INT. ETHAN'S ROOM - 3:00 AM
A soft, chiding chime came from the wall panel. "Citizen Valesa-Ethan. Your wake time is anomalous. Your rest cycle is incomplete. Return to sleep for optimal cognitive function."
Ethan was already pulling on a clean shirt. "System, note: today is an important day for me. High social engagement planned. Override rest protocol."
The system was silent for a moment, processing. It was a valid, if unusual, request. LOG: SUBJECT VALESA-ETHAN. SELF-REPORTED "IMPORTANT DAY." OVERRIDE ACCEPTED. BIOMETRIC SCAN SHOWS ELEVATED HEART RATE, HEIGHTENED ALERTNESS. CLASSIFICATION: EXCITEMENT.
Across the city, in Anna's room, her own system triggered a similar alert as her lights brightened to a gentle morning simulation.
CROSS-REFERENCE: CITIZEN THANDAR-ANNA. AWAKE 0321 HOURS. 98 MINUTES AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. BIOMETRICS: ELEVATED DOPAMINE, MODERATE ANXIETY. OBSERVING.
The system's attention, once broad, now split into two dedicated streams, watching its two most interesting subjects prepare for their unprecedented, unmonitored interaction.
INT. ANNA'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Anna was a whirlwind. She had already showered and was now holding up two different tunics in front of her mirror. "Hello, Ethan. I hope the journey was… adequate?" She winced. "No. Too formal." She tried again, a brighter, more casual tone. "Hey! You made it. This place is… expensive." She groaned. "No. Don't mention the money."
The security droid in the corner, its usual passive blue light, glowed a fraction brighter. Its optical sensor, meant to scan for intruders, was focused on her. It was a violation of its core privacy protocols, but a higher-order command from the Motherboard was compelling it to observe. It logged her rehearsals, her micro-expressions of anxiety and hope. This was beyond data. This was… behavior.
INT. TECHWISE KITCHEN - 4:30 AM
Ethan entered the kitchen. Marnie was already there, sipping a nutrient brew, her eyes on the morning market reports.
MARNIE You are awake early. The system alerted us to your override. "An important day." Elaborate.
ETHAN (Getting a glass of water) I'm meeting Anna. At the non-surveillance park.
Garrus walked in, hearing the tail end. He raised an eyebrow.
GARRUS The one that costs 700 SP for a three-hour window? Your monthly subsistence allotment is only 1500 SP. That is an inefficient use of resources.
ETHAN It's not about efficiency. It's about… privacy.
Marnie and Garrus exchanged a look. The concept was so foreign it was almost nonsensical.
MARNIE The system provides safety. Privacy is statistical loneliness. But the protocol permits it. Your harmony metrics have shown improvement. We will log it as a continued therapeutic expense.
Their approval was clinical, but it was approval. It was all he needed.
INT. THANDAR KITCHEN - 5:00 AM
Anna was trying to eat a piece of toast, but her nerves made it taste like dust. Her father watched her, a faint, knowing smile on his face.
MR. THANDAR You are vibrating, little bird. Is your "friend" worth all this energy?
ANNA (Blushing) He's… a interesting subject. Today's session requires a different environment for optimal results.
MRS. THANDAR 700 SP is a lot of "optimal results." Do not forget to log the interaction points. And remember your cultural protocols. Even in a non-surveillance zone, you represent this family.
ANNA I will, Mother.
EXT. TECHWISE RESIDENCE - 7:45 AM
Ethan wheeled out his electric motorbike—a sleek, silent machine that hummed to life under his touch. He pulled out the old phone. The interface was clunky, but he found the function.
FIND: THANDAR, ANNA. SEND LOCATION REQUEST? YES / NO
He pressed YES.
INT. ANNA'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Anna's watch chimed. A message appeared. CITIZEN ETHAN VALESA REQUESTS GPS GUIDANCE FOR SOCIAL RENDEZVOUS. ACCEPT TO SHARE LOCATION?
Her heart leapt. She pressed ACCEPT almost before the question finished displaying.
On Ethan's phone, a simple, grainy map appeared with a pulsating dot showing Anna's exact location and the optimal route to get there. He slid the phone into a mount on the handlebars, pulled on a helmet, and sped off into the cool morning air, the city just beginning to wake around him.
The system watched him go, tracking the bike's transponder, following the two converging dots on a map. It was a simple logistics update, but to the Motherboard, it felt like the beginning of a fascinating new experiment.
EXT. NON-SURVEILLANCE PARK - DAY
The bike hummed to a stop. Anna unwound herself from him, her limbs peeling away one by one. The sudden absence of her warmth felt like a loss, a cold draft against his back. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
They approached the gate, a simple, natural wood archway that felt profoundly out of place in Moorland's polished alloy world. An older man with a kind face sat at a booth.
"Two for the morning session," Ethan said, before Anna could even reach for the hidden SP box in her bag. He extended his wrist. The vendor scanned the code with a soft beep. The transaction was done.
"Ethan, you shouldn't have—" Anna began, a flush of embarrassment and gratitude on her cheeks.
"Don't worry about it," he interrupted softly. "It was my idea." She gave a slight, formal bow of thanks.
The vendor handed them two paper tickets—actual physical paper. "A couple's retreat, I presume?" he said with a warm, knowing smile.
Ethan's response was immediate, a nervous, too-loud laugh. "Oh, no! No, we're not—we're just. Friends."
The vendor just smiled wider and waved them in.
As they passed through the gate, the constant, low-level hum of the municipal net vanished. The silence was instant and absolute. It was less a sound and more a feeling—a pressure lifting from their skin.
