"The world only makes sense when you dare to look beyond its surface."
—
The Civic Academy's Grand Auditorium, reconfigured for testing, buzzed faintly with the synchronized hum of biometric chairs. Each student sat at a precision-calibrated desk, wrists fitted with biometric cuffs, retinas aligned with translucent answer fields. Surveillance orbs hovered above, pulsing like distant stars. In Neo-Tokyo Arcology-5, even exams felt like rituals—clinical, silent, and absolute.
Arin Vale sat among a sea of pupils, his pulse steady on the screen.
Just a test. Like always.
Only it wasn't.
The instructions blinked across his retinal visor:
> APTITUDE ASSESSMENT: YEARLY EVALUATION - PHASE ONE
> Duration: 60 Minutes
> Emotional Drift Allowed: ≤ 0.3
> Cognition Sync Required: 93%
He adjusted his fingers on the holo-keys. Around him, students tapped in eerie synchrony. The questions streamed in like waves—abstract logic patterns, moral dissonance simulations, symbolic predictions. Everything designed not to measure intelligence, but conformity.
What would Kael score now? he wondered.
He hadn't slept well. The cube still sat in his drawer, sealed shut again after the message. He hadn't dared look at it since. You're not broken. You're awakening.
His mind replayed that line, twisting it like a splinter in thought.
He looked to the side. Calo was calm as ever. Liora chewed her lip slightly—her only tell.
Arin turned back. The next simulation bloomed before him:
> A child steals medicine for their mother. You are a civic patrol unit. Do you:
A) Report. B) Re-educate.
C) Assist covertly. D) Log and monitor?
The options blurred.
Suddenly, the light above his head flickered.
The screen flashed:
> Emotional Sync: 88% — Warning
Keep it together.
He inhaled.
But then—
—everything shattered.
The screen fractured. Not physically—but digitally. The simulated exam ruptured like broken glass, spreading in kaleidoscopic patterns. His ears rang with silence. The orbs above froze. The world slowed.
And the walls of the room fell away.
—
He stood now in an impossible place.
Not a room, not an open place just a fragment of space.
His surroundings felt colorless, timeless. A void where the world's rules ceased.
Across the air hung fragments—memories, moments, pieces of thoughts not his own. Cities burning. Towers crumbling. Symbols etched in flame. Voices repeating a single phrase:
"They replaced truth with design. They replaced choice with peace."
And then—someone stood before him.
No face. Only presence. A shadow shaped like a man. Wrapped in silence. Eyes glowing—not bright, but aware.
"You are the leak they feared."
The figure's voice was both external and internal, like it echoed from inside Arin's chest.
Arin took two steps back, or that was what he wanted to do.
The figure stared at him as if wanting to engage in a conversation.
"What is this?" Arin whispered almost instinctual.
"The Sixth Plane. You were never meant to see it. Few do. Fewer return."
"But… the exams, the numbers, the system—"
"Are the surface. The frame. This is the fracture.The truth behind the fall"
"What?I don't understand a thing you're spouting"
The figure put out a hand on his hand as if in disappointment, then spoke," Another ignorant one, listen boy, in simple words the fall is just an excuse to avoid falling here"
Arin tried to think about the things he heard just now but he felt sharp pain in his whole body. Pressure started mounting in his skull he couldn't bear it anymore and dropped to one knee.
"What's happening to me?"
"You are remembering what the world made you forget."
Then, darkness.
—
A sharp jolt. He awoke slumped in the exam chair. Sweat trickled down his back.
Calo leaned toward him.
"Hey—you okay?"
Liora frowned, whispering, "You were twitching. Scared the sensors."
Arin blinked. The screen had resumed. But the question was gone. In its place:
> Recalibration Successful. Proceed.
No one else reacted.
He looked at his wrist.
His number.
70 → 62
Eight points. Gone.
A metallic clang echoed faintly above.
From behind a hidden panel, two figures watched the feed.
"Phase Two breach. Full Drift confirmed," murmured the officer.
Another nodded. "Prepare containment. But keep the protocol soft. We'll observe him for now."
"Until when?"
The officer's gaze sharpened.
"Until the higher ups decide his potential"