a series of unfortunate events: poor little orphan. Haven't you learned anything this year? Week? Season?

THE FIREPLACE CRACKLED WITH PERSISTENT FLAMES and Keira rubbed her fingers together to absorb all the heat that she could before she had to go outside in the cold. The orphanage received their weekly stock of firewood today, and in usual Series Home fashion, the firewood would last a day and a half, which meant they'd be left cold for the rest of the week.

This was the matron's fault, entirely. The matron of the orphanage, Mrs. Delinthal was almost as ridiculous as her name sounds. Keira did not love the woman, but she didn't particularly hate her either. She was someone who lost a child to the Disease, not on the streets, but in the hospitals in the North. From then, Mrs. Delinthal gave her life and soul to the Series Home for Nebulysis Orphaned Children or the Shnoc as the children called it.

Keira knew she was lucky when Mrs. Delinthal found her. She was already on the verge of starving to death, and the orphanage saved her when everyone else forgot that the Brooks had a young daughter who was still alive.

"Ya know you need to, like, get food today?" Sheera asked, her brownish olive skin shining from just washing her face. Water was abundant here—it was cold, salty and according to Sheera, perfect for her skin. In the West, they got fancy skincare products they make in their factories. They couldn't drink the salt water though, and it had to go through a large free filter that the Shnoc got as a present from the Council in the early years of its establishment. Keira waited with bated breath as the fireplace was getting to the height of its work. The heat filled the room and Sheera stuffed small cloths into the little cracked edges on the floor. They didn't want any heat to get wasted.

Keira was only seventeen, and if the Verids knew about her fake identity, they would arrest her and some of the younger children would have to go hungry. She was their only hope. Mrs. Delinthal got supplies of food for them, of course. But, it wasn't enough. The small helpings at dinner time kept them alive, but it never cured their insatiable hunger that always gnawed at their stomachs.

Because the Council didn't care what happened to a few orphaned children. They needed the richer children to prevail, and even though Sheera told Keira that the Council was very lovely to give them food, she had forgotten that they had the resources to send them to school but chose not to.

"Keira, there's a reason for that," Sheera said. "They can't just send us to school if we're all going to fail! That's a waste of their resources. I'd rather have food than education."

Sheera forgot that they didn't, in fact, get enough food.

There were fifteen children in the orphanage that were still alive. Five had died over the years, all from the Disease. Keira was the oldest of them at seventeen. It was her responsibility to bring something for them all—a piece of fruit, a loaf of bread...anything. Even if it was illegal.

"Sheera, I'm headin' out. Don't burn the room down, or Deli will have your head." Keira grabbed her murky, torn coat she outgrew two years ago, and pulled her hood up before stepping outside. Her ID card was safely tucked into her pocket, and she threaded through the muck and grime that surrounded the orphanage building.

It was another morning where the chills ran through her body. The coat she was wearing was commissioned by the donations five years ago. She had a petite frame. All those years of growth were gone, now that she had barely any nutrition in her body. That's why she needed the fake ID. There was no Verid that was going to believe it when she said she was of age. It was still a lie, but she only had a few months to go before she turned eighteen anyway. It wasn't like she was breaking the law aggressively.

Today was Fair Day. It meant that the workers got raises for their nearly useless work, so there would be more people buying stuff at the markets. The busyness of the market was helpful to Keira. More time and more people meant more opportunities to slip away.

It was still early morning, almost zero, and most Verids wouldn't care to search around alleyways. They were really up and running from zero though. It was when most Veridonians went to work.

Keira navigated through the familiar streets, her stomach grumbling. She was a growing teenager that needed more than half a loaf of mango bread, but that wasn't something she could ask her. There were children in the Shnoc that needed the food more than she did. Keira would've gone last night to get food outside, but there was no chance of getting anything after eighteen o'clock around here. If she was going to bring something, she had to get it now.

This was the reality of her life here. Every day, they woke up to try and survive. Sometimes, it felt like such a life was unworthy of living.

