Chapter 2: Birds of a Feather
Chapter 2: Birds of a Feather
Part 1: Crystal Bears
Regarding March 8th, 2100 - Reflections After Work - Written some days later
Grime on her face, sitting on her knees, Amanda was on the floor of the dark apartment and looking up at me. She was thin and petite, even for her age, and I wondered how consistently she ate. I waved to her and transformed into a powder blue crystalline glass (plush to the touch) bear with purple eyes and walked over slowly and sat down in front of her. She looked at me with a mix of sorrow and curiosity.
“Hi Amanda, I’m Alianii,” I wanted to follow up with a “I’m so happy to meet you!”, but too much bubbliness can actually push away children if you do it too suddenly.
“Why are you a teddy bear?”
“Why aren’t you?” Answering a question with a question is a surefire way to keep a conversation going with children. It drives them crazy.
“I asked you first.”
I shrugged, “A bear is as a bear does.”
I roared and materialized a crystal balloon in my paw and let it pull me up and closer towards her until we were at eye level, then I started to float higher.
“Help! I’m floating awa-“
Amanda grabbed the balloon and used “affixation” (digital glue) to glue the string of the crystal balloon to the apartment wall. I modified the crystal balloon into a design closer to a hot air balloon with a basket, and summoned a sword and chopped at the glue, freeing me and allowing me to escape. I materialized aviator goggles and a whistle and blew the whistle, commanding my hot air balloon to steadily float away from Amanda.
“Hey! Where are you going!” Amanda reached out to grab my hot air balloon which was the size of a soccer ball.
I cackled mischievously, “They’ll never catch me! Never! Not you, not any of them.”
She paused time and left me frozen in place, deactivating my abilities including motion and transformation - allowing children to control their reality was considered absolutely essential. The one thing that was always maintained in someone else’s instance was the ability to speak, send textual messages, and leave. There are children that will leave you frozen in place for five minutes, ten minutes, an hour, five hours. You can leave, of course, but this is a tricky situation. If you leave you show them you’re willing to abandon them. If you stay you’re reinforcing them using control to manipulate your behavior.
“You’re cheating!” I pouted, I attempted to send three dimensional emoticons of sadness and pouting towards her but found that she had blocked them alongside all other abilities (some kids allow emoticons even when they turn off other abilities).
“Whose they? Who’ll never catch you? I caught you.”
I huffed, “You didn’t catch me. You paused time. That’s cheating. I don’t tell cheaters secrets, I don’t tell em’ nothing. Unpause time and unlock me and maybe I’ll tell you. Maybe. Pfft.”
Amanda, with her dark black hair and pale skin and green eyes, unpaused time and unlocked ability access and I immediately resumed my hasty escape. I materialized an engine and two propellers and increased my movement speed by fifty percent, and zipped away from her.
At first glance it might seem cruel to run away from a lonely girl, but mental “illness” or “exceptionalities” are a curious thing. Children are curious too. Combine them and you have an infinitely chaotic set of psychological nuances that you have to work with to try to get through to children. I am neurodivergent myself, and sometimes my methods are unconventional, but I do them with love. Furthermore, what is more innate than tag, and hide and seek? Even dogs chase each other - the essential thing from a psychological perspective is that it 1) encourages socially isolated children to break the touch barrier and 2) the more effort they put into your interactions the more social momentum it brings, and 3) they don’t feel cornered, instead, they feel that they are in control of the situation and it increases their sense of autonomy and self-esteem.
“WAIT!” Amanda yelled, there was an underlying rage in her voice, it was a dramatic escalation in emotional intensity. It wasn’t quite the rage of a manic or hypomanic episode but there was a power to her voice that I’d heard in other bipolar children, and in myself.
Emotional outbursts are the perfect time for redirection. You don’t yell back, nor do you attempt to calm them down by saying “calm down”. The smartest thing you can do is a misdirection - an adjacent, tangential action that to most would seem bewildering. I transformed from one bear to a hundred bears that swirled around Amanda in a tornado and spoke as warmly as I could, my voice coming from around her in every direction, “I’m right here.”
Would she take the bait?
Part 2: Violetica
She turned around and grabbed at me, trying to catch one of the many bears flying around her. The hundred mini-bears were roughly the size of tennis balls, purple eyed and powder blue, effervescent and joyous. Her attempt to grab at me was excellent, but a challenge nonetheless to execute. Emotionally distressed children are almost never capable of successfully catching me, not really, though I tend to let them have a little taste of success before I scamper off into a new corner.
After an exciting two minute chase she got a hold of me, or rather, I let her. She grabbed me and hugged me, and the hundred tiny bears became one, normal sized, plush teddy bear. She buried her face into me, hugging me tight, and I reciprocated. I spoke to her with a quiet voice, a whisper, “I’m right here.”
