“Let’s wrap things up here and head to class,” Aleksandr sighs, breaking the multiple hour silence the group had established.
Vasily collapses back onto the couch, pressuring his forehead with the side of his arm.
“It’s a shame that we have to keep our scheme from Zharkov. I know that his father is head of the DreamReign company, but he
is
our friend…” Andrei begins.
“...as well as our former club president, yes. But times have changed, Andrei. If we want any chance of getting into a top graduate school in this field, we must complete this project,” Aleksandr begins solemnly, taking a moment to finish his thought, “by ourselves.”
Vasily uncovers himself from the blankets he had slept in and elevates to stretch.
“I didn’t sign up to do extra work. Damn Senya,” Vasily grumbles, slinging his bag over a shoulder and walking out the door without grooming.
Aleksandr shrugs, then returns the developer console to its hidden sanctuary atop its shelf. He runs his hand through his hair while in front of the mirror hanging on the door, then heads over to his first recitation. Andrei waves him off before moving to occupy Vasily’s former position, tucking himself in for the two hour period he had before his own class.
In the hallway leading to the classroom, Aleksandr notices and begins tailing his Network Tech professor. As he enters the room, Aleksandr slips away, making his way to his seat at the front only moments before the class was to start.
“Hajushki! You all know the drill… get your modules done with and get yourselves out of here,” the extremely enthusiastic professor’s voice echoes off the digital board as he sets up his workspace.
All students take their seats and open their interfaces, going through respective file paths to open their classwork launcher, which is linked to their classroom server. The students lose consciousness in the physical world and awake in separate instances instances with a fixed console.
Aleksandr paces around the small room he spawned in, noting its minimalistic and monochromatic theme. He takes his place near the console, a much larger and far more modern version of the portable version he had used just a few moments ago in the clubroom. The pair of ungloved hands glides quickly over the Cyrillic keyboard, and when its pace drops off and the code is concluded, a door materializes on one wall.
Through the opening stood Aleksandr’s deskmate, clearly struggling to resolve an error with his own module. The student at the console smiles and calls Aleksandr over to look through his code. Within minutes, the faulty command is isolated and corrected. The pair tests the revision, and in doing so an opening materializes.
A second opening on the adjacent wall appears just as suddenly, taking the two already inside by surprise.
“Slow now, Morozov? Seems that you’re losing your touch,” a familiar voice sounds out of the second opening.
Aleksandr dips his head, acknowledging the new introduction.
“Zharkov.”