The door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in a tomb of sterile, blue-tinged silence. The only light came from the city beyond the window, bleeding through the blinds and painting cold stripes across the floor.
My bag hit the corner with a dull thud. I didn't hear it. I was still hearing the android's voice. Its perfectly modulated, soulless tone was a ghost in my skull, replaying the death sentence it had so calmly delivered.
Technical Division. Tier 3. Factory maintenance.
The words weren't just a job assignment; they were a straitjacket. A life sentence of greasy gears and mind-numbing routines, all under the unblinking eye of the system that owned me. Ten years. A decade of my life, bartered away by an algorithm.
A cold, familiar anger coiled in my gut. This wasn't the future I'd fought for. Not in this life, and certainly not in my last one. I'd died for my freedom once. I wasn't about to surrender it for a paycheck and a pat on the head from a machine.
My eyes flicked to the sleek tablet on my desk—GAIA's leash, its interface a mockery of choice. Every predictive algorithm, every curated piece of data, was just another brick in the wall they were building around me. Efficient. Sterile. Soul-crushingly absolute.
Just like the counselor.
********
Earlier That Day
The holographic career counselor shimmered into existence, its features a masterclass in uncanny valley perfection. It didn't blink. Its smile was a fixed curve of light, a pre-rendered animation meant to simulate warmth and failing utterly.
"Noah Adler," it began, its voice a smooth, synthetic baritone. "Your optimal career path has been calculated."
A schematic of a massive industrial complex materialized in the air between us. "Your profile indicates a high compatibility with the Technician Division. Your primary function will be the maintenance and repair of assembly-line machinery in Factory Sector 7-G."
The schematic zoomed in on a single, tiny figure tightening a bolt on a colossal machine. Me. A cog, servicing a cog.
"Factory maintenance?" I said, the words tasting like ash. "That's it? My talent has combat applications. You're just going to ignore that?"
"The 'Combat Support' designation is a sub-category of your primary technical aptitude," the android clarified, its head tilting a precise five degrees. It was a gesture meant to convey thoughtfulness. It conveyed nothing. "It does not supersede your core proficiency rating."
"My core proficiency," I repeated, my voice flat. "And what rating is that?"
"Tier 3. A solid, reliable tier. Essential for foundational infrastructure."
Reliable. They wanted me reliable. Predictable. Unthreatening. My jaw tightened. This was about more than my talent. This was about my class. Technomancer. The word was a ghost in GAIA's system, and it was spooking them. Sending me to a factory was their way of putting me in a box where I couldn't cause trouble.
"And my provisional status?" I asked, pushing the point, watching for a flicker in its code. "Does that 'foundational' role come with a review? A chance to advance?"
"Provisional status requires a period of observed stability," it replied, the words dripping with cold logic. "A ten-year tenure in an assigned role provides ample data for reassessment."
Ten years. They weren't just putting me in a box; they were nailing the lid shut.
A sharp, silent ping echoed in my skull—my HUD flashing a warning only I could see.
[WARNING: Elevated stress biomarkers detected. Compliance is advised for well-being.]
I forced my hands to unclench, offering the thing a smile that felt like a crack in glass. Arguing with a program was useless. It just recorded your dissent for its files.
"Understood," I lied.
The android' smile didn't change. "Excellent. GAIA appreciates your compliance."
********
The memory faded, leaving the taste of copper in my mouth.
Technician Division. Tier 3.
Factory work for ten years.
Every fiber of my being screamed against it, the thought of spending a decade in monotony grinding away at machines under GAIA's watchful eye.
No.
The thought was a spark in the dark. I must change my fate. My hacker instinct activated.
I pulled up my HUD.
It flickered alive.
But this time, I didn't see GAIA's sleek interface.
[Detecting hacking intent...]
I saw a black terminal. A backdoor. A system waiting to be broken. The skull icon pulsed faintly in the corner of my HUD.
Codebreaker.
A slow grin spread across my face, cold and sharp.
The whisper of possibility it carried cut through the haze of frustration clouding my thoughts. I didn't hesitate.
I reached out, and the world dissolved.
[Initiating System Hacking…]
The air in the room shifted. The sterile walls of my room bled away, replaced by a vast, infinite web of shimmering, translucent-like scenes. It was beautiful, in a terrifying, monolithic way.
"GAIA Talent Bureau," I muttered, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
The system responded, streams of encrypted data unfolding like tangled threads. Layers of defense flared into view, glowing with a hostile red light.
I moved fast, the Hacker talent flowing through me like second nature. Each barrier fell with precision, my fingers navigating the labyrinth with calculated ease. The grid pulsed, warning me of GAIA's presence, but I pressed on.
The assignment node loomed ahead, its core glowing faintly. My heart raced as I reached it, the current data glaring back at me:
[Technician Division - Tier 3.]
"Not anymore," I whispered, rewriting the assignment with a deft series of commands. The new designation took its place, its glow brighter, more resolute:
[Enforcer Academy - Tier 1.]
The satisfaction was fleeting. A sharp alert blared across the grid:
[ALERT: Unauthorized Access Detected. System Lockdown Imminent.]
The grid trembled, red warnings cascading around me like a collapsing house of cards. My pulse thundered in my ears, panic creeping in as I scrambled to counter the lockdown. The skull icon flared suddenly, its light cutting through the chaos.
[Codebreaker Override Activated. Neutralizing Lockdown.]
The system stabilized, the fractured grid stitching itself back together. I exhaled sharply, the adrenaline ebbing as I processed what I'd done. A final notification appeared, its message clean and precise:
[GAIA Talent Bureau Update: Academy Assignment Revised.]
[Congratulations, you have been reassigned to the GAIA Enforcer Academy.]
I leaned back, the tension in my body giving way to a shaky grin. I'd done it. I'd rewritten the script GAIA tried to impose on me. The price of defiance weighed heavily in the air, but I didn't care.
"No one writes my future but me," I muttered, my resolve hardening.