The spaceship cafeteria is like the Hollywood version of a school lunchroom.

When I think "cafeteria," immediately summoned to mind are grimy tables, stained walls, questionable yet food-like substances, and irritable lunch ladies - a scene that hasn't changed for at least a century, I'm sure.

This cafeteria is gleaming white, like the rest of the spaceship. The tables are smooth cream, with seats that seem to have been molded to a human form.

The counter where school children would receive their food is at the back of the room, and it is merely a long counter. No window, no lunch ladies. There are five small screens in which we type in our orders and promptly receive the food in five minutes, tops, no matter what it is.

When we've all settled into chairs (all three of us have creatively gone for hamburgers), it's silent in the room except for the occasional smack of lips from one of us. The hamburgers don't taste quite right and a small portion of me wonders if they're even real.

I find that our seats are adjustable for height and start playing with mine, going up and down, over and over. Jake shoots me a look.

"Do you think the Albinos keep tabs on us all the time?" asks Deirdre. "They kept tabs on us all the time where I used to live."

I start to ask where she used to live when I realize that she hasn't had any solid place of residence besides her parents' house until she was forced into some loony bin. The Voice blocks my reaction to this realization so much that I don't even blink.

"Same here," Jake says. "The mental hospital watched us all the time. There were cameras everywhere."

"They hid them where I was," I input offhandedly. "Dunno why they weren't out in the open, but I knew they were there because one of the workers mentioned my favorite song to me and I only ever sing it when no one is listening."

"So you're pretty behind on the times," Jake notes, obviously referring to my news-less three years in the insane asylum.

"A little bit, yeah. When I was caught, they were working with EMP tech for warfare down south and we were reinforcing the protection wall around California's coastline 'cause of the increased flooding."

"They finished that project, but not in time. Three coastal cities got flooded and four more were evacuated and have been abandoned ever since. And the EMP stuff died out when it backfired and wiped out the grids in Florida and Georgia for two weeks."

"Woah. What else happened?"

"Oh, the usual. A few famous people died. Ricey was elected again and nominated for eight years. Dunno if he got the presidency. I was captured at that point."

"Who's Ricey?" Deirdre asks, confused.

"The U.S. president," Jake answers as I answer in slightly more detail, "He was the old U.S. president. Well, I guess he is again."

Deirdre nods slightly, then frowns, her understanding lost. "I only went to a little bit of school in the insane asylum...I didn't learn about the prez-dent, I don't think."

Jake and I immediately dedicate the rest of our mealtime to educating Deirdre on the American democratic system.

As we finish telling her about how America started World War Three almost a century ago, the same Albino whom we met yesterday enters the cafeteria with Xavier and Nicole close behind.

"It is time for your initiation," she announces calmly, and Jake's hand curls into a fist on the tabletop.

*

I am getting a little better at standing on my own two legs, but not nearly strong enough to remain upright without the support of Jake's steady arm. Sometimes I am able to stand and wobble for a second before falling back against him, but we move faster if he simply carries me like a doll.

The room that we are taken to for initiation happens to be the same place where the male Albino explained his species' tragic past. Again, it is completely bare except for one bland chair in the middle of the room. Its design simplicity makes it strangely ominous.

"Who wants to go first?" the woman asks quietly. None of us volunteer and Jake even steps protectively in front of Deirdre. She frowns at the accidentally condescending treatment and moves forward to stand beside him.

Finally, as the silence stretches on, Jake raises his hand. "I'll go." His face is set and determined.

He sets me down gently on the floor, and Deirdre sits cross-legged to join me. Nicole and Xavier huddle together as Jake crosses the room, every muscle tense, and sits in the chair. I laugh: the Voice thinks it looks comical, such a huge boy sitting with so much uncertainty in that tiny chair. It is hilarious, of course, but I didn't want to laugh. Not now. Not with whatever's about to happen looming over us.

Our Albino escort strolls over to an area on the wall and taps it lightly. A hidden panel reveals itself, sliding out smoothly. She pulls something out of the resulting drawer and taps the surface again.

As the compartment slides shut, we all stare, apprehensive, at the object in her hand. It is a claw with three squishy bulbs at the end of each spindly metal finger. It looks like a torture device for which the hideous purpose is unclear.

She walks in front of Jake. "This might hurt a little," she warns him, as sweetly as ever, and he barely has time to register her words before she gently presses the bulbs to his forehead, two resting just above his eyes and one rising high, positioned just at his hairline.

His face registers confusion - how could something so obviously gentle and pliable hurt? Then, his eyes widen and almost instantly squeeze shut, and every muscle in his neck bulges. He is obviously trying very hard not to scream.

The room around us transforms into a scene, a scene, it is quickly apparent, that is projected straight from the boy's mind.

A woman to current-Jake's right stands glowering at a toddler. He is screaming and crying, and we realize with a jolt that it is a much smaller version of the goliath teenager seated in the chair. However, the toddler is still large for a child that I would guess is two or three.

"Shut up!" the woman exclaims irritably, and smacks his cheek - not full-force, but harder than anyone should hit a child. He quiets immediately and turns his face away so she can't see the fresh tears from the pain rolling down his cheeks.

A slightly older Jake is starting school. He is freakishly tall, perhaps as tall as I was when I was ten - and I wasn't considered short until I was a teenager. He recites numbers up to fifty proudly in front of his class. A girl whispers behind her hand to another girl and they giggle, the laughter directed at him. Kindergarten Jake, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed with his small victory, doesn't notice.

The scene changes again. Jake is a little older now. He is hunched over a creature on the playground. I soon make out the familiar small body of a frog. Gently, he picks it up and strokes its back. Glancing furtively around, he jogs toward a small strip of woods, frog held carefully in his hand. Once he gets to the tree line, I can see a small stream. He sets down the frog right next to it and then carefully backs away as the school bell rings.

Middle school. Jake is tall, very tall. Much taller than everyone else, even a few high school boys who pass. They eye him strangely, thrown off by his height.

"Hey Peters, nice clothes!" a boy calls across the hall, his friends laughing behind him. Jake glances down at himself; he is wearing threadbare clothes that are at least a decade or two out of fashion. Biting his lip, he ducks into his classroom.

Now we are obviously in Jake's house. His father is watching television, his face set in anger. His mother is pretending to clean dishes, wiping off the same plate over and over as she watches her son through the open bathroom door, where he's nursing a black eye. "Are you gonna tell me who hit you?" she asks. Jake ignores her.

Current Jake can't hold it back anymore. His jaw is forced open by an unseeable pain and he groans, yells. He gulps in air, every muscle tensed. "Why doesn't he just get up?" Deirdre mutters, voice wavering as she presses into my side for comfort.

The scene changes. A group of boys crowd around Jake, who looks to be a young high schooler. "Come on, man," they urge, one holding out a small white packet. "It's not that bad. Just this once. Trust me, it makes everything go away." A nervous Jake accepts the powder and the scene dissolves.

The Albino removes the claw from Jake's forehead and his muscles go slack as he slumps back against the seat. He is taking deep, shuddering breaths.

Deirdre sucks on her lips as if she is considering something and then runs over to him, jumps up on his lap, and hugs him. Her arms don't even stretch all the way around his body.

Jake's eyes open. He looks broken. He doesn't even seem to register Deirdre's presence.

"Jake?" Nicole calls nervously. He doesn't respond.

"Your turn, Deirdre," the woman decides calmly.

*

A/N: more explanations!

Being elected for eight years: If a president is elected a second time, people can nominate him for five to ten years rather than the usual four. 

Reinforcing the protection wall: The protection wall is a type of wall used in several countries to protect coastline regions that would otherwise be underwater.