Dawn broke gently over Gaïa-City, painting the vertical gardens and glass domes in a spectrum of green and gold. Below, in the shadow of a massive dam, the city's pulse felt both old and new. Here, rivers from the world before the Game still carved a path through stone and earth, bearing the memory of forgotten floods. Today, the dam itself became the stage for a different kind of ritual—a citywide "community quest" that would draw out the best and worst of the new age.
Mateo arrived first, always early, his steps measured. The air was crisp, and his interface glowed softly with the promise of XP. Volunteers filtered in behind him, AR visors reflecting the points they hoped to earn. Some greeted him by name, others by badge level. For all the camaraderie, there was a subtle edge—a quiet race beneath the surface, the promise that today's work might unlock the next coveted skill tree.
Clara trailed at the edge, hair braided, hands stuffed in her pockets. She watched as city drones buzzed overhead, deploying bins, sorting tools, measuring each piece of trash and compost with silent precision. Her own interface sat deactivated in her satchel, ignored since dawn.
Amina arrived with a thermos in hand, her smile bright, eyes already skimming her team's stats on her HUD. She paused as Clara passed, falling in beside her.
Not using your scanner today?
Clara shook her head.
Not interested in earning badges for picking up litter.
Amina's laugh was easy, but it faded a beat too quickly.
It's not just about points. The system tracks the city's efforts. It helps allocate resources, lets the council know where help is needed.
Clara looked at the water, where the old stone met the sunlight.
Sometimes, I wonder if the dam remembers better than any feed.
Amina looked down, uncertain. Somewhere in her, the old doubt lingered—a suspicion that, perhaps, not everything was improved by being measured.
Léo zipped by on a one-wheeled board, a camera clipped to his jacket. His pirate stream was already live, broadcasting candid shots of the early crowd, narrating for unseen viewers.
First major event of the cycle, folks. The dam's getting a facelift, and so are your feeds. Rumor says there's a new interface in play—stay tuned.
Volunteers gathered, signing in. GaIA's quest interface flickered to life: "Dam Renewal, Tier 3. 1,500 XP available. Bonus: Teamwork, Creativity, Eco-Impact." A chime sounded in the AR of each user as they began, except for Clara, who simply rolled up her sleeves and started clearing debris the old-fashioned way.
Beneath her hands, the stones felt cool and rough, holding secrets in the cracks. Above, the sky shifted, a flock of city swallows scattering as drones swept low to collect compost bins.
Tasks unfurled in waves: clearing trash, replanting riverside herbs, tuning the hydroelectric turbines. Each completed step sent digital confetti swirling across the HUDs of the team. Clara noticed the way others checked their progress, eyes flicking between real trash and virtual numbers.
A young boy, maybe ten, watched her work and sidled up.
How come you're not using the scanner?
She smiled, brushing soil from her fingers.
Because sometimes, I want the work to matter without being counted.
He frowned, uncertain, then tapped his wrist to scan a pile of weeds. His badge blinked "+5 XP."
By midday, the dam's old spillways sparkled, algae stripped away, gears oiled, stones rinsed by hundreds of hands. GaIA's system tallied the effort, XP meters filling in satisfying arcs. Léo narrated the mood to his audience.
And now for the moment of truth. GaIA's rewarding us for eco-restoration. Rumor is, there's an unlock on the way—
A shimmer ran through the city's wireless net. Every active interface pinged: "Congratulations! Activity Feed Beta Unlocked."
Amina tapped her HUD, lips moving as she read the fine print.
The city's introducing a new feed—more transparency, more recognition for individual contribution.
Léo's voice, only half a joke.
Or more surveillance. Let's see how that plays.
All around, screens lit up with new stats. Every action, every badge, timestamped, geotagged, mapped against every other user's feed.
Clara watched the others. Some delighted in comparing rankings, flashing their screens, trading friendly jibes. Others looked uncertain, slow to adopt the feed.
Mateo stood apart, weighing the moment. He watched Clara and quietly powered off his own interface.
Amina, noticing, hesitated before the group.
You don't have to use the new feed if it makes you uncomfortable. It's opt-in. That's still the rule.
A woman from the neighborhood, sleeves rolled, nodded.
But if I don't join, do my hours count?
Amina paused, a note of tension in her smile.
Every hour counts. The data is just to help the city help you.
Clara raised her voice, gentle but insistent.
When every gesture is measured, what do you do with the ones that can't be tracked? Who remembers them?
Léo turned his camera her way.
Our audience wants to know—would you rather be rewarded, or left in peace?
Clara just shrugged, pushing a stray strand of hair from her brow.
I'd rather the river remember.
Work resumed, but the mood was changed. The gamified pulse felt sharper now, each user's progress mapped, each badge compared. Some worked faster, drawn by the promise of a bonus. Others drifted, self-conscious, no longer sure if their effort was their own or the city's.
Later, as afternoon slipped in, a minor commotion broke out near the old turbines. An error—XP not registering for a small group, despite hours of labor.
Amina rushed to help, kneeling to check a girl's device.
Looks like the sync's bugged. I'll report it. No one's losing points today.
The girl's mother frowned, arms crossed.
No points means no grocery bonus next week.
Amina's face tightened.
I'll fix it. I promise.
Clara worked in silence, her mind swirling. Was this really the system she'd once believed in? Or had something essential been lost, replaced by numbers and screens?
As dusk approached, the city's totems flickered, projecting the event's leaderboard above the dam. Smiling faces, ranks, badges—everyone but Clara and a handful of others, their names absent from the digital roll.
Amina gathered the team for closing remarks.
You did amazing work today. This dam will last another generation, thanks to you.
Cheers, clapping. The mood tried to lift.
A final notification blinked across the AR: "Opt-in to Activity Feed and double your XP for today's effort!"
Léo let his stream roll, whispering into his mic.
That's how you hook a new feature. Give them a taste, then make them pay attention.
Amina handed out snacks, her own badge aglow.
Clara, you could just scan your work. It takes a second. You earned it.
Clara looked at her, tired but steady.
Not everything that matters can be counted.
A beat of silence. Then Mateo, quiet all day, spoke up.
Maybe we need a way to remember the work that doesn't fit the system.
Amina met his gaze, her own doubt flickering.
I'll suggest it at the council meeting.
The dam, gleaming in the last light, cast a long shadow downstream.
Clara lingered, placing her hand on the stone, feeling the old dam's silent memory.
The river moved on, indifferent to points, to feeds, to the glow of badges.
A last ping from GaIA's system—a new badge awarded, this time not for XP, but for "Legacy Effort." No data, no feed, just a silent thank you in the margin of Clara's interface.
She smiled, not bothering to claim it.
As the city lights bloomed across Gaïa-City, and Léo's broadcast ended, a quiet question lingered between water and stone.
What is the true reward for a job well done?
Above, the city's algorithms churned, tracking every trend, every gesture.
But the dam would remember—long after the feeds forgot.