The road passed and Fiorella took turns looking around as their hoverbike flew through Houston's streets.
"That depends whether I will have an appetite after the realities I will see in here - the cuisine reflects the nature of the culture which shaped it."
The people with numbers on their clothing caught her attention. As they flew past on their hoverbike, she scrutinised their clothes, the numbers and the depressed expressions on their faces.
"Who are these people around us, Mister Doe? They clearly do not like us, maybe even hate us. Mhm - they look like slaves to me. The numbers on their clothes are like their only identity, their only value to our nation. They envy our freedom. Am I correct?"
There were no worries in her voice or her body language. The presence of desperate and impoverished people around them not only did not matter for her, but she was not even afraid of them.
