The disorienting maze of glass walls and transparent floors persisted as I made my way out of the building, feeling like a rat in a particularly cruel experiment. Upward glances revealed the endless azure sky, sideways ones the bustling cityscape. Even looking down offered a dizzying view all the way to the basement. The omnipresent transparency was both breathtaking and unsettling, a constant reminder of how exposed we all were in this new world. Like ants in a giant, gleaming farm, scurrying about for the amusement of our corporate overlords.
I stepped out of my apartment building and into the blindingly perfect world of Future City III. It was like walking through an ad for a lifestyle I couldn’t afford, except I was apparently living it now. Lucky me. The air felt different here – crisp, almost artificially clean, devoid of the familiar urban scents I’d grown accustomed to. Each breath felt like inhaling pure potential, tinged with an undercurrent of apprehension and what I hoped wasn’t mind-control chemicals.
The glass structures stretched so high into the sky that the term “skyscrapers” finally made sense. Everything, literally everything, was immaculate. And towering. And pristine. Like a clean slate, or perhaps the world’s largest, most expensive sanitarium. No smog. No cacophony. No debris skittering across the sidewalks. Just sterile beauty that made me wonder if I’d accidentally stepped into a giant petri dish.
It was surreal, sure, but hey, surreal is good when you’re escaping your old life, right? I wasn’t going to complain, I traded the endless grind for… well… this, Future City, even if the city appeared as clinical as the name suggested. It still felt as if the future was now. I felt lighter, like I’d been put into a time machine. Or maybe they’d just removed my soul along with my old identity.
The streets were hushed. Maybe a bit too hushed. Every face I passed was glued to their glowing rectangles, all seemingly as lost as I navigating this unfamiliar territory. Everyone was walking as if they were an extra in some dystopian horror movie. Not exactly a bustling community. More like a city-wide tech zombie apocalypse.
“Hey there…” I mumbled, approaching a man fixated on the map displayed on his device. My voice sounded strange in the stillness, almost echoing off the pristine surfaces around us. I half expected it to shatter the perfect glass towers.
“Hey…” he mumbled back, his eyes never leaving the screen. No eye contact, no courtesy of a moment’s attention. I might as well have been a particularly articulate lamppost.
Undeterred, I tried again with a passing woman. “Excuse me, could you tell me—” She brushed past, her fingers dancing across her device, oblivious to my existence. Right. I’d forgotten. In the future, human interaction is apparently as outdated as my fashion sense.
A third attempt ended before it began. He veered away as I approached, his face a mask of polite disinterest. The people practically worshipped their devices. Here I was, Mr. Grumpy Pants who loathed all and everyone in his old life, suddenly adrift in a sea of silence, yearning for a sliver of human interaction. Me, who literally ran away from everyone just to get rid of these superficial, unnecessary social interactions. Who escaped the first 27 calls just not to talk to people around him. Social interaction seemed a lost art here. The irony wasn’t lost on me – I’d come here to escape, and now I was desperate for the very connections I’d once shunned. Talk about cosmic joke with me as the punchline.
Giving up on the unresponsive crowd, I pulled out my own glowing rectangle – camouflage in this world. Staring at a screen seemed to be the universal language for “don’t bother me.” It wasn’t like things were much better back in the old world, these devices had been a plague for years. Back in the days - two days ago - people like me used them to shut out the world around them. Now I loathed them. What a rapid change of perspective! The device felt cold in my hands, a stark reminder of how quickly our tools can become our masters. Or in this case, our only friends in a world of high-tech hermits.
As I crossed the bridge, I consulted my map app, a red dot marking my destination - Molten Square - straight ahead. Every now and then, I’d steal a glance around, hoping to find someone a little less… consumed by their device. But for a while, it seemed like I was the only one interested in my surroundings. The gentle hum of the bridge beneath my feet and the soft whoosh of air vehicles overhead were the only sounds breaking the oppressive silence. It was like being in a city-sized library, only with less personality and more shiny surfaces.
