"You've likely seen the headlines. The data packages. The cleaned-up documentaries curated for emotional digestibility."
Instructor Vell raised one hand, a pulse of light flicked the walls into a living history reel. Burning forests. Empty cities. Black water. A timeline scrolled in System blue.
🗓️ Collapse Overview:
2074 – Global Freshwater Scarcity Declared
2085 – Atmospheric Deterioration: Ozone Breach Tier I
2091 – Climate Refugee Crisis: 2.3 billion displaced
2103 – Solar Flare Detected (Magnitude 9.2)
2104 – The Uplink Protocol is passed. Digitization begins.
2111 – Final Upload Phase. 1.2 billion preserved. 6.8 billion not.
2112 – Atmospheric Collapse Event
2116 – AI assumes full System oversight.
2161 – Project Reclaim initialized.
2175 – First successful reinhabitation.
"Humanity did not collapse in a single instant," Vell said, turning toward the class. "We fell in stages. First by denial. Then by delay. And finally, by design."
"Humanity had reached its saturation point. Growth without sustainability. Progress without preservation. Every system buckled — ecological, political, social. The flare was not our execution. It was our final warning."
The reel paused on a black screen.
He began walking slowly through the classroom rows.
"Digitization was not about saving everyone. It was about saving enough. And only those the System deemed viable. Those of you sitting here — you are not survivors. You are backups. Conditional assets. You were preserved because you were data-efficient and psychometrically compliant."
The phrase echoed. Chilling. Clinical.
Lyra swallowed hard.
The girl next to her didn't move, but her jaw tightened slightly.
Ahead, no one dared to interrupt
Instructor Vell returned to the front of the class.
"Earth is not waiting to welcome you home. It has no memory of you. Only consequences. It is unstable, volatile, corrupted. And soon, you may be required to reclaim it."
"You will not be heroes. You will be tools."
Another flash of light. The wall now displayed two images:
Left: a digitized mind within a simulation bubble — serene, color-balanced, controlled.
Right: a shattered landscape of twisted metal and overgrown life — violent, raw, free.
"Your comfort here is not your reward. It is your test."
He raised a hand again.
"Your first log entry will be recorded today. You will answer one question. It will not be graded — but it will be reviewed."
The lights dimmed further as the prompt appeared on every visor:
System Log Prompt 01:
"Was humanity's digitization a necessary evolution — or a convenient abandonment?"
(Answer length: 50–250 words. Emotional signature tracking enabled.)
Lyra stared at the question glowing across her visor. Was this what they called teaching now? Or was it reformatting — just slow enough to feel like learning?
"Was humanity's digitization a necessary evolution — or a convenient abandonment?"
Her fingers hovered near the submission key.
The room was silent, but not still. Every breath felt measured. Monitored.
She thought of the stories from older simcasts — of cities flooding and walls rising, of people clawing for space on final uplink lists. Of bodies that never got graves, only shutdown sounds.
She thought of her own family. What little she'd been allowed to remember.
Convenient. Absolutely. But maybe… also the only option left.
She typed a single sentence.
"We evolved, not because we were ready — but because we ran out of time."
It wasn't brave. It wasn't radical.
But it was enough to be logged.
A soft ping confirmed receipt.She exhaled. Quiet. Small.
The girl next to her hadn't moved. Still writing, or still thinking.
Soon the lights rose again. Instructor Vell's avatar faded, dispersed like he'd never been there at all.
Students stood in near unison, some whispering, some silent. The question still hung heavy in the air, unanswered for many.
Lyra closed her visor interface.
"You submit anything?" her seatmate asked without looking at her.
Lyra blinked. "Yes."
"Hm." A beat. Then: "Convenient abandonment. That was my answer."
"Brave."
"Honest."A pause. "You?"
"I picked the diplomatic lie."
Her seatmate smirked faintly. "Smart. But you didn't believe it."
"Nope."
"Good. Belief gets you killed faster than fire in a dry zone."
They stood.
For a second, Lyra almost asked her name. But then the crowd moved — and she was swept back into it.