Sebastian enters his dark apartment and turns on the living room lights. The warm bulbs fill the space with an inviting glow. The apartment is a modest one bedroom abode with polished hardwood floors and sandy white walls. It has all the basic amenities such as in-unit laundry, a large balcony, modern appliances, and a walk-in closet. However, despite the comfort of the apartment itself, the space is mostly empty. It’s sparsely furnished and the floors are covered in dust—so much so that Sebastian’s common walking paths are visible. He had enough money for the ticket down and a room, but he wasn’t prepared for the financial vortex that comes with a bachelor’s life on Earth.

He takes off his shoes and jacket, then immediately makes his way towards his kitchen—the only room in his apartment that is fully furnished. He pulls out an iced over bottle of cheap vodka from the freezer, then pours a shot of it into a small glass. He takes the shot without a flinch, then kind of rinses the glass in the sink for half a second. The alcohol makes its way to Sebastian’s head. He feels nice and loose now. He walks into his bedroom, passing a frameless twin-sized mattress and stepping over several small piles of dirty laundry. He enters his closet and grabs a fuzzy gray robe off a hook on the backside of the door.

Robe on, Sebastian makes his way back to his kitchen with a newly relaxed gait. He steps around his folded electric scooter that is plugged into a wall outlet between the kitchen and the bedroom. He opens the doors of his drink cabinet and eyes his small collection of wines aging peacefully on a rack. He grabs an opened bottle of merlot that he started on last night. Sebastian pours a glass of wine in the kitchen, then brings both the glass and bottle to his personal computer in the living room. He sits in his desk chair and takes a long, deep breath.

Since the day his feet touched the Earth’s surface, Sebastian has been down on his luck. Hardship after hardship, the world beyond these apartment walls has become an intimidating place. Each day that passes, he finds it increasingly difficult to find the motivation to go outside.

This space has become his bastion of peace.

And after his conversation with Delphine, the bastion seems larger than ever before. Oh, wait! Is Delphine doing okay? Sebastian quickly shoots her a text. She responds immediately:

"All good! Thank for checking me! See you Minday!"

Either she’s in the middle of something or has had a few more to drink. Either way, Sebastian’s mind is put at ease. His thoughts now focused on messages, he looks up at his computer; a sleek, black, triangular prism, its lateral face turned directly towards him. It is slightly transparent, so if one were to look close enough, they could see the quantum circuitry inside.

"Messages." He speaks clearly towards the prism.

In an instant, his inbox appears on the prism's surface with fifteen new messages awaiting. He takes a sip of his wine and begins sorting through them using a levitating trackball that floats over a conical brass base about the size of a coin. He simply taps the ball to the base's pointed peak to click—like trying to crack an invincible egg.

Within the inbox, there are a few promotional emails which he immediately deletes. There are two response emails to the large batch of job applications Sebastian sent out a few days ago. Two kind rejections. He immediately deletes them. There are a few emails from military recruiters, warning Sebastian about a pending Martian invasion. The Vanguard’s marketing team seems to alternate between scare tactics and financial incentives depending on the news cycle. Delete. There’s a new bank statement. Sebastian moves the mouse cursor over to open it, but the idea of checking his bank account puts a pit in his stomach. He decides to hold off on that.

Then there are messages from the big three intergalactic conglomerates: Starsieg, Polaris Heavy Industries, and Seraphim. All three of these messages are vague wishes of safety and unity during trying times. These are mass communications that were sent to every colonist in the region about an hour ago. They’re responses to the terrorist attack that are intended to boost each company’s public image. Sebastian briefly skims each of the emails to see if any of them were written by a human being. He can’t tell.

The last thing in his inbox is a direct message from his younger brother, Berkeley.

…

Sebastian opens the twin glass doors that lead to the balcony. The gentle breeze of the night blows in. Though the sound of all the commotion in the streets bleeds into Sebastian’s safe space, the view is worth it all.

Atop the giant walls that surround Oasis, bright red beacons strobe gently. These are indicator lights at the peak of the colony’s air purification towers. They’re designed to keep pilots alert and avoid collision, but the rhythm at which they pulse is relaxing to watch. A soft blue glow emanates from the other side of the walls. This glow is created by the Moon’s light reflecting off the desert’s glass dunes. Sebastian breathes.

Deep inhale.

Long exhale.

Finally, he can feel his feet touch the ground. He stands at the doorway of his balcony for a long time, taking in the view, thinking about his family, and occasionally sipping on his wine.

Sebastian’s younger brother, Berkeley, has been the primary source of contact from his family. He’s very thankful to hear from his brother on a regular basis, especially since the rest of the family is not consistent about reaching out or responding. However, in recent years, Sebastian has felt a wall between the two of them. He doesn’t like associating the term with family, but Sebastian considers Berkeley to be a Crater Kid—a derogatory term popular amongst Lunar youth that denotes someone as brainwashed by the government’s propaganda.

Though every Lunar citizen falls somewhere on the indoctrination spectrum, Crater Kids tend to follow the Federation’s teachings to an extreme. Most end up in the military—Berkeley did, too. In fact, most of his family falls into this category. Sebastian has always been an outlier in this regard. He’s always wondered why. All he knows is that the propaganda just never felt right. It has always felt forced. The fact that he considers it to be ‘propaganda’ at all is a tell in itself. Furthermore, this disassociation with the accepted narrative has led him to become socially distant in general. It’s been hard for him to form deep connections with anyone in recent years. But he sincerely doubts that his feelings are uncommon.

Maybe everyone is too afraid to speak up?

He continues to mull over these thoughts, preparing to filter himself for his conversation with Berkeley. When his cup is empty, Sebastian walks back to his computer.