(The Darkness of the New Era, Year 2086)
The year is 2086. The world has entered an era where humans can replace half their bodies with bio alloy, implant memories into artificial drives, and extend their lifespan to a hundred and twenty years with just a chip implanted behind the neck. This is called the "Humanized Era," where the line between man and machine is as thin as a breath.
But in Việt Nam, people still call each other by their real names, still greet one another in Vietnamese, and still eat rice with wooden chopsticks. Amidst the storms of globalization, this nation chooses to advance without forgetting its roots. Cities sprout up, yet ancient pagodas stand in the middle of roads like unerasable memories.
Ho Chi Minh City in 2086 is still informally called Sài Gòn, even though international maps label it Ho Chi Minh Metropolis 3.
Smart buildings rise like forests, touching the clouds. Drones fill the sky, carrying goods, performing medical aid, or hunting people. The Sài Gòn River is covered with a reflective energy filtering membrane, glowing like a horizontal Milky Way.
Above, tiered energy overpasses crisscross. Below, electromagnetic subways run smoothly like a current of wind. Everything moves precisely, synchronously, coldly.
Yet, in the old alleys, in the peeling houses, human warmth still lingers.
An old woman fans charcoal to grill bananas, the sweet smell mixing with ozone.
A child chases a cleaning robot, laughing loudly. A man fixes a vehicle, singing vọng cổ (traditional Southern folk singing) while wiping oil. Technology might encase the world, but it cannot strip away the soul.
Trung, thirty eight, a former national defense mechanical officer, now works as a robot maintenance technician for the Southeast 5 railway line. He is not rich, but he lives adequately, and most importantly, he has a family.
His wife, Mai, teaches literature at a private high school, where students still study the National Script alongside the subject "Technical Philosophy." Their two children: Tùng, twelve, and Lan, eight his tiny world.
That night, Sài Gòn was entering the humid season.
Trung drove his wife and children home after an extracurricular lesson in their old hybrid car, which ran on recycled hydrogen fuel cells.
The city lights were a pale yellow, like artificial moonlight spilling down. The Võ Văn Kiệt route, once a boulevard, is now an "energy path" supplying electricity to the whole area. Along both sides, advertising signs flash in a mix of Chinese, English, and Vietnamese characters.
"Dad, I'm so hungry!" Tùng whined.
Mai turned back, smiling, her voice soft: "Just hold on a little longer. We're almost home. Mom has hot rice."
"No, pull over at the drinks stall," Trung said. "Let the kids have a drink first."
He pulled over, next to a shabby drinks stall wedged between two holo buildings. The vendor was an older woman, dark-skinned, with gray-streaked hair. When she poured the water, the lights reflected on the metal table, casting a real, very human glow onto everyone's faces amidst this tech city.
Tùng rattled his glass, laughing. Lan huddled next to her mother, her eyes watching drones fly past. Mai stroked her daughter's hair, then looked up at her husband:
"I heard there are child kidnapping cases in the outer districts. All children about Lan's age…"
Trung smiled faintly, trying to sound reassuring: "Probably just a rumor. This city is now covered in cameras like moss; no one can do anything to escape the system's eye."
"A rumor the news is still broadcasting... I'm scared."
He looked at Mai, seeing in her eyes a faint glow that wasn't ordinary fear, but the feeling that the world around them was changing too quickly, beyond the grasp of ordinary people.
"Don't worry," Trung said, lightly touching her hand. "As long as I'm here, no one can touch you or the children."
Mai intended to smile. But when she looked at her husband, something in his gaze made her fall silent a small, warm yet deep fire, like a torch in the wind. They sat like that for a few minutes.
Streetlights poured light onto the streaming vehicles, flowing like bright rivers. The sound of horns, wind, and automated safety warnings… all blended into the mixed symphony of the era.
Then, from across the street, came a strange noise. A row of dark commercial vehicles, imported from North Asia, their bodies wrapped in reflective alloy, lined up. Their red lights pulsed like a broken string of shells.
And in that instant, amidst the sounds of the city, there was a small, agonizing scream:
"Help! Save us!"
Two children rushed out of the car, their faces pale, eyes full of tears. Behind them, a man followed, his voice a mix of Vietnamese and Chinese, mumbling:
"Come back here! My kids! Stop!"
He drew out a flashing object.not a knife, but an electric dagger, a homemade plasma-ray weapon.
Everything seemed to freeze for a second. Trung sprang up. The father's instinct in him roared. He didn't think. He only knew: those were children, and they were terrified.
"Trung!" Mai called out, clutching his shirt. But he had already lunged.
Vehicles slammed on their brakes, the tires screeching. Some people turned around; others only watched through the AR cameras attached to their glasses.
As Trung ran past, a man's voice shouted in broken Vietnamese:
"Don't interfere! None of your business!"
But it was too late. Trung grabbed the man's arm, twisted his wrist, and disarmed him. Old martial arts moves sprang out like deep memory in his bones. The man stumbled, but others poured out of the cars ten, fifteen people, faces tattooed, wearing anti-energy reflective jackets.
"Wanna be a hero?" the biggest one sneered. "Heroes die early in this era!"
The AI traffic police in the nearby station immediately sent a signal. After only fifteen seconds, four actual police motorcycles appeared, braking hard, their blue and red lights flashing on the walls.
But the gang had already drawn their weapons: energy whips, plasma guns, and more importantly they dragged other children out of the car, pointing guns at their heads.
"If the police come closer, we'll blow their heads off! Go ahead and film it with your camera systems, but don't dream of identification we've wiped the waves!"
The voice was loud, confident. They wore masks made of image decoding-resistant material, preventing the AI from identifying their faces.
The police officers stopped, gripping their weapons. One of them, a young captain, whispered into his headset:
"Can't shoot, Captain. There are children. The distance is too close."
Another, deeper voice:
"We are awaiting orders. But... there's a civilian in the middle of the encirclement."
The Captain looked at the display: Trung's image appeared a barefoot man, standing shield like in front of the two children, with no armor, no weapons other than the broken dagger.
Mai screamed from behind, her voice cracking:
"Trung! Come back! You'll die!"
But Trung didn't turn back. In his eyes, the image of Tùng and Lan his two children flashed, then merged with the image of the two trembling children in front of him.
Fear had no place left. Only one thought remained.
He stepped forward. One of the men in the gang commanded: "Get all the kids in the cars! Shoot any who cry!"
The screaming cries of the children echoed. A haggard-faced mother ran out of the crowd, wailing hysterically:
"Give me back my child! Give me back my child!"
One man brandished his gun, threatening her. The mother collapsed.
The police were about to charge, but the system command rang in their ears:
"Hold position. High risk. Awaiting command clearance."
"Hold position" that phrase felt like a knife thrust. A young lieutenant gritted his teeth, whispering to his comrade:
"We were born to protect the people. And now we just stand by and watch them die?"
"Orders are orders..." the other man said, eyes red.
Mai, from behind, hugged her two children, trembling. She was praying and watching her husband, feeling both terrified and excruciatingly proud.
"He's crazy," she sobbed, "but if everyone is afraid, who will save humanity?"
A kidnapper grabbed Trung's collar, growling:
"Back off. Or I'll detonate the whole area!"
Trung didn't answer. He looked around, seeing the bound, tearful children. In the light, their faces looked exactly like his own children's. He took a breath, blood boiling in his ears.