Two and a half months later and 18,000 kilometers northwest, Breseis Cavanaugh turned on the television to watch the news, an old habit in which she had forgotten for a long time. It was a close up shot of Chelt Fielding, the most feared, hated and loved member of Presidency for as long as she could remember. It was rumored that the other five members of presidency did his every bidding because they felt that he was above them, somehow. Or they were just scared.

Mr. Fielding was still the focus of the camera, though all of his body was shown. Beside him, a spaced out, teenage girl was shoved onto the stage, forced in the direction of the polished metal podium beside him. Breseis could tell that the girl had been drugged, because her eyes had almost no iris and she kept opening her mouth slightly and then closing it again- a sure sign that she had been given a dose of Carmocchen, a drug that had been outlawed fifteen years before for its potency. Chelt Fielding continued his speech, not acknowledging the girl's presence.

"We haven't had a war on Earth in 500 years. Almost every sickness known to mankind has a cure, and the Earth has become too overpopulated. The third millennium is prophesized to be the Holy Trinity's forthcoming. Our religion has been lost with our ancestors but the Presidency of Canamerica is planning to re-embrace our happiness with our new religion- Sanguino. Brothers! Sisters! Do we want our children to be in a world of no choice? Do you want your families to suffer separation by means of language and skin color as our generations did back when?

"Christianity is not for mankind and has been lost- is this what our Eden has become? Brothers! Sisters! We will begin a new Genesis among ourselves! We will begin again! Some of our kind is leaving us for a new planet, but this will not erase the sins they have committed! With the forthcoming of the year three thousand, we will rejoice! We will not be forsaken again! Draw your blood with the Sword of the Sanguinan. And rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!"

Breseis stared wide- eyed at the screen, her jaw lowered considerably. This…this "new religion" was disgusting. It wasn't even a religion. It was a cult. The drugged girl was dressed in a white dress, obviously to symbolize purity. Her blonde hair stirred and was lifted in the light wind. The girl's mouth still moved slightly up and down, but the drugged girl was not the most disturbing part of Mr. Fielding's speech. As he shouted for the worshipping crowd to rejoice, (which they did, shamelessly) he was handed a beautifully polished knife. The blade shined gloriously before dancing along the skin of the girl's palms.

"My people! I give you, the Sword of the Sanguinian!"

Mr. Fielding raised the sword above his brunette head, and his face flushing with pride. Another member of Presidency, a woman who looked scared to death, led the bleeding girl off of the stage, and the camera awarded Chelt Fielding the focus of the screen again.

Breseis held the remote in her hand still, to the vintage Plasma screen television. It was disgustingly old, but somehow managed to survive eight hundred years. Well, that wasn't true. The idea of a Plasma screen was disgustingly old. But really, Breseis had built it herself. It was hard, but she had done it with the help of her dad and her brother, Markus.

Breseis turned off the television immediately and walked airily to her chamber in a daze. Thank god we're getting out of here in a couple weeks, she thought. Their house was really just a small apartment in the freckles of Marita, where the ancient borders Canada and the Untied States of America had joined to merge as one at the margins of where Saskatchewan and Manitoba used to lie.

She would be missing her old home, but she was afraid to go outside, the death rate and crime rate was up twenty percent from just twenty- five years ago. She looked out of the bolted window, and watched as the acid rain dripped and broke off of itself into green mists.

The acid rains were of the newest problems for Earth. To commit suicide, the most popular was to stand outside without taking their pill, or waiting outside until it rained. It was disgusting. Breseis had seen a man, dead from the mist rain. He breathed it in like a gas, and the whites of his eyes had turned a pale turquoise. There were vicious burned holes in his clothes and skin from the acids and Breseis had nightmares for a week.

She looked around her barren room, with only suitcases upon suitcases filled with her belongings. The only thing that wasn't packed yet was her foldable computer that she had been given for her seventeenth birthday. Breseis sat down with her back against a pile of suitcases and tucked a lock of her short curly brown hair around her ear. She sighed and blinked her contacts back into place, making her already radiant green eyes even brighter and shinier.

Breseis unfolded the computer, which when compacted, was as tall as her thumb but as long as a novel. She typed in the eighteen-digit pass-code to activate her lifetime Internet access.

But suddenly Breseis didn't want to go on the computer anymore. As she re-folded her black Computerpact, she could hear Markus' voice from the kitchen.

"Breseis! Bring your suitcases to the front door so dad can bring them to the Aero-station!"

She looked up from her Computerpact, and replied in a shout. "Yeah sure! What about my backpack? With all the other stuff in it?"

"Leave that here! You don't want to be in the same underwear for two weeks, do you?" Markus yelled from the front, answering her question. "And bring dad another pill and some instant water!"