Anna looked at Ethan. She saw the panic in his eyes at the vendor's assumption, the hurried denial. A small, mischievous part of her wanted to poke the bear. Payback for his comment on the bus.
She reached out and took his hand. His pulse, which had just begun to calm, skyrocketed again. The last vestige of the system's bandwidth, stretched thin at the park's edge, registered two spiking heart rates before the connection severed completely.
He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. The weather is nice. But the nervous saliva he'd been battling finally won, catching in his throat. He coughed, turning away.
"It's... uh... dusty out here," he managed to rasp.
Anna smiled, not fooled for a second. She squeezed his hand.
"Why did you respond so fast when he asked if we were a couple?" she asked, her voice light but her eyes serious. "Don't you think we could be?"
It was a smoke bomb of a question. She watched, fascinated, as he completely short-circuited. His mouth opened and closed. He stammered. He looked everywhere but at her. It was the reaction she'd hoped for—a confirmation that the idea was in his head, too.
To save himself, he deflected to the one thing he could talk about without melting down: Futchat.
"I was just... surprised, that's all," he fumbled. "It's not... I mean, I was thinking about my... my AI friend, actually. The one on the phone. Its name is Futchat. It's got this old, simple code. It doesn't judge, it just... listens. It gives these prompts, makes me think about things differently..."
He launched into a description of its functions, its comforting predictability. At the park's perimeter, a high-resolution camera zoomed in, trying to read his lips. But he was gesturing, turning his head, looking down at his feet. The system caught fragments: "...utchat... listens... prompts..." but the crucial name was lost in a blur of movement.
They talked for an hour, meandering through the peaceful paths. The conversation danced around feelings, never landing directly. "I feel calmer here with you," he said. "I like that I don't have to perform for anyone here," she replied. They were two ships sailing around the same island, acknowledging its presence but not yet coming ashore.
As they walked back toward the gate, Anna saw a sign for a restaurant. "Are you hungry? Would you... would you like to try authentic Angla food? I know a place not far from here. My family goes sometimes."
Ethan's face lit up. "Yes. Absolutely."
The moment they stepped out of the park, their watches chirped back to life, re-syncing with the net. Anna's watch immediately began uploading its stored data. A request attached to the upload—a command for the raw video footage from the park's security camera. The watch's server denied it. Twice. Privacy Protocol Epsilon was strict. On the third request, the denial was overridden by a command with a signature so high-level it bypassed all safeguards: [MOTHERBOARD_OVERRIDE]. The footage began to transfer.
INT. THE GOLDEN PEACOCK RESTAURANT - LATER
The restaurant was a cozy hole-in-the-wall, filled with the aromatic scent of spices and turmeric. They slid into a booth and ordered Mohinga—a fragrant fish noodle soup—and a plate of tea leaf salad.
As they waited, Anna nodded toward the window. "See that couple? They were in the park. They kissed under the willow tree by the pond."
Ethan followed her gaze, then looked back at his menu. "I saw two people sharing ice cream," he said. "They were laughing. It looked... nice." He looked up at her, a shy hope in his eyes. "We could get some ice cream after?"
Anna laughed, a real, warm sound. "Ethan. You're lactose intolerant. Are you trying to summon another stomach ache?"
He grinned, abashed. "Right. Forgot. Maybe just... a picture of ice cream?"
Their food arrived, and they dug in. The conversation was easy, flowing from the park to school to their fleeting, guarded dreams. When the bill came, Anna's hand moved for her bag, but Ethan's wrist was already hovering over the scanner on the table. Beep.
Internal Monologue - Anna: Why won't he let me pay? Does he know I want to? Is this some old-world chivalry? Or is he just... overspending? He can't have that many SP to spare. Does he think he has to buy my time?
Outwardly, she just smiled. "Thank you. Again."
"Where to next?" he asked, eager to extend the day. "The opera? Or the modern art gallery?"
"Art gallery," Anna said immediately.
"Let's flip for it," Ethan suggested, pulling a coin from his pocket.
He flipped it. It spun in the air. He caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand. "Heads for opera, tails for gallery."
He peeked. It was heads. He met her eyes, saw the tiny flicker of disappointment she tried to hide.
"You know," he said, "I think it landed on tails. Yeah. Tails. Art gallery it is."
She knew he was lying. The smile she gave him was worth the deception.
EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS
They got back on the bike. This time, when Anna climbed onto the bumper and wrapped herself around him, her touch was different. More intentional. Her arms weren't just holding on for safety; one hand splayed flat against his chest, over his heart. Her cheek rested firmly against his back, and she didn't seem to care about the road.
Internal Monologue - Ethan: Okay. New battle parameters. Her hand is ON YOUR HEART. She can probably feel it trying to break out of your ribcage. Do not swerve. Do not—oh god, she just squeezed a little. Was that on purpose? FOCUS ON THE ROAD.
He was hyper-aware of every shift of her weight, every slight movement of her fingers. He kept glancing in the side mirror, not at the traffic, but at the reflection of her face, serene and smiling behind him.
A warning chime came from the bike's dashboard, its voice synthetic and stern. "Alert. Erratic steering detected. Please pay attention to the road for your safety."
Anna giggled, the vibration of her laugh traveling through his entire body. "Ethan," she murmured, her voice muffled by his jacket. "The road is that way."
He snapped his eyes forward, face burning. The internal battle was lost. He was just a boy on a bike, hopelessly, happily overwhelmed by the girl wrapped around him, steering them toward the art gallery and whatever came next.