The city stretched before them. It was a masterpiece of design and engineered for seamless living. Getting lost was almost impossible; as long as you knew where north was, everything else aligned with logic and purpose.
At its heart lay the Central Hub, a vast circular district spanning 650 meters in radius, where everything essential to life was within reach. City hall, research institutes, libraries, sanitation centers, and logistics nodes wove together with sprawling education complexes and vibrant public spaces. If you needed something, it was there, designed to be part of your daily flow.
Beneath the surface, four massive underground logistics highways funneled industrial supplies inward from the city’s outskirts. Above, four concentric, pedestrian-friendly rings layered the surface, each one seamlessly connected to the subterranean road system. From the sky, the city looked like a perfect circuit—an endless loop of controlled, intelligent design.
Suspended above the rings, elevated maglev rails sliced cleanly through the air, carving the city into quadrants. Sleek, silent trains floated along them, bridging the distance from the outer rings to the Central Hub in minutes. Beneath these tracks, shaded walkways offered cool relief in summer, bordered by pocket parks, open plazas, and communal gathering zones.
The innermost ring housed the city’s officials. Their homes encircled the hydroponic towers which were vertical farms that supplied a steady flow of locally grown produce.
The second ring, where Lucien and Jan lived, held modern high-rises, their glass facades catching the shifting hues of daylight. These towers were designed for seamless access to learning centers, entertainment districts, and communal workspaces—all of it tied to the heartbeat of the Central Hub through the public transportation system.
Families and essential employees lived in the third ring, where white modular homes sat in peaceful symmetry. Expansive parks wove between them, blending into rewilded zones—urban permaculture forests designed for biodiversity, food production, and natural carbon filtering. These extended beyond the final residential belt, creating a living, breathing buffer between humanity and the world beyond.
Outside the city’s ten-kilometer radius, the landscape transitioned again—vast industrial sectors divided by function: fabrication, energy production, water treatment, waste management, transportation. Beyond even that stretched the automated farms and forest reserves, maintained by swarms of drones and AI-run agrosystems.
Spanning over 300 square kilometers, the city operated with such precision that distance felt irrelevant. Housing 2.5 million young minds, Edu-4 was a place of learning, innovation, and boundless technological promise.
It was also the product of a long-forgotten dream.
In the mid-21st century, a collective of engineers and architects conceived the circular city model. A blueprint refined over decades until it became the global standard. Now, each city stood as a self-contained, sovereign state, managing its own infrastructure, governance, and future. Tied together only by a threadbare framework of common law and a handful of aging global regulators, they were islands of efficiency drifting in a recovering world.
Edu-4 was no different. It was built as a training ground, where youth were shaped, slotted into predetermined fields, and polished into tools for global progress.
At least—that was the original idea.
“Hey, have you ever thought about the old cities, and wondered what it would be like to visit them?” Lucien panted as they cut through the inner eastern park, bolting south west. “I mean, I’ve only seen them from a distance when going to see my mom, or on videos and pictures”.
“What made you think of that right know?” Jan half yelled over his shoulder, trying to hold the pace. “And yeah, it could be cool. Maybe we can rent a car and go during the summer vacation?”
“Hell yeah! Let’s do it” They were both getting tired, but desperately tried to hold the pace.
"Ah, shit, man!" Jan suddenly blurted as they bolted down a side street, rain pounding the pavement as they ran toward the Central Hub.
"The fucking conductor has our info now. If he’s with the establishment, we could be in real trouble."
"Relax," Lucien panted, dodging puddles as they sprinted forward. "No one in a position like his is an establishment sympathizer."
"Yeah, I hope you’re right," Jan muttered between heavy breaths. "Let’s slow down, I need to catch my breath."
By the time they reached the university, they were only twenty minutes late. They went in on the southern side of the central hub, which was the shortest route to the University grounds.
They went in on the southern side of the Central Hub, which was the shortest route to the University grounds.
The massive arched entrance swallowed them whole, its transparent smartglass doors parting without a sound. Inside, the Central Hub unfolded like the atrium of a cathedral designed by algorithms—fluid, vast, and impossibly clean. The lobby stretched upward in a dizzying display of architectural ambition, five stories of open air framed by curved walkways and terraced platforms, each layered with soft lighting and embedded green walls.
Polished white floors shimmered beneath their feet, interrupted by long black veins of basalt and pearlescent inlays that caught the overhead light. Sculptures rose like frozen waves from the floor—metallic, semi-organic forms that shifted subtly with perspective. One near the entrance appeared to be a dancer, another like a spiraling equation rendered in copper and glass. Interactive art installations hovered nearby, displaying bursts of kinetic movement in response to biometric data as people passed.
To the left, a series of escalators and stairs curled along the wall like strands of DNA, ferrying people between floors with serene efficiency. Transparent walkways hung overhead, their undersides glowing faintly with each passing step. The quiet hum of the maglev lifts came and went like breath.