Finally, I spotted Jala—the woman from before. I hadn’t loved her vibe, but at least she wasn’t glued to her device. She was scanning the area—the sky, the buildings, everything in between. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her posture tense as if ready to bolt at any moment. Seizing the moment, I jogged up to her, my footsteps echoing oddly in the quiet street.
“Hey there,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Nice to see a familiar face. Quite a place, huh? Makes the Emerald City look like a shanty town.”
Jala’s eyes, a deep brown that seemed to reflect the city’s gleaming surfaces, darted towards me. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she quickly looked away, her shoulders hunching slightly. “It’s… different,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the city.
I nodded, glancing around. “Different is putting it mildly. I was thinking more along the lines of ‘eerily quiet’, but maybe that’s just me.” I gestured at our surroundings. “Future City living up to your expectations? Personally, I was hoping for more flying newspapers and shoes and less existential dread, but I guess you can’t have everything.”
Jala shifted slightly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, settling for a small nod.
“You know, I was half-tempted to start chatting with the architecture,” I said with a wry smile. “Seems about as responsive as most folks around here. At least you’re acknowledging my existence. I was beginning to think I’d turned invisible, or maybe died and this is some bizarre techno-purgatory.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Jala’s mouth, though her eyes still held a hint of wariness. “People seem… preoccupied,” she said softly, her gaze flitting to a passing group engrossed in their devices.
“That’s one way to put it,” I agreed. “I’m starting to think social skills might be a rare commodity here. Present company excluded, of course. Hard to imagine me, feeling like the social butterfly around here. What a time to be alive. Or whatever this is.”
Jala’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and she managed a small laugh—a quiet, almost startled sound that seemed to surprise even her. “You’re… not what I expected,” she said, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before looking away again, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied with a slight grin. “So, fellow unexpected person, fancy exploring this brave new world together? I promise I won’t try to make friends with any lamp posts along the way. Though at this point, they might be better conversationalists than most of the people we’ve seen.”
Jala hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a hint of relief in her expression. “That… that would be nice,” she said, her voice a bit stronger now.
As we walked around on Molten Square, the strange new world of Future City III seemed to unfold around us. The silence between us stretched, occasionally broken by comments about the city’s sleek aesthetics or the oddly perfect weather. The soft hum of the city – the barely audible whir of hovering vehicles, the muted beeps of devices – formed an alien backdrop to our hesitant conversation.
“It’s all so… clean,” Jala observed, running a hand along a perfectly smooth wall as we passed.
I nodded, eyeing a group of people huddled around a holographic display. “Yeah, makes you wonder where they hide all the mess. There’s got to be a giant junk drawer somewhere, right? Or maybe they just ship all the imperfections off-world. Wouldn’t want reality to intrude on our perfect little bubble here.”
“Where do you live?” she asked softly, her eyes darting towards me before quickly looking away.
Panic surged through me. I had no clue where my designated apartment was, let alone the address. “Oh, you know,” I started, my voice dripping with sarcasm to mask my uncertainty, “I thought I’d just wander aimlessly until I stumbled upon a ‘Home Sweet Home’ doormat. Seems as good a strategy as any in this wonderland. Maybe I’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”
Jala’s brow furrowed slightly. “Your map,” she murmured, gesturing vaguely towards my pocket. “It should tell you.”
“Right, the map,” I said, fumbling to retrieve the device. “Let’s see what our digital overlord has to say.” I tapped through the menus, my fingers clumsy with barely concealed nervousness. “Ah, here we go. Apparently, I’m destined for that towering marvel over there. Because nothing says ‘home’ quite like a glass behemoth that probably sees more of me than I do.”
Jala leaned in slightly, comparing her map to mine. “We’re… neighbors,” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and something I couldn’t quite identify.
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” I replied, unsure whether to be relieved or concerned. “At least we’ll have someone to borrow sugar from, right? Assuming they allow such old-fashioned practices in our brave new world. Maybe we’ll borrow nanobots instead.”
