, his almost silent.
No one noticed either of them.
But something else did.
Surveillance drones hovered high above, silent as ghosts, their lenses gleaming.
And somewhere far above, in a rooftop room no student knew about, hidden eyes watched their entrance.
Quiet. Calculating.
Because this wasn't just a school. This was Ogologos High.
Where fate gets manufactured.
Where students don't rise by merit…
But by design.
Cacey and Tom…
They didn't speak.
Didn't exchange names.
But as they moved deeper into the school—one behind the other, barely aware of the other's presence—a tether pulled tight between them.
Invisible. Unspoken. Unwanted.
Two misfits. Two scars. Two stories heading for collision.
And neither of them were ready for what waited inside.