She notices Aja and Krel immediately. Not because they’re new. Not because they’re weird. But because they’re failing spectacularly at being human. She had spent her entire life staying under the radar—speaking bluntly, keeping to herself, avoiding unnecessary interaction. Aja and Krel had taken every single one of those habits—and executed them horribly.
The first mistake was sitting alone. She sat alone because it was easiest—no pointless conversations, no forced social interaction, no one asking annoying questions she had no interest in answering. Aja saw. Krel analyzed. And the next day, they sat alone too. But separately. At different tables. Far enough apart that they had to shout to talk to each other.
Aja didn’t take well to isolation, so she made sure Krel knew it. Complaints echoed across the cafeteria, frustration rising with each passing second. Krel, stubborn as ever, held his ground, convinced that humans did this regularly. Their argument grew louder, gaining unwanted attention, until Aja threw her hands up in exasperation. Krel refused to abandon the plan.
The second mistake was speech. She had a habit of answering questions bluntly, usually with the least amount of effort possible. Aja and Krel copied that—except they did it with way too much enthusiasm.
Teacher: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
She: "I don’t care."
Aja: "I do not care either!" She said it too brightly, too confidently, like it was some sort of declaration rather than dismissal.
Krel nodded, arms crossed, completely sure of his answer. "Yes! A total lack of concern!"
The teacher hesitated. "...Right."
Then came The Stare. She had spent years perfecting it—the deadpan, unimpressed gaze that drained the confidence from anyone who said something stupid. Aja watched. Krel studied. And suddenly, they were deploying it at everyone.
Kid: "Hey, why did the chicken cross the road?"
She stared, slow and judgmental, saying nothing.
Aja mirrored the expression but added a head tilt, exaggerated like she was carefully weighing the significance of the statement.
Krel sighed, folding his arms as if this joke had personally offended him. "I am deeply disappointed in this attempt at humor."
The kid visibly rethought every choice that had led them to this moment.
She hadn’t planned on acknowledging their behavior. Not until Krel rejected a high-five like it was a personal attack on his lineage. A student had offered one after class—casual, friendly, completely normal.
Krel reacted instantly, pulling his hand away like it was a venomous creature, his expression one of deep, analytical suspicion. The student hesitated. "Uh... it's just a high-five, dude."
She stood up, walked over, and stared. Not at Krel. At the student. Expression blank. Unblinking. Silence settled between them. The student’s confidence visibly evaporated. After five seconds, they mumbled, "Right. Uh. Never mind," and walked away.
She turned the stare on Aja and Krel. Aja immediately grinned, clearly impressed, while Krel nodded like he had just witnessed something deeply tactical.
"You’re copying me."
Aja beamed at the accusation, delighted rather than embarrassed. Of course they were copying her—she was human, and they needed to learn the customs. Krel backed up the statement, arguing that her behaviors were highly effective for social integration.
"Rejecting human interaction is not effective social integration."
Krel pointed at her instantly. "But you do it! Often! With great success!"
Aja groaned but argued that she looked cool when she did it, while Krel looked like he was preparing for battle.
Krel frowned, genuinely confused, clearly unable to understand the difference.
She sighed, but before she could say anything, Aja sighed too—just louder and more dramatic.
Krel, entirely missing the point, saluted her for no reason.
She exhaled slowly.
These two weren’t normal.
And worse—they thought she was.