An awkward silence fell between us as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, each pretending to be deeply engrossed in our maps. The assembly of a sizable crowd and the arrival of enormous flying vehicles barely registered as I grappled with the reality of my new ‘home’.
“Interior Design,” Jala mumbled, nodding towards one of the vehicle compartments.
“Oh good,” I drawled, following her lead. “I was just thinking this day needed more decisions about throw pillows and color schemes of fifty shades of clinically approved white.”
As we entered the compartment, I found myself face-to-face with a dizzying array of furniture options. “Wow,” I mused, eyeing a ‘magnetic bed’ floating inches above the virtual floor. “I guess they really want us to elevate our sleep experience. Because regular beds are so last century, right? Nothing says ‘restful night’ quite like worrying about plummeting to the floor if the power goes out.”
I selected it, along with a stark black and white color scheme. “Who wouldn’t want to float while unconscious, right? At least when I have nightmares about this whole experience, I’ll be doing it in style.”
Jala, already halfway through her selections, offered a non-committal hum in response.
“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” I quipped, finalizing my order with a scan of my ID. The confirming beep felt oddly final, as if I’d just signed away the last vestiges of my old life. “Well then, shall we continue our grand tour of pre-approved life choices? I can’t wait to see what other aspects of my existence they’ve kindly decided for me.”
With the bed customized, I turned my attention to the wardrobe selection. Like the other sections, a vast array of styles and materials flooded the screen. Maintaining the black and white theme, I filtered the options accordingly. Wardrobes came in all shapes and sizes: standard closets, expansive walk-ins, space-saving designs, some even boasted automated features. I opted for a space-saving, automatic model, its functionalities a complete mystery for now. Experimentation would have to wait. Another ID scan, another satisfied beep, and the order was confirmed. “Look at me, embracing the future of storage. I bet this wardrobe will judge my fashion choices even more harshly than I do.”
Jala, a whirlwind of efficiency beside me, zipped through her furniture selections at lightning speed. By the time I’d finished customizing my bed, her entire apartment was virtually furnished. Noticing I was done, she gestured towards the next section – clothing.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The clothing restriction on our previous belongings still rankled. Apparently, a whole new wardrobe was a mandatory part of this fresh start. Here too, the options were diverse – basics like t-shirts and pants, formal suits, and even outlandish garments that defied comprehension. Never much of a fashionista, I stuck to my usual choices: nothing too flashy, mostly white shirts and black pants with a smattering of blue thrown in for good measure.
Strangely, there was no need to specify sizes, which felt a little too intrusive for comfort… again. “Great, so they know my measurements. I guess privacy is so the-day-before-yesterday, right along with my sense of individuality.”
The final stop – the food wagon. Here, I grabbed essentials for the next few days, figuring I could explore proper shopping options later. There would be time to learn about the local currency and any financial support offered, considering everything so far had been complimentary. “Let’s see what culinary delights our new overlords have in store for us,” I mused, eyeing the selection skeptically. “I can’t wait to try ‘Nutrient Paste: Now with 20% more artificial flavor!’”
Stepping away from the wagons, I waited for instructions on how to receive our orders. The silence remained, broken only by the growing number of people finishing their selections. Once everyone had completed their orders, the wagons sealed their doors with a hiss and ascended into the sky. “There they go,” I remarked to Jala. “Off to prepare our new lives in convenient, pre-packaged form. How thoughtful.”
Suddenly, a soft chirp emanated from my pocket, a sound echoed by others around me. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved my ID card, a faint glow emanating from its surface. The message on my ID card was clear: “Order complete, delivery expected in 20 minutes.”
“Well, isn’t that efficient,” I drawled. “I guess in the future, even instant gratification isn’t fast enough.”
With a shrug, the crowd began to disperse, melting back into their respective buildings. Jala and I followed suit, retracing our steps across the bridge and down the silent streets. “Back to our glass palaces,” I quipped.
