Project A

It’s a blaring, shrill alarm that wakes Nova. She jolts upright, and after a second to adjust to being ripped from sleep, her hand reaches over to the dark wooden bedside table. Fingers fumble around the perimeter of the black alarm clock, searching for the off button. The only source of light is the screen, reading 4:00 a.m. After several seconds and a crisp click, the alarm finally stops.

Careful not to wake her family, Nova braces herself against the piercing cold and pushes off the layers of bed sheets. She slides her feet into a pair of thick, black, fluffy winter boots and slips on a black hoodie. As she stands and breathes, she notices her warm breath contrasting with the cold air, turning into visible smoke.

At the sound of her stirring, the black-and-white tuxedo cat stretches, knowing that Nova’s waking means it’s time to eat. The cat follows her as Nova trudges over to her dark wooden door, which, due to the fact that only one of the original three hinges remains and the door shows noticeable signs of damage, lets out an echoing, unsettling squeal.

As she walks across the landing and down the creaky stairs, the cat following close behind, Nova cannot help but feel guilty for being slightly jealous of the people who will wake up this morning to heating that turns on automatically. She quickly forces the thought out of her mind, remembering the people who will wake up without shelter or warmth, who will have to work hard just to find food and survive the day.

She opens the kitchen door, which, although not damaged like her bedroom door, still creaks. Nova heads over to the cupboard under the stairs that holds mostly cleaning products, extra supplies, and the food for her cat, Loki. She reaches into the crate where she keeps all of his necessities and pries out the grainy food, shoveling it into the old ceramic dish Loki eats from.

Nova is careful to make sure nothing around Loki causes any inconvenience to her family. She doesn’t want to give them a reason to regret letting her keep him.

She had found that cat one day while out on her old bike. He was scrawny, tiny, and his fur matted with polluted mud. She had watched him struggle to use his weak limbs to drag a dead fish out of the almost black, murky river, his skeleton practically visible beneath the surface.

Something about the cat had reminded Nova of herself. He knew there wasn’t much hope, but he fought for survival. She had approached the timid creature cautiously and scooped him into her arms. The cat tried to run but was too weak, so he simply submitted to the fact that he was going home with her.

Nova had biked five miles, one-handed, holding him firmly and whispering reassurances as she rode. She had always kept to herself, so her mother didn’t find out about the cat until weeks later, when Nova had left her door ajar. To her surprise, her mother didn’t seem to mind too much, as long as it didn’t interfere with her father. He had never wanted the responsibility of a helpless cat falling on him. So Nova kept Loki and made sure all his supplies were tucked away, careful not to disturb her father.

She watched Loki eagerly eat his breakfast, his now-healthy, thick fur safely covering his skeleton, peppered with bits of food that had never quite made it to his mouth. She smiled as she picked up the now-empty ceramic dish and headed over to the metal sink. Pushing against the tap, a disrupted flow of icy water began to stream. She filled up the bowl, placed it on the floor, and then started filling the old metal kettle, setting it on the hob.

Nova grabbed one of the several lighters she kept in the wide leg of her black pajama pants. Holding it above the stove, she pushed the glass nozzle leading to the hob, lighting a small flame and setting the kettle to begin boiling.

She sat at the table, waiting for the kettle to squeal, and flicked on the radio. She scrolled through several stations. Of course, no music — she should’ve brought her phone and headphones downstairs for that, but instead it was constant talking. She flicked through until something piqued her interest.

“Three dead as they rebelled against the governm—”

Flick.

“Thinking of introducing new rules into scho—”

Flick.

It was all the same propaganda, the government trying to justify their corrupt actions.

“Government surveillance is now—”

Flick.

“A new chip to be installed underneath a person’s skull is being introduced.”

Oh. Now this was new. Unease crept through Nova’s body as she continued to listen to the muffled radio host.

“This chip will help people control technology with their mind.”

“It’s an implantable brain-computer that will enhance human abilities.”

What the fuck. Nova wasn’t a science genius or a mastermind behind this project, but even she knew there was no way any good could come from it. Unease filled her further as she continued to listen.

“It uses thin threads with electrodes that extend from the chip to record neuron activity. It uses the data to connect to devices, allowing control over them.”

After the announcement ended, a song finally began to play — probably to distract anyone who had been listening from the dangers of all this. Nova knew that something was going to change, and whatever it was, it was going to be catastrophic.

She poured boiling water into a glass mug and stirred in two scoops of cheap but strongly caffeinated instant coffee. She could already tell she was going to need it.

She scurried upstairs, her cat following her like it was second nature. As she got ready, something inside her felt wrong — uneasy, extra cautious. She tried to shake it off, splashing the ice-cold water from the bathroom sink over her face.

Careless, a drip fell into her jumper, a shiver ricocheting through her whole body. She breathed deeply as she patted her face dry with the tough, brown, weathered towels.