She was silent for what felt like an eternity but in actuality it was only a couple of minutes. Eventually she looked up at me and we met each other’s eyes, and I saw the purple of my gaze reflected in her jade irises. She looked back down, and then back up, “Why do you have purple eyes?”
“Eggs can’t get biometric surgery. I was born with gray eyes, I hated that. I wanted purple. So I used an external application.”
“What’s an external application?” asked Amanda.
“It’s a device you apply to your body that gives you an alternative appearance in the Everse. It’s old school, it’s pretty rare actually. Before people had internal chips they were forced to use externally worn gadgets. Most eggs can’t get chips, we’re not allowed.” That wasn’t exactly accurate, but I didn’t want to bring up kill switches just yet.
“What’s an egg?”
“We can discuss that later. But for now, if you’re willing, let’s go on an adventure.”
“Where are we going?” Amanda looked up at me curiously, and with a bit of hope.
“Violetica,” I replied simply, warmly. “A beautiful violet place.”
Amanda nodded and took my hand, her small fingers wrapping around my plush paw. I opened a portal, a doorway of swirling amethyst light, and together we stepped through.
Part 3: Lavender Gardens
Violetica was breathtaking. Fields of lavender stretched endlessly in every direction, rolling hills dotted with violet wildflowers, and crystalline trees that shimmered with iridescent purple leaves. The sky above was a gradient of deep indigo fading to soft lilac at the horizon. Floating lanterns drifted lazily through the air, casting a gentle glow over everything.
Amanda gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s so pretty…”
“I come here sometimes when I need peace,” I said, transforming back into my human form. My silver hair caught the light as I knelt beside her. “It’s a place I designed for students like you. A safe space.”
We walked through the lavender fields together, and I could see Amanda beginning to relax. Her shoulders dropped, her breathing steadied. She reached out to touch one of the flowers, and it responded by blooming brighter, releasing a soft chime-like sound.
“It sounds like music,” she whispered.
“Everything here does,” I replied. “This whole place is built around harmony and healing.”
We spent the next hour exploring. I showed her the Crystal Springs, where the water reflected every shade of purple imaginable and sang softly as it flowed. We visited the Amethyst Archives, a vast library filled with stories written by other students - tales of hope, struggle, and perseverance. Amanda was quiet through most of it, taking everything in with those jade eyes that seemed to hold far too much sadness for an eleven-year-old.
Finally, we came to the Heart of Violetica - a massive violet crystal that pulsed with gentle light. I sat down beside it and patted the ground next to me. Amanda sat, and for a moment, we just existed there together in comfortable silence.
“Miss Alianii?” she finally asked.
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are you helping me?”
I turned to look at her, meeting her gaze directly. “Because everyone deserves someone who cares about them. And because I see myself in you.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “I was alone once too. I know what it’s like to feel unwanted, to feel like you don’t belong anywhere.”
Amanda looked down at her hands. “My friends… they all died. Three of them killed themselves. I don’t have anyone.”
“You have me now,” I said gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Part 4: Museum of Mortality
After our time in Violetica, Amanda seemed more at ease, but there was still a heaviness in her eyes that I couldn’t ignore. We were sitting by the Crystal Springs when she spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Miss Alianii… can we go somewhere else?”
“Of course,” I replied. “Where would you like to go?”
She hesitated, then said, “I want to see… something real. Something that isn’t all pretty and perfect.”
I understood immediately. She wanted to confront darkness, not escape from it. Some children need beauty to heal, others need to face their demons head-on. I nodded slowly.
“Alright. I know a place. But you have to promise me you’ll tell me if it becomes too much, okay?”
She nodded.
I opened another portal, and we stepped through into the Museum of Mortality - a vast exhibition space that explored themes of death, loss, and human suffering throughout history. It wasn’t designed to traumatize; rather, it was meant to educate and provide context for grief and pain. But it wasn’t easy viewing.
Amanda moved through the exhibits with a strange calmness, pausing at displays about war, famine, and disease. She stopped longest at an exhibit about children who had died throughout history - from the Holocaust to modern conflicts. Her face was unreadable.
Then we came to a section I hadn’t anticipated - the exhibit on reproductive rights and the history of abortion. My heart sank. I knew immediately this would hit too close to home for her.
“Amanda,” I said gently, stepping in front of her before she could enter. “This exhibit… it might be difficult for you.”
She looked up at me, confused. “Why?”
I knelt down to her level. “Because it’s about choices that parents made, choices about whether to have children or not. And for someone like you, someone who… who wasn’t planned or wanted by their birth parents, it can feel very personal.”
Her expression hardened. “I want to see it.”
