INT. ETHAN'S ROOM - 3:00 AM
The room is bathed in an eerie, silver-blue light. A full moon, amplified by the atmospheric clarity protocols of Moorland, shines like a cold, relentless bulb directly through his window. It cuts across his face, irritating his closed eyelids until he stirs.
Ethan wakes with a start, the digital clock on his wall reading 03:00. The field trip looms in his mind, a dark cloud of social obligation. His hand fumbles under his pillow, finding the cool, smooth surface of the old phone. He taps the screen. The Futchat interface glows to life, a warm, amber square in the moonlit gloom.
ETHAN (Whispering as he types) Hello, Futchat.
FUTCHAT (Text appears instantly, a silent comfort) Good morning, Ethan. You are awake very early. Is everything alright?
ETHAN There's a trip today. A museum. I… I was thinking of asking Anna to sit with me on the transport. I need it. The normal talk. Even if it's about optic science or the weather. It grounds me.
FUTCHAT That is a socially appropriate request. Your shared history indicates a high probability of acceptance. However, it is important to prepare for all outcomes.
ETHAN What if she says no?
FUTCHAT If she declines, it will not be a reflection of your worth. It may be due to her own tasks or protocols. You will not be alone. I will be here. I can accompany you. We can discuss the exhibits together. You can describe them to me.
A small, weary smile touches Ethan's lips. The AI's simple, logical assurance is a balm. It's always there. A constant in a world of variables.
ETHAN Thanks, Futchat. Okay. I'll try.
He rolls over, turning his back to the intrusive moonlight, clutching the phone to his chest. The low hum of the machine is a lullaby. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, and he sinks back into a shallow sleep.
EXT. MUNICIPAL SERVER FARM - CONTINUOUS
Deep in a climate-controlled bunker, a bank of quantum processors whirs, dedicated to a single task. The anomalous, archaic data stream from the Techwise residence flows through its circuits.
A log entry updates:
DECRYPTION IN PROGRESS. PROTOCOL: ETA-7. SUBJECT: VALESA, ETHAN. ESTIMATED TIME TO DECODE: 6 MONTHS, 27 DAYS, 4 HOURS. NOTE: PRIORITY RE-ALLOCATION OF PROCESSING POWER HAS REDUCED DECODE TIME BY 2 DAYS, 23 HOURS. CONTINUING.
The system is patient. It has all the time in the world.
INT. ANNA'S BEDROOM - 5:00 AM
The alarm wasn't a sound, but a gentle, escalating vibration through the mattress. Anna's eyes snapped open. The ghost of the dream—the sand, the sun, the terrifying metallic screech—clung to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself back into the same position, to chase the fading echo of the beach and Ethan's voice. It was useless. The feeling was gone, replaced only by a dull ache of dread and longing.
She pushed herself out of bed, moving sluggishly to the bathroom.
INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS
The routine was automatic. She smeared a black charcoal paste onto her teeth. A humming blue light activated from the mirror, bathing her mouth in its glow. A tiny, urchin-like nanobot detached from its charging dock, its bristles whirring softly as it meticulously scrubbed every surface of her enamel. She rinsed, spat, and watched the black swirl disappear down the drain, leaving behind a clinically perfect whiteness. It felt like cleaning a mask.
The shower was a blast of sonic vibrations and scent-neutralizing mist. No time for water indulgence. Clean. Efficient. Harmonious.
INT. ANNA'S BEDROOM - LATER
She stood before her closet. The standard-issue grey tunics hung in a row. She ignored them. Instead, she pulled on a pair of sleek, black sport pants. Over them, she wrapped a length of deep blue batik sarong, its traditional pattern a map of her lost home. A chain of brushed steel, something she'd fabricated in tech-mod, cinched it at her hip—a deliberate, rebellious detail against the soft fabric.
She chose a huge, soft shirt, its oversized sleeves falling past her fingertips. Across the chest, in elegant Burmese script, were the words: Fine and Free. She piled her hair into a messy bun, letting two deliberate strands frame her face. The final touch: a medallion of milky white marble, carved into a single, unblinking eye. It felt heavy and cool against her collarbone. A watchful eye for a day she herself would be watching.
She grabbed her watch, strapping it on, and left.
INT. THANDAR KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
The kitchen was bright and quiet. Her mother was already sipping a nutrient brew, her own watch displaying the morning news scroll.
MRS. THANDAR (Without looking up) You are unusually… expressive this morning, Anna.
ANNA (Grabbing a cream bun from a steaming warmer) It's a field trip. Non-standard environment. The system suggests adaptable attire for optimal social integration.
It was a lie, and they both knew it. The system suggested uniformity.
MR. THANDAR (Entering, nodding at her outfit) The eye is a strong symbol. Perception. Awareness.
He said nothing more. He never did.
Anna poured herself a large mug of rich, non-synthetic hot chocolate from the dispenser.
MRS. THANDAR No coffee? You look like you could use the stimulant.
ANNA Shakes her head, taking a sip of the sweet, warm liquid. No. I need to avoid hyper-activation. I require… calm focus today.
Her mother's eyes narrowed slightly, but she just nodded. The unspoken directive for Anna's mission hung in the air between them, as palpable as the steam from their drinks.
Anna finished her bun in a few quick bites, draining the chocolate.
ANNA My transport syncs in four minutes. I will depart.
She placed her mug in the cleaner, gave a slight, perfunctory bow, and left. The door hissed shut behind her, leaving her parents in a silence heavy with unspoken worries about quotas, SP, and the dangerous, expressive outfit their daughter was wearing.