Her steps echoed on the dirt on the ground, and she scanned the alleys and corners for leftovers—usually, some people would throw some loaves of bread, or pieces of fruit around on windowsills. These were the middle class people who couldn't buy their way to the West but lived comfortably. They had the audacity to throw food outside, but that was fine by her. Their ignorance was her survival.

"Dang it," she hissed, "Nothing today."

She knew she had to resort to it, after all. She moved along the alleys, her senses attuned to the slightest rustle or movement. Scavenging for as long as Keira had been, one would develop a certain stealth.

In Veridonia, food was precious. Yet, there would be many upper-class survivors that didn't care about it. They would chuck whatever they wanted if they didn't want it. Keira wondered what they lived like in the West, when they had unlimited food and energy. Maybe, scavenging there would be much easier. Today, she would love for a piece of anything thrown in the trash can. Making do with whatever she could find was her speciality.

She rounded a corner, her heart leaping with excitement at the sight of a small market stall, its owner busy attending to the many customers that were already queuing up in front of him. She scanned from stall to stall, searching the counters for anything that could be snatched without the vendor realizing. Breads, fruits, anything.

Her stomach growled louder, reminding her of why she was here. She couldn't leave empty-handed, not today. Not when the little ones were counting on her.

She crouched low, blending into the crowd, and approached the stall with a pile of bruised fruits at the edge of the counter. The vendor was arguing with a customer over the price of dried meat, his voice rising with frustration. Keira silently thanked Malakar for the distraction, it made her life all the more easier.

In one smooth motion, she slid her hand over the edge of the stall, her small fingers grabbing onto a packet of meat. Her heartbeat quickened with the upending adrenaline as her fingers closed around the cold packet. She had done this countless times before, but the rush of fear never changed. She tucked the packet into her coat and began to inch backward, her small frame hiding her behind the tablecloth of the stall table.

"Hey! Stop!"

Her blood ran cold. The vendor's voice sliced through the noise of the market. She whipped her head around—his eyes locked directly onto her. He had seen her. A few heads in the crowd turned toward her, murmuring among themselves.

Without thinking, Keira bolted.

The market exploded into chaos as she shoved past people, not bothering to apologize like she usually did. Her feet kicked up the dust and grime from the narrow street as she bolted. She heard the vendor shouting after her, calling for the Verids to help, but she didn't dare look back. Giving him more time to be able to identify her was a bad idea. Her only choice now was to get out of sight before they caught her before she attempted damage control.

Her breath came in sharp, painful bursts as she sprinted, her boots slipping on the uneven gravel. The cold wind cut through her almost threadbare coat, but she couldn't feel it. The heat of fear was enough to keep her warm. All she could hear now was the distant scream and the sound of heavy footsteps behind her.

Heavy footsteps.

The Verids.

They were close—too close.

Keira ducked into the narrow gap between two broken buildings, her back pressed against the cold, damp wall. She could hear their voices now, echoing through the empty alleys.

"If it's one of those children, I'll make sure to send her to the institution. Spread out and find her!"

Institution.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing. They can't send her to the institution. That's where...Miles was. Miles was sent there because of what happened that day. But Keira knew better—he was never going to come back. If she was sent there, the same would happen to her. The packet of meat in her pocket felt like it was weighing her down considerably, burning against her skin. She dared a glance around the corner and saw two Verids split off in different directions, searching around.

Keira's mind started plotting possibilities. She couldn't stay here much longer. If they caught her, it wasn't just her that would suffer—the orphanage, the kids, they would all get in trouble. She had to get back safely.

Carefully, she removed her coat and stuffed it into the gaps of the buildings, edging slowly out of the space and moving deeper into the maze of Veridonia's many alleys. Her legs burned, but she kept going, weaving between crates, leaping over piles of trash. She could still hear the voices in the distances, but they were growing fainter. She was starting to lose them, or they were just too quiet for her to hear them.

She knew she was supposed to feel guilty, but her conscience was molded by now. Every time she did this, it was a reminder that she was crossing a moral line. In a world where the poor can't even survive, she had to do whatever it took to stay alive, even if it meant breaking the rules.

