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Rain.
A village road dissolved into thick mud.
A man with a spear through his chest leans against a fence.
The stench of burning eats at the lungs.
A scream.
Bare feet splash rhythmically through the mire.
A straw-roofed hut is swallowed by flames.
A scream.
Black crows circle the sky, waiting for their feast.
Caw!
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“A-a-a-ah!”
The youth bolted upright, clutching his chest. On the wall, a thin status line flickered: [HEART RATE: 148 BPM. HYPERVENTILATION DETECTED. STABILIZATION MODE ACTIVE.] The android maid entered the room. She was always there, arriving before he even had the breath to call out.
“Good morning,” her voice was soft, practiced. “The same nightmare again? Perhaps it is time to consult a therapist?”
“No… thanks. I’m… I’m fine. Just a stupid dream…”
A dream, maybe… but why does it feel less like a dream and more like… something else?
“Very well. But do not say I didn't warn you. Breakfast is ready.”
“Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”
She left, leaving him in the silence of the room.
“What the hell is going on?..”
Rubbing his eyes, he headed to the bathroom. The shock of the cold tiles woke him faster than any morning coffee. The Spectra-mirror crackled to life with a sharp hum. It displayed his vitals, a news feed, advertisements for skincare, and a list of recommended antidepressants.
The boy stared at the dark bruises under his eyes and sighed.
You look like hell…
After finishing his morning routine, he headed to the kitchen. The maid was waiting. Her appearance was archaic—a lace apron, neat hair, rolled-up sleeves. She looked like she had stepped off the screen of a 2020s sitcom. But her movements were fluid, disturbingly natural. Head slightly tilted. Eyes—mimicking life. He had reprogrammed her that way. Even if it was just programmed tenderness, she remained his only shield against a cruel reality.
Breakfast finished, he went to the garage. His car sat there like a predator in ambush—old, but stylish. A heavy chassis, carbon accents, low-slung. The scent of grease and leather filled the air. The roar of the engine as he turned the key triggered a rush of pure euphoria.
He took the wheel. Switched off the autopilot. Manual. Just him and the road.
The maid approached the car door and handed him a thermos. “The tea is good. Just in case. And… an umbrella. Even if the forecast didn't promise rain.”
He smiled. For the first time that morning, it was real. “Thanks!”
“I must remind you: every ‘thank you’ increases energy consumption by 0.0034%. You are wasting resources on politeness,” she remarked.
“And yet, I’ll keep saying it. Because I’m a human. And you’re a bore.”
“A bore who loves you,” she replied with a smile.
He said nothing. He simply closed the door and hit the gas.
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The city felt distracted that day. People buried their eyes and ears in AR headsets; some celebrated the installation of a new solar platform, while others plastered walls with "No AI!" flyers. He pulled up near the parts market—a place that refused to surrender entirely to the virtual world or the apocalyptic headlines.
Here, the scent of rosin mingled with the aroma of fried rice. The shop owner, setting aside his soldering iron, gave him a familiar nod.
“Rooting through scrap again?” the old man rasped, not looking up from his sorting.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Always,” the youth replied. “The project is almost finished. Just need the sensors for muscle calibration.”
The old man handed him a box of tiny sensors. After paying, the boy turned to leave, but a scent caught him—not plastic or burnt cable, but something organic. Lily of the valley? Amidst this metallic graveyard, it felt like a hallucination. A girl in heavy work gloves stood there, looking like a foreign object, a code error in an old program.
“Excuse me,” she approached the seller. “Do you happen to have an adapter for…” she strained her eyes, reading from the cracked screen of an old smartphone, “…the SVM gh-17 module?”
“Sorry, just sold it,” the man nodded toward the boy with the box.
Anxiety wavered in her voice. Without thinking, the boy pulled the newly bought adapter from his box. “Here. This is what you’re looking for. Free of charge.”
She smiled—sincere, but with that flick of wariness common to those who live on the streets.
“Thank you,” her voice trembled. “I have to get to the southern warehouse. My brother is in the Reserve. If something happens…”
She paused, her gaze sliding toward the seller’s metallic prosthetic arm for a split second before she quickly looked away.
“Take care of yourself,” he replied, mostly to keep himself from asking more.
The encounter felt like a trigger he usually ignored: a reminder that behind every digital avatar stood a person, often tired and hungry. As she turned to leave, he rushed after her.
“Wait! Do you… maybe…” he started nervously, “want to go for a coffee sometime?”
The girl stopped, surprised. A street encounter was likely the strangest thing to happen to her lately.
“I’m sorry, I’m busy right now…”
“I get it. But if you’re up for it, maybe this weekend?”
