The sky over Metropole Prime was the color of dead glass, a dull, perpetual twilight where the sun had been tamed by atmospheric regulators. Citizens moved in steady streams, their steps synchronized by the Neural Harmony Network. No one lingered. No one spoke beyond what was necessary.
Erasmus-9 knew better than to let his thoughts wander. The MindTrust had perfected cognitive filtration long ago—every impulse monitored, analyzed, adjusted. The implants ensured compliance, but their greatest trick was making you believe you wanted it. Desire had been optimized, pleasure synthesized, rebellion neutralized; not through force, but through irrelevance.
He passed a public feed terminal flashing today’s metrics. Productivity up 2.3%. Happiness Index stable at 91%. Three individuals reassigned; a gentle term for quiet erasure. A necessary function, the feed assured him, for maintaining balance. He didn’t pause to watch. Hesitation was suspicious. Suspicion triggered recalibration.
The world hadn’t always been like this. There were whispers, half-formed recollections of an age when choice had been real, when books hadn’t been distilled into digestible, government-approved affirmations. Before the Ministry of Equilibrium, before the Pharmacopia ensured no one ever suffered the burden of distress, before ambition had been smoothed into passive contentment. But these were dangerous thoughts, and Erasmus-9 was careful to keep them buried.
He worked in the Department of Semantic Integrity, revising texts for optimal consumption. Language was dangerous; its edges sharp with meaning, its structure prone to instability. His job was to refine, to simplify, to make sure no phrase could inspire the kind of thinking that led to disruption. “A revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe,” an old phrase once read. His task was to render it harmless: “Change happens at the right time.”
The city’s music, an ambient lull of engineered frequencies, shifted slightly. The Neural Harmony Network was adapting, making subtle recalibrations. He felt his pulse slow, the momentary unease dissolving into the warm embrace of collective peace.
And yet, something was wrong. A ghost had slipped through the system, a glitch that shouldn’t have been possible. A single phrase had appeared on his terminal, untouched by any assigned revision. He read it once. Then again. His heart stuttered.
“Are you still alive?”
He glanced around, fingers hovering over the delete command. No one was watching; yet. The walls had ears, the air had memory, and the system tolerated no deviation. But for the first time in his life, Erasmus-9 hesitated.
A whisper, a shadow of something older than the city, older than the system, stirred in the depths of his mind.
Yes, he thought. And for the first time, it was his own.
Join us in making the world a better place – you’ll be glad that you did. Cheers friends.