The Perfect Machine: Kingdom Of Glass (GxG

3. Do you know who that is?

I rush awake by a man who shouts in a microphone that it's time to get up. Eden runs out of bed towards the bars as they open automatically. I try to do the same thing, but I almost fell face down on the ground, tangled into the sheet.

At that point, I get back up and remain close to Christina. Each inmate remains silent before their cells and wears their slender white shirts and black pants. They need to make sure everyone is present and no one has managed to sneak away during the night. This would be difficult considering the bars are locked and guards patrol during the night quite often. Then there are the cameras on each corner that could catch you.

I stare at everyone around me to see if I can observe who is the most dangerous one in this prison, but the only thing I can see is that one person does not fit the picture.

She has a dark hoodie on that conceals her face. Why is she the only one wearing that? I move my gaze as a guard walk past us, counting us all to make sure we are all here; this is going to take some time. I glance back at the woman on top and notice that she is quite tall compared to me.

"Do you know who that is?" I ask Eden.

"Why would I know who she is? We came here at the same time Hernandez," She chuckles at me, and I roll my eyes with a certain degree of warmth on my face. The woman on top motioned her head in my direction. I look at the ground right away.

Following an hour of remaining in a similar spot and position, we were at long last permitted to move for breakfast in the cafeteria. We all stand in line as we wait for our food. I look around, and mostly I see convicts because it's too crowded. They all sit down on the benches as they eat and talk very loudly among each other.

Some of them have darker skin than others, some almost the same as me. Since I'm half Spanish, I have a bit darker tint than the regular English woman. But because of the unbearable sun, some tend to have a pleasant tone. It's usually the older ones that have a bit paler skin, like my father.

The heat wasn't that bad until twenty years ago, but it only got worse in 2080 and became a massive problem for the government. The grass went from green to yellow and now most places, it doesn't exist anymore. A part of nature has died and individual countries are trying with all their might to fix it. Well, only the nations that can seem to afford it. There aren't many left. England is not one of them. However, countries further north who have a lower temperature do have better living conditions, of course.

Yet, I believe it's out of our control. We only get what we give, and it's not like we treated nature with the respect that it deserved. Now it's returning the favour.

Guards surrender us all around the room. Men stand before the three main windows. None of them is conveying guns; however, they each have an implement, the police stick hanging to their belts.

I try to keep my head as low as possible, and I don't want to get into trouble. Eden is right in front of me in line to get food on her tray. I move on, and I get food onto my tray as well. It doesn't look appetizing.

I follow Eden towards a table where few inmates sit and chat with each other. Christina sits down, and I next to her on the corner. We get some uncomfortable looks from the convicts, but they aren't doing anything. I guess it's okay, or maybe they are just too scared to do something about us. There are a lot of guards here so that nothing will go unnoticed.

I stare at my food; it's mashed potatoes with some meat in it. There is an apple and a cup of water on the side, but they don't look right. The apple is soft and seems to be starting to rot, and the water is not as clear as at home.

Eden starts to dig in while I am a little unsure. The look on her face kind of answers my question. It's not good, and she almost spits it out again. I have to try to look at this from a different perspective.

If I don't eat, I don't get the necessary vitamins and proteins in me, which my body needs to survive. It's not about living; it's about surviving. I have done it my entire life. But now it's on a whole new level, and I need to adapt. I take up my spoon and start to eat, trying to avoid the flavour.

As we are generally sitting and eating, halfway through our meal, the door opens. A convict gets through the door. It's the one with the dark hoodie, which hides her face.

A guard leads her to a table that is next to ours. She sits on the corner, closest to me. Eden and I look at each other in confusion.

The guard tosses food onto the table before her. She brings the spoon into her hand and sits upright while beginning to eat her meal.

I try to keep on eating, but I am curious about the woman sitting next to me. So many questions without answers. Why is she wearing a hoodie to hide her face? And why was the guard following her into the cantina? Most of all, who is she?

"Do you mind me asking where you come from?" Eden takes my attention away from the mysterious woman next to me.

"Oh, Birmingham," I answer, and she nods.

"But um, where do you actually come from?" She asks, and I raise my eyebrow, offended.

"I'm sorry, you just don't have an English last name," Eden shrugs, and it makes me roll my eyes.

"My father, Thomas, is English, and my mother, Francisca, is Spanish," I clarify her, and she smiles at me.

My grandfather passed away a couple of years ago; he was what you would call proper English. He hated the new generation, the way we lost our language and accents throughout the last seventeen years. He was a ruthless man, blaming the media from the USA for the loss of our ways. My grandfather wasn't wrong, though. We haven't taken care of our traditions. People in the higher class became so greedy and to be polite these days is almost foreign.

Most people in the lower class take and steal, but what can we do? We are hungry and sick. The only ones that can help us are ourselves. The government turned its back on us when they decided to build high and expensive homes for the rich. The rest of us are left to rot in the slums.

"Yeah, you have too dark skin, eyes, and hair to be proper English," She chuckles, and I wrinkle my nose. I turn to my left, thinking I saw a small smile on the woman's face next to me, but I shake it off.