Blade Runner ── Gen V

O. First Days Suck... Kinda?

Zero, First Days Suck... Kinda?

Sunlight streamed through the blinds covering the classroom's windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of desks neatly arranged in a curving line. The air was charged with anticipation as students settled into their seats on their first day of university though it may have been a year into their studies, their eager chatter gradually subsided as the professor entered the room. One would expect the walls to be adorned with academic accolades or inspirational quotes yet the walls remain grey and lifeless as if to force the atmosphere of curiosity within the students. To an extent it worked; the hum of intellectual interest was only disrupted by the occasional rustle of notebooks and the tap-tap of keyboards. It was amusing how much people cared for something so minute in their future professions.

She slouched in her seat, her mind wandering as the professor droned on about the intricacies of forensic analysis. Despite the gravity of the subject matter, boredom weighed heavily on her shoulders, dragging her thoughts into a fog of indifference. She held a pen loosely, twirling the inanimate object through her fingers subconsciously as if it were something she usually did. She supposed after a semester at Godolkin University it was a normality for her to have a dancing pen. Her eyes glazed over the textbook pages, tracing the same words she had read a dozen times before in an attempt to appear like she was focused so she wouldn't be called out during the middle of class and face the wrath of humiliation. Her head tilted to the side, casting her eyes on the boy sitting beside her who scribbled notes and nodded attentively to their professor's words. How was he able to stay so focused? She fought to suppress a yawn at the mere idea of doing what he was, wondering how something so significant to her future seemed to bore her to death.

It wasn't like she was bad at school rather she was what people would call an academic weapon; honed to perfection yet plagued by the relentless grip of boredom in her Crimefighting classes. She was top of her classes for most of the semester for she did not mind the sea of lectures or textbooks, often embracing the rage of the water until she found herself drowning in a tide of tedium. It felt as if the very place she was supposed to grow up was shackling her intellect with the chains of routine and predictability. She would return to her dorm after class, exhausted from the mental battle she fought every hour to focus on words that danced through her vision with the melody of their syllables going in one ear and out the other. Yet, this boredom was affecting her school work — it spiraled her grades and she now sat there as an average student. For long she thought that being a hero was stopping the crime, the Lamplighter School of Crimefighting proved that Supes were more of a subdivision of the police force than they were heroes. Yet the dull minds of her classmates, all rotten with the lack of personality surrounding their education, lapped up their every word like a dog begging for water. She wondered why, a constant question of what meant more than helping those who need you. Why more didn't speak up for the issues that they claimed they had solved — starting with something as obvious as equal rights across all gender identities?

Not that she was surprised; she had seen the aftermath of women in power being destroyed for what they believed in. In a world where speaking out against the status quo often comes at a high price, women find themselves walking a precarious tightrope between silence and scrutiny. Women like Starlight have their voices like echoes against walls of oppression, met with disdain and dismissal from the common man who doesn't know better. When a woman dares to vocalize her dissent, she is met with a cacophony of criticism and condemnation, her ideas labeled as radical or unrealistic. Society's ingrained misogyny acts as a formidable barrier, silencing those who refuse to conform to the prescribed roles and expectations.

And yet, despite the backlash and ostracization, women continue to raise their voices, their resilience shining through the darkness of ignorance and intolerance. For every woman shunned for her ideas, countless others stand in solidarity, amplifying her message and fighting for a world where all voices are heard and valued. She had never seen so many women rise together when the world tried to beat Starlight when she was at her worst; perhaps that was why she was so fond of the blonde Supe or even her dean, Indira Shetty. Sure she often wondered why she admired Dean Shetty — the woman was a human, she would never understand the gravity of having Compound V coursing through her bloodstream like poison — yet she was nothing more than understanding and apologetic as if she created the drug herself. She looked at her with pity, properly hearing each word told during their one-on-one conversations at the start of each week... Not that they had met since the second semester started. She looked at her with pride, as if making it through another class was enough for her to be on par with the top rank of her students.

But she sat there, her head pounding with the strain to stay focused when something shuffled aside her. A new boy was adjusting his seat beside her, his cheeks flushed and puffing while he smiled apologetically at the scowling professor. He caught her eye, his teeth shining in the light of the classroom to the point it nearly blinded her. She furrowed her eyebrows, forcing a tight-lipped smile as she looked back to her countless words on a piece of paper. They sat in silence for a few seconds before the boy leaned over to her, that smile even wider than before, "Bonjour."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise before she responded perfectly though confused, "Bonjour?"

"Ha! You are French!" He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as if amused by a joke no one had said. She watched him, trying to keep a scowl off her face. He seemed to have sensed the glare, turning to face her with a look of guilt, "Sorry about that, I just wanted to see if you were like French-French or French-Canadian."

She felt her glare intensify, her accent thick as if the mere idea brought out that side of her, "I could never be French-Canadian. I'm not even fully French. My mom's American."

"Mine too!" He joked. There was a raise to her eyebrows as she smiled at him, an attempt to not burst into fits of laughter over the weak joke. He must have noticed because he smirked; not his usual smile that caused creases beneath his eyes, aging him. No, this was subtle for him but painfully obvious to the girl sitting aside him... One that felt genuine, one that was genuine. He straightened himself up, holding his hand out, "Luke, Luke Riordan."

At first glance his hands appeared weathered and rough, bearing scars from the countless hours spent laboring over textbooks and training to be a superhero. The calluses which were most definitely the result of firmly formed fists against resistant boxing bags very clearly told her he cared for his future. However, beneath the rugged exterior, there was a surprising softness as she grasped his hand. Luke's handshake, was a delicate certainty that contradicted the strength concealed in his grasp. There was a warmth to his body too, one that spread quickly to her own body which felt almost unnatural to her at first — as if he had a furnace within his soul.

A polite smile rose on her face, "Sydney Chabert."

"I think we'll get along quite well, Frenchie." Luke Riordan replied slyly, giving a quick wink in her direction and he shuffled his body to face the lecturer as if they hadn't interacted at all. Sydney wanted to scoff — if it were anyone else she would have — but he held a charm to him. Perhaps he was right, they were going to get along well.