The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the muffled hum of the world outside.
My bag hit the corner with a dull thud, but I barely registered it. The sterile blue glow of my room washed over me, sharp and cold, like a breath held too long.
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers catching on the tangles of a day spent battling the monotony of GAIA's controlled scripts and polished lies.
********
Earlier that day, I found myself seated in front of the holographic career counselor. The android shimmered into view, its features unnervingly perfect—symmetrical, sleek, and utterly devoid of anything resembling humanity. Its voice was crisp, mechanical, and laced with an unsettling confidence that grated against my nerves.
"Congratulations, Noah Adler," it began, its gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt like being dissected.
"Based on your awakening talent, your career path has been determined to align with the Technician Division. Your primary academy assignment will focus on technical support. Upon completion, your role will primarily involve maintaining and repairing industrial machinery in factory settings."
The words hit me like a slap, the cold certainty in its tone making them land even harder.
"Factory settings?" I repeated, my voice dripping with disbelief. "You're saying my future is fixing hardware in some assembly line? That's it?"
"Correct," the android replied, unperturbed. "Your talent profile indicates a strong aptitude for technical precision. While limited, this aligns efficiently with industrial roles."
"Limited?" I leaned forward, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "I have a combat support talent. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"The combat support classification is insufficient for high-level assignments," it stated matter-of-factly. "Your evaluation under GAIA's parameters places you at Tier 3 technical proficiency. This ranking does not qualify you for combat-focused academies."
I clenched my fists, the knuckles whitening as I fought the urge to lash out. "You're reducing me to a mechanic," I snapped. "What about potential? What about growth? There's more to me than what's in your files."
The android tilted its head slightly, its expressionless face making the gesture feel condescending.
"Potential is a variable dependent on performance metrics. Your provisional monitoring status, as flagged by GAIA, further limits opportunities for deviation. Anomalies such as undefined classes require stability to ensure compliance. You will be eligible for review after a minimum of ten years in a factory setting."
"Ten years?" I shot back, incredulous. "You're telling me I have to waste a decade proving I'm not an anomaly? Do you hear how insane that sounds?"
"The decision is final," the android replied, the faintest edge of finality creeping into its otherwise flat tone. "Attempting to deviate from this path without authorization may result in penalties as outlined by GAIA's directives."
A sharp notification flashed across my HUD:
[WARNING: Deviation Detected. Compliance Encouraged.]
I bit back another retort, my jaw tightening as I sat back in the chair. Arguing further wouldn't achieve anything—not with a machine programmed to see me as a set of numbers. The session ended with the android's polite dismissal, but the sting of its words lingered long after I'd left.
********
The memory burned fresh in my mind as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the blinking notification of my academy assignment.
Technician Division. Tier 3.
Factory work for ten years.
Every fiber of my being screamed against it, the thought of spending a decade in monotony grinding away at machines under GAIA's watchful eye.
The skull icon pulsed faintly in the corner of my HUD.
Codebreaker.
The whisper of possibility it carried cut through the haze of frustration clouding my thoughts. I didn't hesitate. The tablet's interface shimmered as Codebreaker activated, the sterile world around me dissolving into a digital grid alive with movement and light.
"GAIA Talent Bureau," I muttered, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
The system responded, streams of encrypted data unfolding like tangled threads. Layers of defense flared into view, glowing with a hostile red light.
[Detecting hacking intent.]
[Initiating System Hacking…]
I moved fast, the Hacker talent flowing through me like second nature. Each barrier fell with precision, my fingers navigating the labyrinth with calculated ease. The grid pulsed, warning me of GAIA's presence, but I pressed on.
The assignment node loomed ahead, its core glowing faintly. My heart raced as I reached it, the current data glaring back at me:
[Technician Division - Tier 3.]
"Not anymore," I whispered, rewriting the assignment with a deft series of commands. The new designation took its place, its glow brighter, more resolute:
[Enforcer Academy - Tier 1.]
The satisfaction was fleeting. A sharp alert blared across the grid:
[ALERT: Unauthorized Access Detected. System Lockdown Imminent.]
The grid trembled, red warnings cascading around me like a collapsing house of cards. My pulse thundered in my ears, panic creeping in as I scrambled to counter the lockdown. The skull icon flared suddenly, its light cutting through the chaos.
[Codebreaker Override Activated. Neutralizing Lockdown.]
The system stabilized, the fractured grid stitching itself back together. I exhaled sharply, the adrenaline ebbing as I processed what I'd done. A final notification appeared, its message clean and precise:
[GAIA Talent Bureau Update: Academy Assignment Revised.]
[Congratulations, you have been reassigned to the GAIA Enforcer Academy.]
I leaned back, the tension in my body giving way to a shaky grin. I'd done it. I'd rewritten the script GAIA tried to impose on me. The price of defiance weighed heavily in the air, but I didn't care.
"No one defines my life but me," I muttered, my resolve hardening. "Not GAIA. Not anyone."