Five Years Earlier:

“Did you bring your umbrella?”

“Yeah.” I say, swinging the navy blue contraption in my hands. “Did you?”

Sehun scoffs and nudges my side with an elbow. “It’s not like I would be the one to forget. I mean, you should worry about yourself and your inability to remember anything.”

Adjusting the collar of my white button down, I laugh. “My inability? Don’t you remember that time when you completely forgot about the classes deadline and I reminded you? Or did you forget about that too?”

“Alright, alright.” He responds, cracking a smile with his hands up half-heartedly in a weak show of surrender. “You win. Hey, what do you have today at 11:25?”

I take a moment to recall my agenda before replying, “I’m still in a class. I don’t have lunch until 12:15 today if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“For once I wish we’d have similar classes so I’d know for sure who I’d eat lunch with everyday.”

I pout and fake a few sniffles. “Aw, does Sehun miss eating lunch with Luhan everyday?” I shift to the side to avoid Sehun’s hand slapping my shoulder.

“You know, never mind. I realize why I don’t like eating meals with you anymore.” He scowls before continuing, “What class do you have now? I’m off to Building 3.” 

I lay my left wrist against the scan until the screen verifies my identity and I’m allowed through into the Academy. Sehun follows suit. “Ah, Building 2. Engineering.” I say, and he makes a face.

“Numbers, numbers, and more numbers. I hope I never have to go through with that ever again.”

“Of course you won’t have to; we’ve already finished Gen. Ed. You’re an Aenine, I’m a Phynine. You weren’t made to like numbers.”

“Exactly. I’ve been an Aenine my whole life, so why are we supposed to go through five years of general learning? I don’t need to know the mass of the moon or what x equals.” He pauses to wave at passing colleague. “I don’t know how you do it, Luhan. Everything’s so confined, so strict. It’s suffocating.”

“General Ed. is so you can broaden your mind, and it’s not suffocating. I rather like that there’s no room for incorrect answers. It means that if you’re wrong, then you’re wrong. None of that spending hours on end trying to interpret paint on paper that you Aenines have to go through.”

“You just don’t know how to appreciate something that isn’t made up of numbers and sequences. How am I your friend again?” Sehun reaches into his bag to retrieve his tablet, fingers flying across the screen and muttering about dance being relocated to a different room. 

I shrug at his previous comment and before I turn to leave in the other direction for class, I add with a smile, “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the Generator that?”

The Generator is this machine that stores all types of data like the name and birthdate of a person, their interests and dislikes, their strengths and weaknesses. It houses personalized information about every living human in the world, whether they’re New or not, and even more. Other than being a powerhouse of information, one of its main purposes, is to group similar things, or in most cases, people, together. Sehun and I always joke that maybe the Generator slipped up when it was paring us. I mean, it isn’t unusual for Aenines and Phynines to be friends, but there is a broad spectrum of people in the world. You have Aenines who have almost similar careers and views to Phynines, but then you have Aenines who are on a totally different level from Phynines; complete polar opposites. We believe that Sehun is one of those Aenines on the far end of one side on the spectrum, and I’m on the other. But, from my experience, the Generator doesn’t make mistakes.

In the very beginning of a baby’s life, the Generator does numerous tests to find out whether he or she is Aenine, the right brains, or Phynine, the left brains. Sometime afterwards, Sorters manually enter data, change it when it needs to be changed, and the Generator takes the info and starts drawing connections. Those connections can predetermine, or at least give a bit of insight, on various subjects: what skill set a person has, lists and lists of possible careers, and even the ideal people to grow up with. From a very young age, children are separated into groups based on how well their personalities and interests complement each other according to the Generator. This is so most conflicts in friendships are avoided. We are told that in the past, friends friends simply because they weren’t compatible.

Even knowing that, I always wondered why nobody ever made the effort to try to get to know other people, even those the Generator did not recommend for them. I asked a General Ed. teacher once, and she told me, “Because science is much more accurate than what we feel.” I was glad when I finished General Education and never had to see her again.

Before the Generator, however, we have Modifiers. Modifiers are those that create genetic material and replicate DNA. They process life, manufacture personalities and general unspecific traits. Being a Modifier is a highly regarded career in Phynine society. Of course most Aenines will have none of it because a Modifier’s job is mainly consisted of sequences and that is not very appealing to Aenines. Nope, they’d rather be Crafters, people who design the general appearances of newborns so everyone’s unique, and then pass the blueprints off to Mods. Sehun thinks thats what he wants. Both my parents are Modifiers, and I am likely to be one as well.

