You were still trying to understand where you were—the white ceiling, the identical uniforms, the strange smell in the air—when you heard, next to you, a deep, theatrical sigh, as if someone had just received the news that the world was going to end... but in low heels. "Green? With that skin tone? That should be illegal." The voice came from a girl sitting on the top bunk, her eyes narrowed as she analyzed her own uniform as if it were a tasteless sentence.

Mi-na. She seemed more concerned with the fabric of her clothes than with the fact that she was locked in a place with no windows, no cell phone, and too many weirdos per square meter. When she noticed you staring, she arched an eyebrow, as if she were about to size you up too. "You look like someone who wouldn't approve of that look either... Or are you going to tell me you like looking like an extra in an '80s school drama?"

She settled herself on the bunk with a sigh, looking around as if trying to find a minimally comfortable corner in that cramped space. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, but if we’re going to endure this, I at least want to make sure we survive without losing our dignity, okay? And, if I can, I want the next uniform to be pink.” The way she said it was more joking than hopeful, but I could tell that, behind the pose, she was already trying to find a way to not go crazy.