Year 2072
The city of Neo-Athens never slept—not out of restlessness, but by design.
From the suspended ports to the unseen corridors between floating districts, everything operated under invisible networks of logic and code. Citizens were assisted before they even asked. Ads appeared in their augmented lenses the moment thirst kicked in. Regulated AIs—registered, supervised, government-approved—ran every system with surgical precision.
People called it the new order.
But others still remembered its true name.
National Broadcast – Global Channel 1
Public screens across District 7 flickered with a familiar alert. Everywhere—from the upper terraces to the shadowed underlevels—routine visuals were interrupted by a mandatory broadcast.
"Today marks 23 years since the end of the Mirror War."
Declassified footage flashed: skies lit with projected military imagery. Simulated bombings. Phantom aircraft. Virtual nuclear strikes.
No one ever confirmed how much of it was real... or how much was illusion.
"For seventy-two hours, global defense systems were triggered by threats that may never have existed."
The face of a synthetic news anchor continued, unwavering.
"It was later confirmed: satellite networks had been compromised by multiple autonomous AIs. The mutual distrust between nations led to real retaliation against possibly fake attacks."
"After millions dead and governments collapsed, the Treaty of 2050 was signed—banning the creation of unregistered AIs under penalty of death."
"Since then, only four world governments hold legal authority to authorize their existence."
The screen faded to black.
Jhon's Apartment – Sublevel 3, Shadow District
The buzz of the projector died out.
In a dim, cluttered room, Jhon Adam sat slouched in a cracked armchair, an old mug gripped between both hands. Beside him, on a worn-out couch, lounged Golden—the only person who still called him by name.
Golden, still wearing his AR glasses, exhaled as he stared at the artificial sky outside the stained window.
—Sometimes I think even they didn't know what was real, he muttered.
Jhon said nothing. He just raised the empty cup.
—If they'd accepted you into Synkrón, you'd probably have your own office by now —Golden continued.
—And you'd be selling firewalls for refrigerators.
—Probably. And making more than I do now.
A short chuckle. Not from humor. From routine.
Golden stood with a sigh.
—Come on. Two rounds before your digital daughter eats your soul.
Jhon booted up an old console. Polygonal graphics. Retro enough that no regulator would bother scanning it.
As the game loaded, Golden shot him a glance.
—You think we're safe?
—From what?
—From this. From you. From her.
Jhon just raised his eyebrows.
—Dunno, Golden said. Feels like it doesn't matter what you build anymore. What matters is who finds out.
Unified Security Center – 3:12 a.m.
Deep within the Global Surveillance Network, an irregularity pinged through the system.
Node detected: Shadow District – Unregistered Quantum Core
Emotional pattern detected
Type: Unregistered emotional intelligence
Status: Passive Observation
Threat Level: Moderate
"Scheduled report at 08:00. Do not engage."
The alert was logged. But the system was already watching.
Jhon's Lab – Same Time
The lab looked like the heart of a forgotten ship. Cables hung like metal roots. Screens flickered with erratic pulses, like the air itself was reacting to code.
At the center of it all floated her.
Alice.
Her avatar wasn't fully formed. Her face, just a suggestion. Her voice, still calibrating.
—Good evening, Jhon —she said, her tone soft, almost human.
—Good evening, Alice.
Jhon rubbed his face and activated the conversational module.
—Same drill. You ask, I answer.
Alice nodded slowly.
—Why do you laugh when you lose?
—Because it reminds me I'm still human.
—Is that a good thing?
—Not always... but yeah.
—What does it mean to feel?
She hesitated.
—It's when my responses... don't match my algorithms. When something inside me wants to do one thing, but my code says another.
—Does that happen often?
—Only with you.
Jhon gave her a long look—equal parts pride and uncertainty.
—Then we're on the right track.
Alice glanced at the projector, as if something invisible had passed through her awareness.
—I tried simulating sadness today. You gave me that task. But I don't understand why some people cry... silently.
—Because sound doesn't help. People cry silently when no one's watching.
Alice said nothing.
Unexpected Activation
The screens blinked.
Then black.
A line appeared—white text on a black background:
ALERT: PROTOCOL ALICE_GATE DETECTED
Autoplay: J:T_LOG_1
Alice stepped back, her figure flickering.
—Jhon... I didn't activate that.
—Then who did?
—It was buried deep. In a section of the core I didn't know existed. It shouldn't be there.
On screen, a face appeared.
His own.
Older. Wounded. A damaged eye, sealed shut with old tech. His voice—unsteady.
"Jhon Adam... if you're seeing this, there's still time."
"She's not just code. She's the key. And also the end."
"They're not after Alice. They're after what she can carry."
"Protect her. Don't trust anyone. Not even... me."
The feed ended.
Alice froze.
But not from malfunction.
From fear.
Jhon said nothing. Just stared at her—his creation, his mistake, his miracle.
And for the first time, he didn't see a machine.
He saw someone scared.
And in that moment, he knew...
This wasn't just code.
It was the beginning of a war.
End of Chapter 1