It’s 2045. A young man lies asleep in his small, oddly-shaped room. The room serves multiple purposes—a bedroom and a living space with just enough room to dine and watch TV. It’s sterile and clean, with large windows and curved edges, designed like the interior of a spaceship. Outside, the city hums with life under a clear night sky. Radiant lights flicker as policemen patrol the streets.

Cell phone beeps...

A notification pierces the silence. The young man stirs and picks up his phone.

An unknown message appears on the screen.
Message: "Please be early. I’ll wait for you as usual. 2 p.m."

Narration and Internal Thoughts

I woke up feeling drained, like soul-drenching exhaustion had raised me from the dead. Something peculiar is happening. I went limp with relief as I remembered—there isn’t a single cell in my body that bothers to remind me of who I am. It’s strange, isn’t it? To sleep, to forget. This is what the biomechanical engineers and doctors do now—reconstructing the future, planting memories, and giving humanity’s brain a second birth.

These machine-made beds stiffen your entire system. They’re designed for cyborgs, not humans like me, trying to survive in a cyborg-filled city. How pathetic. Our race can’t escape the government’s grip.

TV Scene: Corrupted Cop Announcement

The television hums in the background. The screen flickers to life, showing a middle-aged officer addressing the public. His name is Barry Karkowski, 40, with three badges pinned on his uniform. The broadcast is interrupted by boos from an unseen audience.

Officer Barry (on TV): Starting today, June 24th, there will be no exceptions to cross the wall. We must protect our citizens from half-cyborgs, nefarious criminals, and anyone who tries to enter our city unlawfully.

Citizen (off-screen): Boo! That is not the answer!

The audience continues to jeer. The camera zooms in on Barry, his tone shifting to sound more reassuring.

And yet, we all know the truth: these dirty cops control our minds. None of us will ever wake up.

The Morning Routine

The young man rises from his bed, pulling on his usual clothes. Fluorescent lights buzz softly as he makes his way to the bathroom.

It’s an ordinary day. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. Will I ever escape this dimension?

Our race only interacts when they need something. They’ve become machines, half-asleep, searching for answers buried in the corners of their minds for years.

I move through my routine methodically. Last night, I ironed my clothes—a silver shirt, silver pants, and a white T-shirt underneath. I didn’t want to risk being late. For a moment, I felt a flicker of desire, the kind I once thought would last forever. I opened the door and stepped out.

The Cab Ride

A futuristic car pulls up outside a meds store. The young man gets out and jogs through the rain to the waiting cab. The driver, an older man, listens to a foreign news report on the radio. The backseat is cluttered with boxes. The man enters the car and closes the door.

Cab Driver (via screen): Press this button to close the door. Be careful—flight machines are operating nearby.

I made sure not to imprint another set of memories. Memories tumble like dominoes, but I keep wondering: when did it all change? When did our world become a place where humans can’t remember anything? We scrape by on fragments of daily life, recording everything just to hold on to who we are.

Arrival at the Bar

The cab stops outside a cyber-fancy restaurant. The clock reads 13:40. The young man enters the bar, its sleek and modern design glowing with neon lights. He finds a table and sits, ordering a mineral water.

I arrived early. I didn’t want to leave a bad impression—I wanted her to see me waiting.

He scrolls through his smartwatch, skimming articles.

One headline catches my eye: “Will Cyber-Babies Have the Power to Kill?” Another reads: “Is It Safe for Children to Keep Cyborg Eight-Legged Dogs at Home?”

It was almost 2 when I saw her. A figure appeared behind the bushes, stepping out from a corner with a smile. She passed an empty table and headed toward me. I smiled back. Finally. She changed her hair—how ironic.

Meeting Madeleine

Agent Madeleine, in her late 30s, approaches the table. She’s skinny and awkward, her new haircut making her look like a Q-tip. She stops in front of him, her expression controlled.

Madeleine: I thought you’d be late.

The young man stands to greet her, but she stops him with a gesture.

Madeleine: It’s better if we don’t hug. Others might be watching.

Medlin: Yeah.

He removes his headphones and sets them aside. Madeleine smirks and sits down.

Madeleine: Give me your hand. You’ll need this to stay in touch with me. I’ll also give you instructions for what to do next.

Behind them, bots quietly trim the grass. The two order food, eat, and talk. The young man listens more than he speaks, holding back the things he wants to say.

I wanted to tell her how much I missed her. How I’ve changed. How I’m not the same person I was.

I wanted to ask if she was happy. If she missed me. But instead, I just listened.

The Departure

Medlin: Well, it’s late now... but thank you. Thank you for trying. I need to go. I’ll stop by the three-quarters place where Olaf is hiding.

Madeleine: Please, be careful.

They exchange a brief look. Medlin glances around the bar, then turns and leaves. Outside, a car is waiting for him. He slips inside, putting on the headphones Madeleine gave him.

As the car drives off, the city hums with life. Red and blue lights flash in the distance. The future presses on, relentless and inescapable.