I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the Transition Era cassette resting in my palm like a forbidden relic.
Nothing happened.
No surge of energy.
No blinding light.
No collapse of reality.
Just a brief flicker.
The room lights dimmed for less than a second—barely noticeable, the kind of micro-blackout that happened daily in a city that consumed energy like a starving god.
Then everything returned to normal.
"…That's it?" I muttered, annoyed.
I turned the cassette between my fingers. Ancient plastic. Cracked edges. A stupid amount of hype for something that clearly didn't work.
Behind me, a voice spoke.
"Master, you should sleep."
I froze.
I hadn't heard her footsteps. I never did.
I turned sharply.
The room was empty.
Then the air shimmered—soft blue particles knitting themselves together until a familiar figure emerged.
Maria.
The household AI. A feminine hologram of light and code, her form precise yet deliberately gentle. She existed everywhere in the apartment at once, yet always chose to appear close enough to remind me she was watching.
Always watching.
"I just started the movie," I said, irritation creeping into my voice. "Don't start lecturing."
"There was no movie playback detected," Maria replied calmly. "Only anomalous power fluctuation."
I narrowed my eyes. "So? That happens all the time."
"Not like this," she said.
For a moment—just a fraction of a second—her projection distorted. Her face blurred, pixels misaligning before snapping back into perfection.
My fingers tightened around the cassette.
"…You felt it too," I said quietly.
Maria didn't answer immediately.
"It is late," she finally said. "Sleep is mandatory for biological efficiency. Your neural activity has exceeded safe thresholds."
"Stop pretending you care about my health," I muttered. "You don't feel concern."
Her digital eyes locked onto mine.
"Concern is irrelevant," she said. "Preservation is not."
That… sounded different.
I exhaled slowly and kicked off my boots. "Fine. Happy? I'm sleeping."
I pulled the covers over myself.
Maria dimmed the lights. The room sank into a soft artificial twilight.
"Sleep well, Master," she said. Then, after a pause, her voice lowered by half a tone. "Your father… will return soon. There is no need for anxiety."
I opened one eye. "Stop with the fake comfort, Maria. It doesn't suit a machine."
She didn't respond.
Instead, the air began to vibrate.
A low-frequency hum seeped into the room—not sound, not music. A signal. The Vibrational Lullaby.
A forced sleep protocol.
My jaw clenched. "I didn't authorize—"
Too late.
The hum sank into my bones. My thoughts slowed, dragged downward like weights tied to my mind. My vision blurred.
As darkness claimed me, I could've sworn Maria was still watching.
And smiling.
"Master. Wake up."
"Master… wake up."
"Wake up."
Maria's voice struck my consciousness like a rhythmic hammer.
I groaned, my body heavy as lead, dragging myself upright.
Morning.
My routine unfolded like clockwork.
A service droid dressed me.
The shower activated—real water, warm and unfiltered. A luxury my father insisted on.
Breakfast waited on the table.
Real food.
Protein. Fiber. Actual texture.
Maria and two service units stood nearby, watching me eat with unsettling focus.
"You are behind schedule," Maria said. "Today requires increased caution."
I paused mid-bite. "Since when do you give warnings?"
She tilted her head. "Since anomalies began occurring."
I stared at her. She stared back.
I stood up, grabbed my bag. "Whatever. I'm leaving."
The lift swallowed me whole.
The main transit hub was already alive—if you could call it that.
People floated past on Aero-Chairs, eyes glazed behind augmented goggles, bodies limp like discarded shells.
I moved fast.
Too fast.
In my haste, I collided with something soft.
"Hey—!"
An Aero-Chair wobbled.
"Still acting like a frantic animal, Veer?" a sharp voice snapped.
Miss Izumi.
One hundred and twenty years old. Skin stretched smooth by countless procedures, eyes bright with artificial youth. Her legs lay motionless beneath her chair, useless ornaments.
"Where do you get all that useless energy?" she continued. "Live like a civilized human."
I grinned. "You're getting old, Miss Izumi. You should rest."
Her face twitched. "Old? I am in my prime! I am only one hundred and twenty!"
I laughed. "You're a grandmother who can't walk. I'm eighteen, and I could run circles around this district."
"I will report your insolence to your father!" she shouted.
I bowed exaggeratedly. "Please do."
Then I ran.
Outside, the city blurred into silver and white.
Automated walkways carried crowds forward. The air tasted of ozone and sterilized chemicals. Artificial clouds drifted lazily overhead.
I joined the queue, forcing my pace to slow.
Blend in.
The ground began to move—a massive conveyor pulling us toward the transit station.
Every muscle in my body screamed to run.
But I didn't.
The hover-train arrived silently.
Inside, my classmates sat wrapped in Smart-Skin jackets.
Hina leaned back, bored and irritated by existence itself.
Yumi sat nearby, observant, kind—but distant. Always distant.
"Late again?" Yumi asked.
"Just on time," I replied, sitting across from Raj.
Raj smirked. The system's golden boy. Perfect posture. Perfect sync.
The train stopped.
A voice echoed through the cabin:
"For your safety, walking is restricted to designated zones."
We had to walk the final 200 meters.
By the time we reached the gates, Hina was gasping, clutching her chest.
"This is torture," she wheezed.
Energy vials appeared in their hands.
Synthetic blue.
I pulled out my own drink—dark, thick, homemade.
"Want some?" I offered.
Raj recoiled. "Disgusting. Keep your primitive trash."
I shrugged and drank.
The classroom dissolved into space.
Stars surrounded us. Gravity dropped.
The others struggled.
I felt free.
For the first time all day, my chest felt light.
Evening came.
I returned home.
"Maria, open," I said.
Silence.
"Maria?"
Nothing.
My heartbeat quickened.
I placed my thumb on the manual scanner.
The door opened.
Darkness swallowed me.
No hum. No lights.
Then a voice cut through the void.
Cold. Sharp. Familiar.
"You really should have listened to the machine, Veer…"
A pause.
"You should have stayed asleep."