These people who created the rules didn't think about everyone's survival—only those who had power or units, sometimes, an excessive amount of both.

Her body stilled, her mind lost in thought as a commotion broke out nearby. She moved behind the concrete wall and spotted a building with a shattered window. This area was the part of the city that wasn't rebuilt after the commotion of the Nebulysis. Keira didn't know much about it, but there were talks of major protests that were a result of the blockage to the West. People thought that restricting better life to the West was cruel, and that everyone deserved a right inside.

Their solution was to destroy the entire city, as if it wasn't already dead from a bloody disease. Keira and the other kids watched the news reporter from the Dominion Council describe the events in detail, showing how these 'rebels' burned the place down.

Quite literally.

Keira peeked through the window. It was the back of an old bakery, clearly long abandoned, reminding her of a time when food wasn't so scarce. She scrambled up to the broken window, her fingers gripping the ledge as she hoisted herself inside. Her arms shook with exhaustion, but she pulled through, collapsing onto the dusty floor with a soft thud. She lay still, listening. The Verids were close, their voices echoing just outside the building.

She was already on her third strike. If they saw her ID, it was over for her.

Carefully, she glanced out the window to find, as expected, a group of Verids marching down the street, their mahogany sticks dull and shining in the artificial light of the city. Her eyes widened at the sight of a woman with blood streaking down her face as the Verids dragged her.

She froze in place, watching them yank the woman down the street like a broken doll, her legs scraping against the ground. Blood dripped from her face, staining the gray stone beneath her with a trail of crimson. The woman's cries, desperate, were swallowed by the sound of the crackling of the Verids' wooden bats.

Images flooded her mind, and it was the same nightmare again. Her mother...sprawled on the floor with blood flowing out of her as Keira helplessly pounded at the door.

It was happening again.

She was watching it again.

One of the Verids, a tall man who was one of the ones chasing her earlier, paused for a moment and raised his stick. The woman whimpered, her hands trembling as she reached out, and I saw it in her fingers.

An apple.

"Sir, we should check her first. She's a woman, after all."

The tall Verid paused and nodded. His fingers clutched around a circular metal device surrounded by glinting neon lights. Keira bent forward slightly, squinting, as she pushed her glasses up her nose.

The man held the device on the woman's forehead and it beeped in seconds.

"Sixty percent, Sir. I think we should send her to the labs."

The Verid's expression darkened as the device emitted a low, ominous beep. "Sixty percent," he muttered, his voice sharp with disapproval. "Barely worth the effort." He motioned to the others. "Send her to the labs anyway. Maybe she can be of use there."

The woman let out a sob. Keira's hands trembled against the cold, cracked floor of the abandoned bakery. Keira's fingers gripped the ledge of the broken window, her nails digging into the crumbling concrete as she fought to keep her breath steady. She pressed herself further against the wall, praying that none of them would think to look in her direction.

The Verid officer stepped back, wiping blood from his hands as if it were nothing more than dirt. "Load her onto the truck."

With that, they left.

Keira let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her fingers brushed against the packet of stolen meat in her coat. She had been one breath away from being in that woman's place. The sight of the blood still fresh in her mind, she slid back from the window and crouched against the wall, her body trembling. Her breath came in shallow, jagged gulps.

She inched backward, shutting her eyes momentarily. The Verids were gone for now, but what if they were back or were still on the hunt for her? She would end up exactly like that woman—either sent to the Institutions or the mysterious labs. Keira thought it strange. Why were the Verids sending the woman to the labs? Wouldn't they kill her or send her to the institutions like they did every other offender?

Before she knew it, a hand clasped her mouth and it took a moment for her instincts to kick in. She kicked the figure, trying to slide out from beneath, her feet scrambling for space.

Hey! Calm down, for Malakar's sake," a male voice said, "Jessie, do people in the West usually dress this bad?"

Slowly, Keira felt her body fail on her as she fell to the ground with a thud before her eyes shut close.