"Rapid train bound for Minamikata Station will be arriving at platform 3 shortly. Please stand back behind the yellow line and wait."
The automated announcement crackled overhead as I stepped onto the platform, ticket in hand. My mind ran through my morning checklist, calculating how to soften the blow of being late. Technically, I'm supposed to grab coffee anyway, so that's an easy excuse. If I time things right, I can also swing by the drugstore before heading to the meeting. That's what really mattered—no one cared about clocking in, not when an algorithm handled scheduling and the paperwork filed itself. Efficiency over oversight.
I exhaled, shifting my weight as I scanned the station. The tunnels stretched out like yawning mouths, swallowing incoming trains. Around me, bodies milled about in mechanical synchronization, heads tipped forward, necks adorned with the same familiar sight: a three-slotted chip embedded at the base of the skull.
The brain chip. A practice that had evolved over half a century. Originally, it was a luxury—only the rich could afford to archive their memories, hoping for eventual immortality in synthetic bodies. Now, it was standard, a tool for medical monitoring and neurological studies. A necessary evolution, they called it.
A low rumble. A sharp rattle at my feet.
The train glides into view—a sleek tube, its glimmering white metal reflecting the artificial lights above as the electromagnetic field locks it into position. Before I can react, the crowd surges forward, a tide of bodies sweeping me along. My hesitation goes unnoticed. I grab a sidebar as the doors slide shut behind me.
"This is a Hankyu-Senri Line train bound for Kita-Senri Station."
The robotic voice barely registered as my thoughts drifted back to the chip's advancements. Nanotech integration. Medical tracking. Direct neural internet access. It made hospitals redundant, wiped out cell phones entirely. Yet, my own was nearly useless. The fire had damaged it beyond repair, leaving me stuck relying on outdated methods. Pills, check-ups—the kind of things most people hadn't needed for years.
Still, I was better off than those without chips entirely—though a good chunk of information was lost without the nanobots. I paused, scanning the sea of faces around me. They all stared blankly at whatever imaginary screen hovered in front of them, oblivious to the world around them.
I had a foolproof plan, at least. But still, I couldn't help wishing I knew my way around Talos better. I had been told the meeting was in C-27, a room I'd never been in. Guess I'll just ask once I get there.
I reached into my pocket, checking to make sure I had enough for the coffee and the medicine I needed. A quick count—everything seemed in order. I couldn't afford to forget either. Not that I was without options, but the more I relied on the system, the more it felt like it had me on a leash.
The poor never stood a chance. Those who couldn't afford implants weren't merely left behind—they were seen as threats. Unmonitored, untreated, untraceable. Disease carriers. The government had let them slip through the cracks, just like they had after the war.
Radiation poisoning. The silent killer. The reason people once locked themselves indoors, waiting for relief that never came. The vaccine had been a breakthrough—one dose bought you a year of protection. But even now, they hadn't cracked the code for a permanent fix.
The train slows at the first of three stops. I shift aside to let passengers exit—and that's when I notice it.
A robot, standing eerily still, its optics glowing a fraction too bright. The air around it feels off—like it's observing me, not just running a routine scan. Its synthetic gaze lingers just a second too long, sending a prickle up my spine. I straighten, forcing my expression into something neutral.
I already get enough flack for my damaged chip.
I glance away, fixing my eyes on the window—though there's nothing to see but darkness. The tunnel swallows the outside world, leaving only my reflection staring back at me.
Focus. Routine. Control.
That's why I need to get into Talos Industries. I owe him everything.
Dr. Hiroshi Kousei—the one man who never stopped pushing for change, for progress. He pioneered the brain chips. He had left Osaka University to pour everything into Talos Industries, and in the past fifty years, every major breakthrough in technology traces back to him. Despite the problems in today's society, he's the reason we even have a foundation to stand on.
At first, I admired him from afar, the way anyone looks up to a pioneer. But when my parents died, that admiration transformed into something more—a purpose, and a new path I had to follow.
That fire took everything from me. Yet, it was a machine—one of Hiroshi's early androids—who pulled me from the flames. It was part of an experimental project, a stepping stone toward the fully automated fire and police departments we have today. Without it, I wouldn't be here.
That was the moment I knew.
Hiroshi wasn't just advancing robotics—he was building the future. And I wanted to be a part of it. I even followed in his footsteps, attending Simon Fraser University, his alma mater, like it would somehow bring me closer to his vision.
But even with all the progress he's made, I can't shake the thought of my parents. Its presence is more overwhelming than it had been in years. Seemingly, everything else had been put on pause.
The rest of the train ride passed in a blur, my mind cycling through the same thoughts, reopening wounds that had never really healed. It was my fault. If I hadn't hesitated. If I had been there sooner. If I had done anything differently—they would still be here. That fire took them, but I was the one who let it happen.
The train slowed as we approached Kita-Senri Station. When the doors slid open, I stepped onto the platform, swallowed by the steady rhythm of the morning rush. Everything was precise, calculated—the city running like a machine. It was a world shaped by progress, a world Hiroshi built. And maybe, if I followed in his footsteps, I could set things right.
As I made my way toward the coffee shop, my eyes caught sight of Talos Industries in the distance. Its towering silhouette cut against the sky, a beacon of everything humanity had achieved—everything I still had to prove.
I clenched my fists. I need to make amends. I don't know how yet, but working for Talos is the first step.
With that, I exhaled and pulled the door open to the sweet smell of the cafe.
***
I rushed through the glass doors of Talos Headquarters. The air inside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of industrial-strength cleaner and something metallic underneath. My pulse was already racing, but I forced myself to take a steadying breath.
At the front desk, a woman sat perfectly still, her finger gliding absently over the surface in a slow, repetitive motion, as if typing on an invisible keyboard. The faint hum of the building's central systems filled the silence.
I hesitated, shifting my grip on the coffee cups. She hadn't noticed me yet. For a brief second, I considered just slipping past, hoping no one would question me. But then my next step hit the floor too sharply, my breath a little too ragged from rushing. Her eyes flicked up, her face unreadable.
My eyes darted to the clock in the corner—9:34. Too late to slip in unnoticed. I swallowed my nerves and leaned in. "Where's the room for the 9:30 meeting?"
She blinked at me, clearly annoyed. "C-27," she said, then hesitated. "Shouldn't you have gotten the details already?"
"Actually, I'm just an intern. I was asked to sit in, I—I know it's C-27. How do I find it on the third floor?" I shifted anxiously toward the elevator.
She sighed. "Once you get off, take the first left. After two hallways, take a right. It's the third door on the left—"
Before she could finish, I scrambled to the elevator, jabbing at the buttons. As the doors began to slide shut, I caught sight of her expression shifting—concerned, urgent.
She suddenly lunged toward me.
Her voice reached me just as the doors sealed, muffled and indistinct. My fingers hovered over the panel, trying to hit the button to reopen them, but it was too late. The elevator was already ascending.
I stood there, heart pounding, staring at my reflection in the polished metal walls. What was she trying to tell me?
Did she give me the wrong directions?
Am I not supposed to be in the meeting?
Have I been fired?