Yet, once every year in late January, there comes a day when the Eunoian throws out all notions of ease to embark on a majestic quest for glory — for self, for class, for House and for school. This great quest is called “Spartan”.

While a small group may be able to comfortably afford these goods and genuinely appreciate them, the vast majority cannot. For most, the prices are wildly disproportionate to their income, and more often than not, not remotely justified by what they receive.

Tick-tock. The old grandfather’s clock in the study had been stuck for years. Paused in time, like a long-forgotten heartbeat frozen in stasis. But tonight, it ticked again. A single click. Then another.

The sky turns dark. Our footsteps hasten, her grip strengthens. Fading sunlight streams in through the rose-tinted windows, illuminating the abandoned terminal with an eerie magenta hue. It’s a pretty look for the end of the world.