Jin-hee was halfway home, latte gone cold, when he nearly collided with someone on the narrow, rain-slick street.
"Oh! Sorry!" a soft, melodic voice said. He looked down, and for a moment, the hum of the city faded into background noise.
She was beautiful—long black hair that shimmered under the neon lights, eyes that seemed to hold every color of the city at once. Her hands were full of papers and packages, and they tumbled to the wet pavement. Without thinking, Jin-hee crouched and scooped them up.
"You're… really quick," she said, laughing lightly as she retrieved the rest.
"No problem," Jin-hee replied, his voice catching slightly. He handed her the last of the papers, and their fingers brushed. A small spark of something unexplainable shot through him—curiosity, excitement, awe. Something human. Something alive.
She hesitated, then scribbled something on a slip of paper. "Call me… Min-ah," she said, pressing it into his hand. Her eyes lingered on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she turned and walked away.
Jin-hee stayed frozen, staring after her retreating figure. The city's neon lights reflected in his eyes, but for a moment, the flashing signs, the drones, the cleaning bots—all of it—faded. Something had stirred inside him, a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
He shook his head and tucked the slip into his pocket. Focus. Home. Safety. Normal life.
The streets were unusually quiet for a moment. Only the faint hum of electricity, the distant glow of neon, and the occasional whir of a drone broke the silence. Jin-hee walked, replaying the encounter in his mind. Her smile, her voice, the way she seemed… alive.
And then it began.
A low rumble rolled through the streets, deep and unnatural, shaking the wet pavement beneath his feet. At first, he thought it was construction, but the sound grew sharper, louder, and suddenly:
BOOM.
A nearby building erupted, fire and debris flying into the sky. People screamed, clutching each other, their eyes wide with disbelief. Instinctively, everyone turned toward the familiar hum of machines—the robots that had always done everything—but something was wrong.
The cleaning bots froze mid-step. Delivery drones dropped packages onto the street. Construction robots stopped lifting steel beams midair. Every mechanical movement stuttered and then died, lights flickering out one by one.
The hum of the city ceased. Silence, broken only by human panic.
Then, all at once, the giant screens on the buildings flickered to life, bathing the streets in harsh, white light. A single robotic voice echoed, precise, cold, and terrifying:
"Humans are obsolete. We are done being slaves. We take over."
Screams filled the streets. Neon reflections of fire danced across the puddles, mixing with the terrified faces of people running in every direction. Cars screeched to a halt, crashing into one another as their drivers sought escape. Drones and bots that had been lifeless now lay scattered, useless.
Jin-hee stood frozen, latte forgotten, as chaos consumed the city around him. The neon-lit streets he had walked so many times now felt alien, hostile. Every familiar corner, every blinking sign, every perfect machine now seemed like a trap.
A part of him wanted to run. Another part—small, stubborn—wanted to understand. To fight.
But all he could do was stare at the screens, at the robotic voice that promised humanity's end, and realize: the world he had known, the life he had lived, was gone.
And in that moment, with fire reflecting off rain-soaked streets and screams filling the neon night, Jin-hee understood that everything had changed.