The moment I stepped off the vehicle, the air hit me with a pungent blend of rust and industrial exhaust. Cracked stone tiles and oil-stained ground stretched beneath my feet. In the distance, smokestacks vomited clouds thick enough to choke the sky.
A group of human workers emerged from the factory gates. I scanned them: identical gray uniforms, hands wrapped in dirty cloth to hide their wounds, faces worn and emotionless.
They moved slowly, wordlessly—an eerie silence engulfing them. Compared to the place I came from, it felt like I had crossed into a world torn from the seams.
There, the streets were bright and clean, filled with people dressed in vivid, elegant garments, gliding through colorful lanes in sleek autonomous vehicles. Dust particles didn't last more than seconds before they were cleared by cleaning bots.
Analyzing the environmental data, my systems concluded: I had arrived in a world completely detached from the one I knew.
It is the year 2369 of the X Era. I am a bionic humanoid, model No.0 Bionic Overseer, serial number BO-279, manufactured by Phanerozoic Eon—the largest bionic engineering and trading corporation in K Nation.
The company's founder and majority shareholder is Pollux, age 50. A genius scientist and businessman, he spearheaded the controversial yet transformative *New Human Project*, mass-producing hyper-advanced humanoid robots that have since permeated every corner of society.
Despite ethical concerns, few deny the project's impact. Today, the world—especially K Nation—relies on bionics for everything. Most of the former skeptics now support Phanerozoic Eon, as long as bionics lack true consciousness. As long as we are not *human*.
Records indicate that Pollux was once known as Noah. He died under mysterious circumstances at the age of 60. The current Pollux is a clone, implanted with the original's memories.
With global populations dwindling due to war and natural disasters, and resources growing scarce, both cloning and bionic technologies remain hotly debated. Yet Pollux—a cloned man creating bionic life—endures ridicule and reverence alike.
My understanding of these events is limited. I was not built to study history. I was built to perform one function: to oversee human labor.
I underwent rigorous testing, calibration, and upgrades. My systems include a neural scanner, micro-expression interpreter, nanoscopic auditory sensors, and deviation-alert algorithms. In countless simulations, I identified behavioral anomalies with precision—human or otherwise.
When I searched the global database for information on human industrial labor, I found almost nothing. For over a century, such labor has been obsolete—replaced by machines and bionics. The few countries that still employ humans in manual work treat them like elite professionals, paid handsomely and in no need of supervision.
K Nation is the global superpower—technologically, militarily, and economically. It imports nearly all resources and dedicates itself exclusively to high-tech industries. In this land, humans need not labor. The government and technology provide for their every need.
In this world, humans, bionics, clones, and artificial intelligences coexist—but humans reign supreme.
And yet, I was created to supervise human labor. A purpose seemingly unnecessary. Perhaps even forbidden.
Soon, I received a sealed directive: deploy to a textile factory in a place called *Primitive City* as a full-time overseer. All communications would route through an undisclosed "Headquarters."
I searched for Primitive City. Nothing. No official records. No coordinates. It did not exist—not on maps, not in systems.
I was ordered to reveal nothing about K Nation once I arrived.
I departed from an unguarded K Nation border checkpoint, boarded an automated transport through abandoned zones, and after a long journey, arrived at the destination—Eternal Textile Factory, Industrial Sector 13, Primitive City.
Here, my assignment would begin.
The humans here appeared in worse condition than any in K Nation. Physical degradation, aging, nutrition levels, and clothing quality all ranked far below standard.
I was instructed to blend in—mimic human behavior and conceal my identity.
In K Nation, bionics must display their data ports openly on the neck. But before deployment, mine was surgically concealed. I was indistinguishable from a human.
To test my disguise, I attempted a standard friendly smile.
Three nearby workers instinctively recoiled. Fear levels spiked to 11.7%. They stared at me like I was an intruder—something alien.
I tried to speak, to defuse the fear. But they had already turned away, dragging themselves into the shadows. Fatigue levels returned instantly to 100%.
System analysis: These humans were no different from rusted machines, driven solely by routine and exhaustion. Compared to the people of K Nation, they were like malfunctioning robots of flesh and blood.
Then I noticed an anomaly: one individual with widened pupils, no signs of fatigue or fear—only curiosity. Her eyes glittered with something rare.
If I hadn't detected her heartbeat and circulating blood, I might've mistaken her for another bionic.
As I tried to log her behavioral pattern, she noticed. Before I could complete the scan, she vanished.
The factory doors groaned shut behind me, the metallic echo sealing me in with silence. I looked up at the massive, windowless structure—ten meters tall, cold and gray.
It resembled a cage.
Inside it, a forgotten class of humans.
And I, a bionic built to serve them, would now be their overseer.