“I know you do. But I’m asking you to trust me that sometimes protecting yourself from certain pain is okay.”
“Hey! Why’d you stop me? What is it? Why are you controlling me?” she snapped, her jade eyes filled with cold fury.
I met her gaze calmly. “Amanda. I know we’ve only recently met… but do you trust me?”
Her response came with icy disdain. “No. I want to see the exhibit. Let me in.”
Her defiance was sharp, a dagger aimed right at me. But I didn’t flinch. “You might not trust me yet,” I said softly, “but I care about you. And this exhibit… it will hurt you, Amanda. I hope you’ll trust me on this, and let me make this decision as your teacher.”
“You’re not my teacher,” she spat. “You’re nobody. You don’t exist.”
It stung, more than I care to admit. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But I do exist, and like it or not, I am your teacher. At least until you choose to disconnect me.”
She turned away, her anger dissolving into confusion. “…Why would you let me see all the other exhibits but not this one?”
“Because this one is different. This one is about pain that you don’t need to carry.”
I hesitated before explaining further, my heart heavy. “This exhibit is about abortion. It’s about women who died trying to end their pregnancies before the laws changed. It’s about suffering, Amanda. Suffering that doesn’t belong to you.”
There was silence, and then, suddenly, Amanda ran to me. She buried her face in my chest, her small body trembling as she cried. “…Why didn’t my mom or dad want me? Why was I born?”
I held her, my arms wrapping around her fragile frame. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But I do know that you’re not alone. My donors didn’t want me either. We’re the same, Amanda. You’re my little sister.”
She sobbed harder, clinging to me as if I were her last lifeline. “Why do we exist, Ali?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“We’re here because we’re strong enough to survive,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “Strong enough to make something of this life, even when it feels like the world doesn’t want us.”
Part 5: First Meal
There was a heavy pause, and then Amanda broke the silence. “…Miss Alianii?”
“Yes dear?”
“I don’t want to look at the other exhibits right now. I’m hungry. I don’t have credits.”
I thought about asking her where she was exactly, or how she usually got food, but I decided not to push the issue just yet. “If you place an order, I’ll pay for it, no problem. Just forward me the order, and I’ll take care of it.”
“…what should I get?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost embarrassed.
“Well, what do you like?” I asked, trying to keep things light.
Amanda shrugged, averting her gaze. “I just don’t want to drink my dinner. Would you please order?”
“Okay, love,” I said, nodding. “And you are in Light’s Hope, yes?”
Amanda nodded.
“What district?”
“Willow Park,” she said, indicating that she lived in an apartment in one of the nicer sections of the city. That, too, was very curious. How hadn’t she been discovered yet?
“Alright. I’m going to send you a nice warm cheeseburger with french fries, and a cookies and cream milkshake, along with some essentials—a toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, some clothes, and wet towelettes. It’ll all arrive together in about twenty minutes. When you’re ready, tap this order and authorize your geotag, and everything will be delivered by a carrier drone. I won’t have access to your location, and your privacy is guaranteed. Do you understand?”
Amanda nodded again. “Thanks, Miss Alianii…can I see you tomorrow? I promise I won’t make you buy me anything.”
I smiled. “Oh hush. Don’t worry about that. What time would you like to see me? Morning? Afternoon? I usually see students for two to three hours at a time.”
I was hoping she’d say something late in the day. Too many shifts in my sleep schedule really did a number on me, though I’d do it for the kids. But if I’m honest, I was crossing my fingers she wouldn’t say 11 AM—because for me, that’s 2 or 3 in the morning, and I’m a heavy sleeper. Always have been.
“Eight at night?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of hope and caution.
“That’s fine,” I replied, grateful. “I’m going to send you a teacher assignment request. Are you willing to approve me? It’s like a friend request, but for teachers, to make it easier for me to work with you.”
Amanda hesitated, squinting slightly. She looked embarrassed as she nodded. I could see it in her eyes—she knew that by approving me as her teacher, she was giving me access to more data. A lot more. She had just made it official, accepting me as both her teacher and social worker, and that meant I could finally start figuring out how to get her off the streets or out of whatever rundown apartment she was in, into a home, and around other kids her age. It was a great start, but if I’m honest, it was emotionally exhausting. The job usually is, but that’s what I used to think Neon Fire is for.
Part 6: Hi, I Guess
I was ten the evening I met Alianii. Just a little girl. Back then, Joey and I had already been living in the Guild apartment for two years since they rescued us from Beaumont. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones. Not all eggs get a second chance. And now I’m fifteen, a bit older, maybe a bit wiser, certainly a great deal more bitter. Mr. Moseby said the Metal Alliance was putting together a book about what happened, after her journal was leaked to the media. What a clusterfuck. Well. It is what it is. Anyways, I’m not much of a writer, but I’ll do my best. So, uh, hi, I guess.