She smiled and sent a contact exchange request. Then, she sprinted toward a courier bike.
“See you! And stay safe!” he called out after her.
“Look at you, kid...” the voice chuckled from behind the counter. The seller nodded approvingly.
On one of the massive screens looming over the plaza, the image flickered. A politician smiled, speaking of “stability,” then the code-string glitched, momentarily revealing a green wireframe grid—someone had bled a foreign line of code into the broadcast. A few people lunged toward the screen as if trying to catch smoke with their teeth.
After buying a few more rolls of insulation tape, some sealant, and adhesive for synthetic muscle tissue, he packed them into his box. The eternal checklist. Trifles that would keep the prototype alive for one more hour.
Walking back to the parking lot, the silence felt wrong. Delivery services were stuttering; drones hovered motionless in the air like unblinking eyes watching the scramble below.
Waiting at a red light, he caught a sharp argument. Two men were snapping at each other about a “network blackout.”
“They’re lying. It’s an operation. I’m telling you!”
“Or someone is playing a game with us,” a woman nearby added.
The light turned green. He drove on, but their words gnawed at him. Glitches, panic, shutdowns, chaos… He shook his head.
I just haven’t slept enough…
But the anxiety continued to claw at him from the inside.
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On the way back, the radio began to bleed news: “The Premier of the East Asian Alliance reported a breakthrough in AGI, though benchmarks suggest marginal gains…”, “Antidepressant consumption has tripled. We have a professor in the studio to…”, “The Northern Bloc denied cyberattack allegations on AGI infrastructure…”
“Same as always…” He sighed and cranked the music.
The highway stretched across the river. The gasoline engine of his iron monster growled under the hood—a defiant roar against the silent whistle of electric drones passing by.
What could it be? Not a normal cyberattack. Maybe?.. No, definitely not… Arriving at the university, he grabbed his box. A crowd had gathered at the gates, waving “No AI!” placards. He glanced at them and scoffed.
You won’t stop progress. Not now. The nations and corporations are on the home stretch…
He bypassed the crowd and nodded to the android guard. The machine identified him and stepped back silently. The white concrete of the university pierced the sky with sharp angles, resembling a frozen origami spike.
“Damn it! This too?!” he hissed as the smart lock failed to engage. “And I left my keys at home…”
“Oh, the Dreamer. You again?” a voice called from behind. It was his supervisor.
“Good afternoon. I brought the materials, but the locks are acting up. Can I leave the package with you?”
“Sure, come in,” the man waved him into the office.
“Thanks!”
“Don’t mention it. And don’t forget the lab report on Friday.”
“I won’t. Thanks for the reminder!”
He didn't want to stay a second longer than necessary.
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He returned home and killed the engine. Silence embraced him in the garage like an old cloak: comfortable, but riddled with holes through which anxiety leaked. The materials were at the university, but the thoughts of the glitches remained, clinging like burs to wool.
The maid was waiting. Her eyes flashed with a soft light—programmed care.
“Welcome home. Was the day productive?” she asked, taking the umbrella.
“Yes and no… The city is glitching out,” he said, shedding his jacket. “Screens flickering, drones stalling, even the uni locks are dead. It’s like someone is playing games with the grid…” A chill ran down his spine.
She tilted her head. “Perhaps maintenance. Or a cyberattack. Shall I check the news?”
“No, don’t bother. Oh, right… I met a girl. A courier. We’re meeting this weekend. Coffee or something.”
Her smile widened. “That is wonderful. Human connection reduces stress by 27%. But be careful—trust is a rare resource these times.”
“You sound like a paranoiac. Or like me…” he joked, but the laugh felt forced.
He went to the living room, where his VR headset waited like a portal. He engaged Full VR. Complete immersion. Reality dissolved into pixels. Today, he chose a medieval forest: mud-slicked paths, the rustle of leaves, the distant roar of a dragon. Fantasy—where magic wasn’t a threat, but a tool. He fought virtual monsters, feeling the adrenaline wash away the dread. But it didn't disappear—it gnawed from within, like a plague in that same Middle Ages, hiding in the shadows, waiting.
An hour later, the headset forced a logout for a mandatory break.
“Typical… right at the best part.”
He put the device down. Tired but restless, he went through the motions of dinner and a shower. Finally, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The holographic interface on the wall flickered: [23:47]. Suddenly, the numbers broke—scrambling into a chaotic mess of symbols, as if the clock was whispering an unintelligible secret.
Again? This isn't an accident…
But exhaustion won. The youth closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, ignoring the warnings of the real world, surrendering to the claws of a boundless power that had been waiting for him to fall.
And I wish you a peaceful sky above your head. ??
The story is already far ahead in writing, with regular updates planned.