We arrived back at my towering home, the white platform perched atop it now bustling with activity. Vehicles descended, depositing numerous packages far above on the rooftop landing pad. Jala and I hurried to the entrance, the familiar red light scanning my ID and granting us access. Stepping into the elevator, we ascended in silence, the cityscape slowly shrinking below us. “Going up,” I muttered. “Next stop: The Twilight Zone, Future City Edition.”
The rooftop was a scene of controlled chaos. Several vehicles disgorged dozens of packages, some addressed to me, others presumably for Jala. With a final whoosh, they lifted off, leaving us amidst the cardboard towers.
Confusion clouded my face. “What now?” I asked, the sarcasm in my voice barely masking my uncertainty. “Do we start our own cardboard city up here? I’ve always wanted to be a box architect. Maybe we can build a fort and defend it against the forces of Future City’s relentless efficiency.”
Jala approached a package and attempted to lift it. As if sensing her struggle, a hidden mechanism whirred to life. Leg-like appendages extended from the base, effortlessly elevating the box. I followed suit, a wave of relief washing over me as my own packages mimicked the same trick. They weren’t heavy, but the prospect of lugging them all down the hall was daunting.
“Well, would you look at that,” I mused, watching my own packages mimic the trick. “Seems our new overlords have thought of everything. Can’t have us breaking a sweat, can we?”
“Mind meeting up later, neighbor?” I blurted out, immediately regretting the hint of desperation in my voice. “You know, to compare notes on our shared descent into this brave new world?”
A faint smile played on Jala’s lips. “Sure,” she replied softly, her eyes darting away.
Together, we descended the building, the packages trailing obediently behind. Even the stairs posed no challenge – these ingenious creations simply glided down ahead of us. The colored arrows, now a confusing jumble, continued to guide us, thankfully differentiating mine (yellow) from Jala’s. Finally, we reached my floor.
With a farewell wave, Jala continued down the hall, her packages in tow. I ushered mine into my apartment, directing the one labeled “Bedroom” to the designated room.
“Well, what now?” I thought aloud, staring at the boxes. “I don’t suppose these things come with a ‘Ph.D. in Furniture Assembly’ button, do they?”
Inside each box, a manual awaited. To my surprise, the instructions were refreshingly simple. Apparently, all I needed to do was position the box in the desired location, plug it in, and press a button. The rest, according to the manual, would take care of itself. Not a PhD. in Furniture Assembly, but a button that fixes all your problems nonetheless.
Skeptical but eager, I pushed the metal box containing my bed into the corner of the room and pressed the button. A whirring sound filled the air, followed by a series of clicks and clangs. Mesmerized, I watched as the bed frame materialized before my eyes. For the first time that day, a genuine smile spread across my face. This – this was something I could appreciate. What would have taken hours of manual labor was now a reality thanks to the simple press of a button. In that moment, amidst the strangeness and uncertainty, a flicker of hope ignited within me.
In a whirlwind of activity, I zipped through my apartment, directing packages, pushing buttons, and transforming the space into a symphony of automated construction. The once-quiet space echoed with whirring, clanging, and humming – an industrial symphony replacing the usual ambiance of a home.
Reaching the kitchen, I realized with a jolt: no fridge. Panic clawed at me as I envisioned wilted vegetables and spoiled meat. But a quick inspection of the food package revealed yet another user manual. Apparently, refrigeration was a thing of the past. Instead, the instructions promised some magical food-preservation technology embedded within the cabinets. Skeptical but out of options, I followed the instructions, tucking away the groceries in their designated compartments.
Finally, the clothing box met its fate in the bedroom, joining the wardrobe that was steadily taking shape. With a sigh of accomplishment, I settled back, the day’s events finally catching up to me. It was well past five by the time the last box found its place.
Some chairs had already materialized from their packaging, offering a welcome respite. I pulled out my digital map, navigating the virtual streets. Shops, restaurants, a hospital, even a school – the options were plentiful. But a question gnawed at me: were there actual doctors, nurses, and teachers staffing these places? Or were we, the newly arrived, expected to take on these roles?