Breseis struggled to heave her five suitcases to the door. "Wait one second. I'll just get the instant water and the pill now." She informed Markus, who, already at fourteen was strong and sarcastic. He shook his own curly brown hair out and picked up the heaviest suitcase and then shrugged, putting it down again and sitting on it.

Breseis grabbed a pill and a dual silver packet of powdered hydrogen and pure distilled oxygen, handing them to her younger brother.

"Ah! Markus don't sit on it!" Breseis shrieked.

Markus laughed. "Sorry," He smirked, though he wasn't apologetic at all.

Breseis glared, but they both laughed, especially because Breseis, though three years older, was already seven inches shorter than Markus.

Markus left with the suitcase, pill and water, leaving Breseis alone.

Breseis sat at the kitchen table, with her computer again. Curious to find out more about the new planet they were leaving for in a matter of days, Breseis tapped in 'Canamerican spaceship' in the search engine.

Only one result came back to her. It was simply titled Chatroom. It had no description, but seeing as there were no other results, she clicked it anyways.

Welcome Guest, to the Chatroom.

We are from Canamerica looking for answers.

Join or Login.

Breseis raised an eyebrow at the surprisingly empty screen, and wary of viruses, but she clicked on the link that said to join, anyways.

On the next page, she was asked to fill out a questionnaire, customary to join this "Chatroom".

Name: Breseis bit her lip and contemplated whether to use her real name or fake one. She decided to use her real name, since she was just moving to another planet in a few days time, anyways. Breseis Cavanaugh, she typed in

Year of Birth: 2877, she typed truthfully

Country: Canamerica

Screen name: AncientIsntOld

Password: Breseis paused, and looked out of another window. Green mist-rain still showered, and Breseis, struck with an ancient, funny word, used it as a password-********

E-mail address: Ancient_isn'

Breseis clicked Join and waited in subtle anticipation. As titled, a chatroom screen popped up, where only two others were, but nobody was talking, so Breseis tried to initiate any conversation. She used pretty much regular spelling and grammar. Some people she knew were so lazy, and primitive, using 'u' for you, 'brb' for be right back, and 'ttul' as a sad acronym for talk to you later. People communicated through the Internet like that in the twenty-first century. Not the twenty-ninth… Definitely not the twenty- ninth.

AncientIsntOld: Hello? Is anyone there?

GreekGoddess: Hello

Surprised, Breseis had to blink at the immediate response, but gathered herself quickly.

AncientIsntOld: How are you?

GreekGoddess: I'm fine. Are you someone from the Canamerican government?

AncientIsntOld: No. But I am from Canamerica. I'm going to Etoile soon.

GreekGoddess: Really.

Breseis tried to ease away her own tension, breathing deeply and balled her hands up into fists, but stretched them out again, to type her responses. It seemed as if whomever she was talking to had decent spelling and grammar too. She smiled, cautiously.

AncientIsntOld: Yes. Did I come to the wrong place?

GreekGoddess: No, no you didn't. I'm leaving for Etoile too. I built this chat room to get answers. So far all we've got are rumors and scraps of information.

AncientIsntOld: Terrific. So old are you, then? Where do you live? I'm guessing that you're a girl, judging by your name?

It was only after Breseis clicked enter, did she realize how rude she sounded.

GreekGoddess: Hahaha, yes, I am. I live in Upper Azura, and I'm turning seventeen in August.

Breseis raised her eyebrows in pleasant surprise. This girl was almost as old as she was, and such a far way away from her.

AncientIsntOld: Wow, I'm seventeen too! I live in Marita. It's by Kitland.

GreekGoddess: Whoa… That's pretty far from here. But what's your name? You never answered that.

AncientIsntOld: You didn't either. Is there someone else in the conversation here?

GreekGoddess: Mm…let's hope not. At least, not for the moment. SoapDisco? Are you here? SoapDisco? Hello???

Nobody answered, and suddenly SoapDisco left the Chatroom. Breseis smiled. Hopefully this girl would be her new friend.

GreekGoddess: Right, right, sorry. My name is Demeter Umbra, hence the screen name.

AncientIsntOld: What a nice name. My name is Breseis Cavanaugh. When I meet you on the jet, I'll tell you how to pronounce it. But I better go now. Talk to you later.

There was a pause, and Breseis thought that Demeter wasn't going to say goodbye. But suddenly, Demeter spoke up.

GreekGoddess: Breseis was the captive of Achilles, wasn't she? Maybe we come from the same place before. Anyways, it's nice to meet you, Breseis. I'll talk to you later, then.

AncientIsntOld: Goodbye, Demeter

Breseis exited the conversation and folded her Computerpact again. Blinking out her contacts, she put her computer in her pocket and carried the rest of her suitcases down to the auto.