There were no advertisements, no kiosks shouting for attention. The few alcoves built into the walls housed practical amenities—automated dispensers that produced clean clothing, footwear, or hygiene items on request and upon delivering used clothes. A young man stood barefoot before one, watching as a new pair of shoes took shape beneath a translucent shell. Another alcove dispensed hot nutrient-rich drinks in biodegradable cups to a cluster of students chatting quietly.
Despite the scale, the space felt calm. Intentionally so. Every sound was dampened, every movement gracefully guided. The ambient lighting adjusted subtly to match the natural rhythm of the sun outside, easing the senses into a state of focus.
“Are you planning on participating in the EDU Drone Cup again this year?” Lucien asked while they sped through the lobby, cutting across the grand hall with long strides. The southern wing loomed ahead, marked by a vertical panel displaying a soft blue arc—the symbol of the University.
“Maybe. I did improve the controls since last year, but I just got my ass handed to me hard last time,” Jan said, slowing down.
“Ey, don’t worry about that, and don’t slow down—we’re nearly there.”
The University spanned the first five levels of the Central Hub’s southern quadrant, integrated directly into the structure like a root system fused with a machine. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lower levels, Lucien could already see clusters of students moving between lecture halls and open workspaces. Beyond them, clean-lined study pods, collaborative platforms, and tiered gardens climbed the inner curve of the building, all connected by quiet elevators and looping hallways.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
They slipped into the lecture hall unnoticed, settling into the back row. The professor didn’t even acknowledge them—he was too caught up explaining how to multiply two 4x4 matrices in 47 steps without AI and why this was crucial to optimizing program operations.
Lucien barely heard a word. He understood what was said and shown just fine, and he wasn’t bored, but his mind kept circling back to the sleep professor. Somehow, Jan’s suggestion had embedded itself into his mind, and now he couldn’t shake the thought. He needed answers.
When lunch finally arrived, Lucien wasted no time. He set off on a direct route for the reception desk, located at the center of the Central Hub’s ground floor.
The front office was enormous, yet quieter than the rest of the building, tucked away from the chaos of the half million people employed at the Central Hub. The front offices housed the secretaries of all the different departments, ranging from administrative to higher education and everything in between. Yet no one rarely went there unless they were new to the city or had gotten lost on their way to a meeting or class.
Behind the sleek counter at the Department of Education, a middle-aged woman sat with effortless composure, her long brown hair neatly pulled back, fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes giving her an air of quiet wisdom. She barely glanced up as he approached, too absorbed in the glowing interface of her console.
Lucien cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," he said, trying to sound casual. "I’m looking for a professor. I—uh, I don’t know their name, but they study sleep."
The receptionist smirked. "Oh, you mean Miss Moea?"
Lucien blinked. Miss?
"Yeah, exactly," he stammered. "Uh… I’ve been having these, uh, dreams, and I was hoping to… you know, discuss them with her."
As he spoke, he felt his face burn. Why did he suddenly feel embarrassed? He wasn’t interested in her, yet he always struggled talking to women. Words tripped over themselves, his brain jammed, and the best solution was usually just to avoid conversation altogether.
As she leaned forward to type, the neckline of her blouse shifted—unintentionally revealing more than she probably meant to. Lucien’s eyes flicked down and back up in a panic.
She noticed, and quickly tugged her cardigan shut and continued typing with a tight-lipped smile.
“She should be in room 303 after lunch, dear,” she said, clearly amused by his discomfort.
"Room 303. Thanks," Lucien muttered, taking a careful step backward, determined not to look—and yet, his eyes betrayed him for half a second. Shit.
He turned to leave. Only to slam straight into the doorframe.
A stupid, involuntary noise escaped his throat as he stumbled forward, catching himself just in time before breaking into a full sprint toward the stairs.
Room 303 was empty when he arrived.
Lucien slid into a seat, peeling open the biodegradable plastic wrap around his chicken bacon sandwich, bit into the deliciousness, thinking about the weirdness of the conversation he was about to have.
Lucien had just finished his sandwich and was absentmindedly
A woman, not much older than him, strode in at such a pace that she was one step away from running. She didn’t even notice him sitting there. Instead, she hurled her shoulder bag onto the teacher’s desk, where it landed with a heavy clunk, followed by the slithering scrape of leather against wood. Then, with a sharp exhale, she collapsed into a chair, covering her face with her hands.
Her blond hair, slightly disheveled, cascaded down her back, its golden hue catching the artificial light. Through her fingers, a perfect nose protruded, its curve so naturally precise that Lucien found himself staring longer than necessary. When she finally dragged her hands down her face, revealing striking, ice-blue eyes, he realized the rest of her features were just as flawless.
And then, those eyes lazily locked onto him.
She jolted upright, startled, letting out a small, sharp yelp.
"Oh... I thought I was alone. You’re not in my class. What do you want?"