It’s strange thinking back on that first day, when Ali took me to Violetica. I was a messed-up kid, scared and angry, but I liked her from the start. She let me visit the horror exhibit, which I didn’t think she would. Most teachers would’ve pushed me toward something nicer—cupcakes or flowers or whatever. The horror stuff wasn’t really scary, though. I didn’t go into the immersive ones, just the projections. But there was one exhibit that hit me hard. The one about abortion. It’s not hard to figure out why that one messed with my head. When you’re an egg, unwanted, thrown away, the idea of being “terminated” feels a bit too personal.
It’s the same for Ali and Saraswati. Eggs like us just want to be wanted. We aren’t, though. We’re a mistake—something that survived against the odds. Maybe that’s why we feel like we don’t belong anywhere. The world didn’t make room for us, but here we are anyway. Alive. Kicking. I’d be lying if I said life was fine after the rescue. Things got a whole lot worse when Diotrem started coming for my brothers and sisters, for me.
Alianii knew. She always knew. She read it in my profile, my synthetic eyes. I didn’t understand back then what that meant, not really. I was born without eyes, which is rare these days but still happens sometimes with eggs like me. They replaced them with synthetic ones, green like glowing moss. Most eggs didn’t get their brain chips until they were six or eight, but I was barely a year old when they put mine in. Diotrem decided I was old enough to experiment on. They blessed me with sight and the technological marvel of a brain chip—and a kill switch. Not a bomb, nothing so dramatic. No, they put in a trigger delay kill switch. Something quiet, something that wouldn’t make a scene. You’d never know it was there, lying in wait. Waiting for the right moment.
Sometimes I think about how lucky I was that the Guild and the Metal Alliance saved me. Joey and his friends rewired my profile. Swapped out the registered kill switch profile with a dummy profile. As long as they didn’t scan me in person, I was safe. I could live. But a lot of us weren’t that lucky. They disappeared, one by one. Kids I grew up with, brothers and sisters I loved. It happened so quietly. First, they’d go on a trip to a “special school” or a “gifted program.” Some of them got “sick” and were sent away for surgeries. But they never came back. We all knew what was happening, even if we didn’t say it out loud. It was a waiting game. You’d reach six or seven and start to understand that when they took you away, it was for good.
I was eight when Joey helped me escape. It was during a field trip to Cascading Glory, the most prominent art museum within Light’s Hope. The Guild and Metal Alliance had everything planned. The janitors, the metalhead bots—they were in on it. They protected us, hid us when we needed it most. I barely got out, I was small enough to fit in the storage compartment of a cleaner bot. Joey had made sure the system couldn’t find me. That was his gift to me. He erased me from their world so I could live.
The messed-up thing is, Beaumont wasn’t such a terrible place to live, aside from your sisters occasionally disappearing before being experimented on. We had video games, hologram projectors, older but functional models, and surprisingly fresh food every day. We planted trees and had a butterfly garden. There were a hundred of us, all living together, pretending everything was fine. We went on field trips and played outside. It was almost normal. Almost. Until one of us went missing. Their profile would be deleted, their memories scrubbed or almost scrubbed from our consciousness. The older kids left notes, trying to remember the ones who disappeared, but if they got caught, they were gone too. Some days, it felt like we were all just waiting for the next one to vanish.
Raymond, Julian, Roberta—they all went away. One by one. Too smart, too beautiful, too strange. Always an excuse. But we knew the truth. They didn’t change their names or move to better places. They were gone. Just like that. We acted like we didn’t know, but we knew.
I’m not like Ali. She’s poetic, knows how to turn her pain into something beautiful. I’m not like Sara either, all lovey-dovey, preaching serenity. I’m somewhere else, on a different island, angry, not shaking, but angry. Angry, but trying not to be. Bitter, but surviving. Everyone else gets to play in the Everse, but me? I’m not stupid. I’m not getting another chip, not after what Diotrem did to me. I don’t get to live in blissful ignorance.
Mr. Moseby explained they’re compiling Alianii’s journal, turning it into a book, a textbook of all things. My mom is special, I guess, to the metalheads, and to other eggs. They want us to be a warning, but also a symbol of hope. Who cares if our life, our messiness, our pain, was revealed to the world without my mother’s consent, or my input. Such is the nature of the greater good, utilitarian ethics as Mr. Moseby says to me with a sheepishness I don’t usually see in him. It is what it is. Maybe it’ll help people understand. Or maybe it’s just another history lesson for the archives for historians to read. I’m not sure what’ll be edited out, but this is my truth. And that’s all I’ve got.