The inclusion of a school was particularly surprising. Did children exist in this world? How did they even get here? The information blackout left me with a gnawing suspicion about the true nature of this society and its governing body. Honestly, it wasn’t much different from the pre-arrival world in that regard.
Despite the lingering doubts, a strange sense of wonder bubbled within me. Here I sat, surrounded by the marvels of automated technology – the flying vehicles, the self-ordering system, the walking boxes, and now, self-assembling furniture. It was like witnessing magic for the first time, a child mesmerized by the pull of magnets. Perhaps life wouldn’t be easy here, but for now, I couldn’t deny the thrill of discovery.
The sterile silence of my apartment was shattered by a disembodied voice booming through the speakers. “Jala Alder at the door,” it announced, a welcome change from the guessing games of the previous days. “Come in, come in,” I called out, my voice dripping with faux enthusiasm. “Welcome to Chateau Wynston, where the furniture builds itself and the fridge is… well, nonexistent.”
Jala seemed a bit taken aback by my tone. With a mumbled apology, I grabbed my ever-present map and shoes, and together we descended the sterile staircase.“Let’s explore,” she declared quietly, her voice barely audible in the deserted hallway.
Jala, ever the picture of practicality, emerged from her apartment sporting a sleek black jacket. We ventured out into the streets, the eerie quietness still clinging to the air. A few new arrivals wandered aimlessly, and a handful of buildings flickered with signs of life. Consulting our glowing rectangles, we opted for a restaurant in Molten Corner, a familiar landmark that offered a sense of security in this unfamiliar world.
“Need a cab, though,” Jala announced, her fingers working magic on the map’s surface. My eyebrows shot up in confusion. “Ordering one now,” she explained, her movements efficient and practiced. “You seem to be getting the hang of this place pretty quickly,” I remarked, a touch of admiration in my voice. Jala shrugged, a silent dismissal, before finalizing the order and tucking the map away.
Our wait wasn’t long. Within minutes, a smaller version of the strange flying vehicles we’d encountered earlier materialized in front of us. The doors hissed open, revealing a sleek, two-seater interior. We climbed in, the silence broken only by the soft whirring of the engine as we lifted off and sped towards our chosen eatery.
“Approaching The King’s Grill,” a robotic voice announced as we touched down on the restaurant’s rooftop. We disembarked, following the signs to the elevator that whisked us down to the 37th floor. A barrier stood guard at the entrance, its sleek surface blocking our path. Reaching instinctively for my ID card, I was stopped by Jala’s hand on my arm. A red light scanned us both from head to toe, the eerie glow sending shivers down my spine. A moment later, it flickered green, and another voice chimed in, “Entry permitted, number 12!”
“What was that all about?” I stammered, completely bewildered by the whole ordeal. Jala offered a tight smile. “Security protocol, I guess,” she mumbled.
The restaurant itself was a labyrinth of curtained cubicles, each numbered like prison cells. Following the sequence, we arrived at ours – number 12. The familiar red light scanned us again, followed by the retreating curtains and a beckoning glass wall. Inside, a table awaited, surrounded by a selection of pre-packaged snacks. The decor, however, surprised me. Wooden furniture and whitewashed walls evoked a sense of nostalgia, a stark contrast to the sterile corridors outside. It felt like a throwback to an old American barbecue joint, with individual cabins replacing the usual open seating.
On the table, a glowing tablet awaited, beckoning us to place our orders. The menu displayed a familiar array of dishes, but a curious cogwheel symbol adorned each entry.
“What’s that symbol mean?” I inquired, pointing at the cogwheel on the menu.
“Didn’t get much real food on the ship, did you?” Jala countered.
“There was food,” I admitted. “At least, that’s what they called it.”
“Lab-grown,” she explained. “There’s hardly anything else here.”
“Lovely,” I sighed. “Do you like it?” I asked, watching her scroll through the menu.