Nova then stared blankly into the mirror. Her dark eyes, almost black, looked right back at her. Wet strands of hair from her plait, loosened and plastered with water, clung to her pale skin.

She considered it for a second, reaching into the hole in her wall where she kept her precious supply of cigarettes. Taking one out of the metal tin, holding it instinctively between her fingers. Bringing it to her mouth, raising the lighter, to light the end. Inhaling the smoky air, holding it there for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. The smoke would curl around her in intricate formations.

She would feel lighter — less heavy, less hopeless, less scared, less uneasy, less miserable, less angry, less depressed. But she couldn’t. She needed to treat the cigarettes like gold. They were her escape for when the world got worse. Like she knew it would.

So instead, she ignored the craving. A tear rolled down her face as she came to terms with the fucked-up state of the world.

As she pushed the thought away and glanced back at the mirror, Nova wiped the tear away quickly, as if the reflection might judge her for it. She didn’t have time to fall apart. No one ever did.

She turned away and returned to the comfort of her room, where her miserable school clothes waited for her.

She moved quickly, changing from her comfortable pyjamas into her restrictive school uniform, fighting against the chance the cold would have to press against her bare skin. She pulled on the white shirt, then the fleece-lined black tights, the warmth bringing brief comfort. After that came the grey skirt and the matching, dismal black jumper. She forgot her tie entirely.

With a sigh, she flopped onto her squeaky desk chair and opened her laptop, frantically checking for any assignments or tasks due. It was an attempt to avoid losing compliance points — or being punished for failing to conform to the harsh rules of education.

After a while, muffled voices drifted up from downstairs. Nova glanced at the time in the corner of her screen. 6:00 a.m. That meant the rest of her family were downstairs, eating breakfast. She took it as her opportunity to go and eat.

She stepped into the kitchen, and something was wrong immediately. The table was too alive, too loud for a morning like this. It wasn’t weighed down by the usual exhausted silence that said we survived another night.

The smell hit her next.

Pancakes.

Nova stopped short. Pancakes didn’t happen. There was never time for them, never room for indulgence. Mornings were measured, scheduled, monitored. Being late meant deductions. Deductions meant attention. Attention was dangerous.

“Vee,” her mother said brightly, the false lightness snapping Nova out of her thoughts.

“For luck,” she added, flipping another pancake onto the plate. “You’re all moving up a year today.”

Her voice caught, just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for Nova to hear it.

Of course. A new year meant new potential risks of trouble.

Her mother had always believed in small comforts, in pretending they still had choices. But the tightness in her jaw gave her away. She knew what this meant. Everyone did.

Pancakes weren’t celebration.

They were preparation.

She sat at the end of the table, wedged between her two brothers, Jackson and Evan. The difference between them was stark.

Jackson’s auburn hair stuck out in every direction, his shirt untucked and smeared with syrup from his dismantled pancake. Nova huffed quietly and straightened in her chair. Jackson was in for a hell of a day — point deductions, warnings, trouble. But she didn’t feel sorry for him. He liked provoking teachers, liked pushing limits, liked showing off for his friends.

He didn’t care about the consequences. Not yet.

“You’re covered in syrup,” Evan scoffed.

His voice carried that familiar edge — smug, precise. Evan was the government’s idea of perfect: neat, well-groomed, obedient. Oblivious to the reality of the fucked-up system he lived in. He took pride in following rules. Sometimes Nova genuinely didn’t understand how he could be so blind, especially when the rest of the Iris family saw the cracks so clearly. But she knew the truth. The government’s manipulation was working. The propaganda had done its job.

“Shut up, you rat,” Jackson snapped. “I’d rather have syrup on my fucking shirt than look like I’ve just walked out of a lab.”

“You actually think you’re—”

“Enough,” their father barked, cutting him off sharply.

Despite the harshness in his voice, Nova caught it — the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He found their bickering amusing. He just couldn’t show it.

“You’re both pricks. And you’re both oblivious,” Nova said flatly.

She turned to her mother. “Thanks for the pancakes, Mum, but I’d rather just get to school. I really don’t want to be late.”

She didn’t need to explain. Her mother understood immediately. She only gave Nova a sad look before handing her a stale croissant. Nova appreciated the gesture anyway. She smiled, wrapped it in an old piece of tinfoil, and slipped it into her pocket.

She pulled on her black coat, the fur-lined hood encasing her head and offering a fragile sense of safety. Shoes on, breath held, she headed for the door.

Normally she’d listen to music — a-ha or Crystal Castles — but not today. Not with this much pressure. Not when so much could go wrong

The moment she shut the front door, the feeling hit her — the unmistakable sense of being watched. Nova lifted her head, scanning her surroundings. Within her eyeline alone, she counted five surveillance cameras.

The government claimed they were there for protection. For safety. But Nova knew better. They weren’t safeguards — they were threats. A constant reminder that society was being watched, judged, and monitored at every moment.

She took one final breath and stepped into the fog-choked air.