Chapter 1 – The Notice
The day had been long, the kind that made the world feel heavy. Heat shimmered on the streets of Kalyanpur, bending the air until even the trees looked tired. Dogs sprawled under the shade of old banyans. The whole town seemed to move slower, weighed down by the late-summer sun.
At the very edge of the town stood Sen Workshop. Its rust-red roof sagged, patched with tarpaulin where rain had eaten holes. A hand-painted signboard hung lopsided, the white paint flaking: SEN MACHINES & REPAIRS. It was more memory than business now.
Inside, the air was thick with the stench of grease and burnt oil. Metal scraps and cracked gearboxes littered the floor. The walls were lined with tools that hadn't been replaced in decades.
Arjun Sen crouched by a dismantled water pump, his hands black with grease. He was seventeen, all sharp bones and wiry muscle. His dark eyes held a quiet intensity, the kind of gaze that studied not just surfaces but what lay beneath.
"Hand me the spanner," his father rasped from across the bench.
Arjun glanced at him. Biren Sen had once been the pride of Kalyanpur—a mechanic whose hands could coax life back into dead machines. But now those same hands trembled as if resisting his will. The illness had stolen his strength slowly, year by year, until he was left with little more than a stubborn spirit.
Arjun passed the spanner, watching his father fumble with the bolt. The tool slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor.
"Leave it, Baba," Arjun said quietly. He picked it up, tightened the bolt in three steady turns, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Biren sank back into his chair, breathing heavily. His eyes, once sharp, now carried a dull ache. "Machines don't pity us, Arjun," he muttered, almost to himself. "They only obey strength. If you can't master them, they'll eat you alive."
Arjun didn't reply. He had heard these words since childhood. To him, they weren't just advice—they were a prophecy his father carried like a scar.
---
By evening, a strange energy pulsed through the town. Arjun noticed it when he stepped outside to fetch parts. People were huddled near the bus stand, murmuring in low, excited voices. A fresh sheet of paper had been posted on the notice board, the government seal stamped in red at the top.
Arjun pushed through the crowd. His eyes scanned the bold letters:
"The Machinery Enrollment Act, 2042."
The words below struck him like hammer blows:
> "Applicants aged 16–22 may register for the National Machinery Enrollment Exam.
Candidates will be tested in theoretical mechanics, AI interface handling, and live synchronization trials with prototype machines.
Successful candidates will receive full government scholarship, housing, and guaranteed national service positions."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some sneered. Others whispered like it was a fairy tale.
"Scholarship? That's for city brats, not village rats like us," an old shopkeeper scoffed.
"I heard those prototypes fry your brain if you can't handle them," another said.
Someone laughed nervously. "Even if it's true, who here would dare try? You think Delhi's machines care about Kalyanpur's sons?"
Arjun stood frozen, the words live synchronization trials echoing in his head. He felt his heartbeat thrum like the pistons of an unseen engine.
Rohit, his childhood friend, appeared at his side. Taller, broad-shouldered, always grinning—but his grin had vanished now. "Don't even think about it," he hissed. "That's for kids who grew up with AI tutors, not… us." He eyed Arjun's oil-stained shirt and cracked sandals.
Arjun lowered his gaze. Rohit wasn't wrong. He was nobody. A mechanic's son. Barely passing school. No implants. No connections.
And yet… something inside him stirred. A whisper in the back of his mind, soft but insistent, as though the very machines in the workshop back home were calling to him: Come.
---
That night, silence settled over the Sen household. His father coughed in his sleep, restless in his chair. His mother, Sushma, sat by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, mending torn clothes. Her hands moved quickly, but her eyes kept flicking toward her son.
Arjun sat at the workbench, staring at the government notice he had torn down. The words glared back at him.
"Thinking about it, aren't you?" his mother's voice broke the silence.
Arjun looked up, startled. "Ma—"
"You have that look your father once had," she said, setting down her needle. "The look of someone who won't be chained by this town."
He swallowed hard. "Baba won't allow it."
Her expression softened. "Your father… he fears machines because they took his strength. But you… you hear them, don't you?"
Arjun froze. For years he had hidden it—the way he could sense when a machine was about to fail, the way he could almost feel their hums like heartbeats. How could she know?
She smiled faintly. "A mother knows."
From the folds of her sari, she pulled out a crumpled envelope. She pressed it into his hands. Inside were a few hundred rupees—savings scraped together from selling milk, vegetables, and the odd sewing job.
"It's not much," she whispered. "But if you go… it will get you to the city."
Arjun's throat tightened. "Ma… I—""Don't thank me," she said firmly. "Just promise you'll come back alive."
---
Later, long after the lamps were blown out and the town had sunk into sleep, Arjun sat alone in the workshop. He traced the edge of a broken gear, his fingers black with grease.
Above him, the torn notice fluttered under the fan's lazy rotation.
His father's words echoed: Machines eat men alive.
His mother's voice countered: But you hear them, don't you?
Arjun's chest rose and fell, caught between fear and longing.
With trembling hands, he opened the enrollment portal on his cracked phone. His thumb hovered over the screen.
He pressed submit.
Application sent.
The workshop fell into silence. And yet… in that silence, Arjun swore he heard it—the faint hum of an engine starting far away.
Unseen by him, in a sealed government hangar hundreds of miles away, a machine long abandoned flickered with life. Rust peeled, circuits hissed, and a single eye-like core glowed faintly.
As though it had been waiting.
For him.