Today feels like any other day. Of course I do feel the shift in the air, the heaviness that comes before the rain. I’ve only felt it once before, when I was younger. Seven and three months, maybe. But everything seems normal. I exchange greetings with the people I know personally, slight nods to those I’ve seen around before. Everything is routine, orderly, and nothing is out of place. That is magnified once I enter the Engineering room surrounded by other Phynines like myself. 

I drift into numbers and calculations, formulas and theories. Before I know it, I’m moving on to Anatomy in Building E, and Bio-Chemistry on the second floor. Lunch passes without much thought. It isn’t until Mod 3 that the sky starts to melt into gray.

It’s unfortunate, really, that the storm had to start creeping up on Central during Mod 3 because I think I like the class and the idea of rain distracts me. Instead of focusing on the simulated problems (create the gene for red hair and so forth) I’m too worried about the squall brewing outside the Academy. Classes have been modified for today so that everyone has enough time to safely get home before it hits, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Granted that this is the final round of Modification classes that one can possibly take, so I’ve pretty much learned almost all there is to know. One hour of inattentive behavior won’t kill me.

As the final class draws to a close, everyone is restless. Like I said, rain is rare. I’m sure some people here at the Academy haven’t even had a chance to see it yet, or they just don’t remember. Or perhaps they just don’t care to remember.

I place my tablet into my backpack after I take one last glimpse at the world alert on the screen: 00:32:01. It’s more than enough time to catch the shuttle back home, untouched by the rain. I walk leisurely back to the Main Hall of the Academy, into Set 2, to retrieve my other belongings. There are one hundred doors that are labeled Set 1, Set 2, Set 3, and so on lining the Main Hall. They are rooms that house personal closets, fifty to sixty in each, for every individual of the Academy. The rooms are spacious, each locker is nine by four feet. People are placed into these rooms by their set number. What I mean is basically the year they were created. Entering Set 2, I tap my left wrist against a gunmetal gray cabinet and it pops open, allowing me I take whatever I need and push anything I don’t back. 

By the time I’m nearing the exit of the building, the black message board in the Main Hall blinks 00:16:29 in white block numbers. Most students have already left by now, those that are left are probably staying to do extra work, file in more hours for a class to ensure qualifications for their dream career. The only thing that interrupts the quiet is a pair of feet stomping along the tiled floor. I glance back and laugh.

“Oh hey, Luhan.” Sehun breathes. He slows to match my pace. “Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know, why are you?” I answer, hooking my thumbs in the straps of the backpack.

“Had to finish this.” He says, lifting a portion of the cloth to reveal the object in his hands. It’s a canvas, and painted on it is a brilliant bouquet of yellow roses in a blue vase on top a pale pink tablecloth. The image is serene and realistic, almost like a slight breeze could pass any minute and ruffle the petals. “It’s my mom’s birthday today.”

“Ah. So you decided it was a fantastic idea to wait until the actual day to finish this.” Clapping in a sarcastic matter, I shake my head. “How do you get by in your life?”

Sehun covers the painting again, muscles tensing to resume running. He laughs, and I see a kid. A genuine kid. It’s easy to forget that some of us aren’t genuine anymore. “Simple. It’s because I’m me.” Then he takes off, shouting a goodbye and an if I don’t run I’m going to be late for the party. 

I’m left in a muted silence again, the white numbers waving 00:14:57 at me as I push through the door. The sky rumbles, an ominous gray with blotches of bright light filtering through the thin spots. For some reason I walk slower than normal. When I do reach the shuttle stop, I sit, watching the arrival of a Transporter that goes along the route to my home before it starts on its journey again when I don’t move. 00:10:36. The next one comes in four minutes, and I ride that one. 

I don’t like the rain, I really don’t, but something about its unexpectedness is alluring. I mean, when it used to be unexpected. I guess the real reason I’ve been dragging it out is because I really want to feel what it’d be like to get caught in it. To ride in a car or a Transporter and look out into the world, window blurry with raindrops like in the Old movies. To just feel little. Not in control. To just let things happen on their own and not have an agenda.

I get off at my station. If I’m correct, I’ll make it to the house in three minutes. The clock says I only have two. Giving up that ‘getting caught in the rain’ idea and replacing it with the thought of being dry and warm, I pick up my pace and start to jog. I would’ve been correct about the three minutes, except when I'm almost there, I see her.

ahhh this took a while, but I hope you like the first actual chapter. thank you all for anticipating this fic.