Her tone was sharp, borderline aggressive, but Lucien chose to ignore it.
"A-are you Professor Moea?" he asked, unable to break away from her gaze.
"I am," she said flatly, each syllable crisp and deliberate. "I’ll ask again... what, are, you, doing here?"
Lucien swallowed.
"Oh, uh—sorry, I’m Lucien, ma’am."
Professor Moea clearly found the “ma’am” part hilarious, as her face lit up and she moved her hand to cover her mouth.
"I’ve been looking for you because, uh, well—you see, I’ve been having these vivid nightmares for as long as I can remember, and I—uh—was hoping you’d, um, maybe give me some advice on how to, you know, counter them."
The words rushed out, tangled and messy.
Professor Moea let out a slow breath, her posture relaxing slightly.
"Oh. Well... I don’t know what to tell you." She folded her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Dreams are nothing more than fragments of the subconscious. They hold no deeper meaning—it’s just your brain sorting through data, like mental maintenance."
She was clearly just going through the textbook stuff, already bored with Lucien’s predicament.
"That’s not what I was asking at all," Lucien interrupted, his usual hesitation towards women replaced by frustration. "I don’t care what dreams ‘mean’. I want to control them. These nightmares have been ruining my sleep for so long I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired."
His voice cracked slightly.
He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate. Hadn’t realized just how much this was weighing on him until now.
Years of perpetual exhaustion clawed at his sanity, fraying the edges of his patience. He could feel tears pressing at the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill.
Professor Moea’s expression shifted.
"Well..." she said, pressing her long, spread-out fingers together so they cracked. "We are looking for volunteers for a sleep experiment we’ve been developing. The goal is to observe dreams in real-time—essentially, watching them like a movie."
She studied him as she spoke, as if gauging his reaction.
"If we can see what’s happening in your dreams, we might be able to come up with a way to help you gain lucidity during REM sleep."
Lucien blinked. "How exactly?"
"The procedure is nearly non-invasive, but it does require direct access to your main RFID."
Her voice was calm, but her eyes were locked onto his, watching for a reaction.
Lucien stiffened.
"What do you mean ‘direct access’?"
Moea tilted her head slightly. "You already know what that means."
The air between them felt heavier now.
"We insert electrodes into the base of your neck and connect directly to the chip. It’s completely safe, so don’t you worry—we use a local anesthetic. You won’t feel a thing."
She mimicked a quick syringe motion, then for the first time, flashed a small, wry smile, trying to cover up her own desperation.
Lucien felt a slight chill crawl up his spine.
"Can’t you just hook up through the cloud?" he asked, hoping for a less invasive alternative.
Professor Moea shook her head, strands of golden hair swaying with the motion. "No can do. We don’t have access to the security protocol. That’s restricted to official use—we barely got clearance for direct connections as it is."
Lucien sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Yeah... I figured. I’m a senior programmer. I already knew that."
Moea raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you ask?"
"Because I was hoping I was wrong."
He exhaled slowly, staring at the desk. "I’ll have to think about it. But... as far as I understand, you can’t really help me today, can you?"
"You understood correctly," she said simply.
She reached into her bag, pulling out a sleek laptop, her earlier tension now fully dissipated. "And now, you have to leave. Class is starting soon."
Lucien hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"Thank you for your time, Miss Moea," he said politely. "Do you have a way for me to contact you when I’ve made up my mind?"
Moea’s lips curled into another knowing smile. "I think you’ve already made up your mind,” she blinked. “I’ll be seeing you again soon."
She reached out her hand. As Lucien shook it, his phone buzzed.
New Contact Added: Professor Moea
Lucien glanced up, just in time to see a quick, playful wink before she turned her attention to her screen.
"That’s crazy!" Jan blurted out, far too loud, waving his arms like a madman. Heads turned in the classroom, students glancing over with mild curiosity.
"No one in their right mind would do that voluntarily!"
"Will you relax? It’s a minor procedure. What’s the worst that could happen?" Lucien shot back, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper.
"Yeah, for one, they could mess it up! Damage your electricals... hell, they could mess with your actual brain!" Jan hissed, his temper escalating.
"You two, in the back—shut it!"
"Sorry, Mr. Metis," they both muttered in unison.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lucien slumped slightly in his chair, absently spinning a pen between his fingers. There’s always that, I guess.
But deep down, he already knew the truth. Professor Moea had been right.
He had already made up his mind.
The nightmares had tormented him for so long, an endless loop of exhaustion. Even if the procedure was risky, the alternative was worse.
"I think I’ll go through with it anyway."
Jan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You’re a fucking idiot, man." Then, a grin crept onto his face. "But do what you gotta do. Just know that if you turn into a potato, I’m finding a new roommate."
"Yeah, yeah."
Both turned their attention back to Professor Metis, who was still half-watching them while lecturing on the proper way to shut down a program in case of a crash.