“Not really,” she confessed quietly. “We’ll get used to it, though.”
As our food arrived, I couldn’t help but comment, “Well, at least the service is prompt.”
“How does payment work here?” I asked Jala. “Or is everything magically free in our new home?”
“Not sure,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food. “But I guess we don’t have to worry for now.”
“You think they’re just covering everything?” I asked, skepticism creeping into my voice.
“Probably until we meet with the local authorities,” she offered vaguely.
“Ah, the mysterious ‘local authorities,’” I mused, cutting into my artificial steak. “Can’t wait to meet them.”
I dug into my artificial steak and vegetables. Considering the lab-grown origin, it wasn’t bad. Not exceptional by any means, but survival didn’t depend on gourmet meals. Lab-grown or not, it was edible. Not exactly a five-star dining experience I was used to, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially in a situation like this. The texture was the biggest hurdle – a constant reminder that this wasn’t a juicy cut of meat fresh off the grill.
“Well…” I started, searching for anything to fill the silence beyond food and small talk. “How did you end up here?”
“Bathroom break,” Jala muttered, almost under her breath. She stood abruptly, her movements quick but not rushed, like she had already been preparing to leave. Her jacket snagged on the chair as she grabbed it, causing her to fumble slightly. For a split second, she froze—just long enough for me to notice, before she quickly untangled the fabric.
It was such a small moment, but something about it lingered in my mind. Or maybe I was reading too much into it. Everyone here had their quirks. Hell, I’d spent the last hour glued to my own screen like the rest of them, avoiding eye contact and casual conversation as if it were a plague.
“Can you order a cab back to the apartment?” she called over her shoulder, already halfway to the restroom.
“Yeah, no problem,” I said, pulling out my map and fumbling through the app. The strange icons blinked at me as I struggled to navigate the interface. It wasn’t that different from the life I’d left behind—everyone here was preoccupied with their own devices, their own thoughts. Jala was no exception.
She didn’t stand out, not really. None of us did. We were all just drifting, existing in the strange limbo Future City had provided.
As the cab approached, I glanced toward the restroom, waiting for Jala to return. I briefly wondered what her story was, but quickly squashed that thought. Curiosity killed the cat, and in this sterile hellscape, I was already on life eight or nine.
Jala returned without a word, her face as expressive as a blank wall. She didn’t owe me an explanation, and I didn’t particularly want one. We were just two rats in Future City’s maze, scurrying around in our designated spaces.
The cab ride back was a symphony of silence, punctuated by the occasional whoosh of a passing vehicle. I half-expected to see tumbleweeds rolling down the pristine streets. Welcome to Future City III, where the buildings are high, and the social interaction is non-existent.
As we ascended in the elevator, I caught my reflection in its mirrored walls. “Well, don’t you look dashing,” I muttered to myself. “Nothing says ‘living the dream’ quite like bags under your eyes and a expression that screams ‘what the hell am I doing here?’”
Jala’s quiet “Goodnight” barely registered as she disappeared into her apartment. I fumbled with my ID card, half-expecting it to reject me. “Welcome home, Wynston Kader,” the apartment announced as I stumbled in. Home sweet home, if your idea of home is a sterile box with furniture that assembles itself.
I dragged myself to the bedroom, eyeing the floating bed with suspicion. “Don’t you dare drop me in my sleep,” I warned it, feeling only slightly ridiculous for threatening furniture. As I sank into its admittedly comfortable embrace, exhaustion hit me like a freight train.
My eyes grew heavy, but my mind raced. Self-assembling furniture, flying cars, a city that looked like it had been scrubbed with industrial-strength bleach – it all felt like a bad sci-fi movie. Or maybe a good one, depending on your tolerance for dystopian nightmares.
As sleep began to claim me, a nagging feeling of unease settled in my gut. Something wasn’t right, but in this brave new world, what was? The last thing I saw before darkness took me was my reflection in the window – a stranger staring back at me, his eyes wide with a fear I couldn’t quite place.