《Artificial Selection: A Near Future Thought Experiment》


 Prologue

    The society had never been more allegedly unified and fragmented internally than this decade of the 2040s. Small nations merged together into bigger regions, and a globalized parliamentary government made of regional representatives took power. However, people¡¯s faith in the government¡¯s capability had been constantly deteriorating with the exponential increase in crime and terrorism. To even further complicate the situation, unemployment rate had been rising as new technology took over the majority of the workforce. However, the internal crises were invisible to an outsider¡¯s view as the society still seemed to function normally with the daily unstopping public transportation of Hypertubes carrying poor workers from home to workplace. Just like the other employees, Michael Livingstone faced the threat of getting replaced completely by technology. However, he would never see himself as ordinary and mundane as those other common people.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

 Chapter I

    The holographic clock flashed twenty-one o¡¯clock. Michael Livingstone stepped out of the carriage of the Hypertube. He inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air outside the train and exhaled out the old arid gas in the depths of his lungs.


    ¡°Despicable!¡± he cursed. He always hated taking Hypertubes to work. The breathable oxygen inside was stored in a gigantic container located in the walls of the train. When the tube outside turned vacuum, the who-knew-how-ancient oxygen would diffuse into the carriage, suffocating every passenger inside.


    Outside the station, the sky was already completely dark, but the land ahead of him was lit up like day. The street lamps emitted such powerful beams at such complete angles that Michael could barely see his own shadow on the bright ground.


    Michael turned on his Bracelet. Dozens of new social media notifications popped onto the holographic screen projected above his left wrist. He swiped with his right hand and the notifications disappeared. Then the news page appeared. The title read ¡°Five Shot Dead In Neighborhood Fight.¡±


    ¡°Ordinary,¡± Michael muttered. He swiped again, and the next heading read ¡°Man Suspected Neighbor of Burglary and Resorted to Extreme Acts¡±. Once again, nothing new for Michael. He could still remember the neighbors living two floors above him getting into a huge fight because one had installed a CCTV camera on his door. Michael had forgotten what exactly happened afterwards, but he could faintly recall the sirens of the ambulance, the SWAT team rushing up with ballistic shields, and the burn marks of plasma scarring the walls.


    Michael himself wasn¡¯t so concerned about getting into fights. He had a friendly face and a deep, trusting voice. He also knew how to run away from fights. He could memorize floor plan layouts at a glance, and he wouldn¡¯t forget any small details ¡ª even those really minor ones like the number of stair steps and the time it would take for the fireproof curtain to close. He didn¡¯t try to remember these trivial numbers; they just automatically engraved themselves into his brain.


    Moreover, Michael could construct a 3D model of the rooms inside his head just by scanning through these 2D blueprints that were hung next to the elevator doors in every building. This skill was quite helpful when it came to life-saving. He could still vividly remember that time when his office building was attacked by a few suicide bombers and how he managed to locate the emergency escape stairs amidst the dense smoke.


    Didn¡¯t matter now, Michael thought. His main concern now was to pay for this month¡¯s rent on his small flat. He didn¡¯t want to sleep on the streets at night ¡ª not that he cared about the discomfort or anything, but he didn¡¯t want to be seen as a thief and, most likely, be killed out of ¡°self defense¡±.


    He sighed deeply. Life was so much better for him back then before the artificial intelligence revolution. If it was thirty years ago, or fifty, he could have worked as a mathematician in some university. He frequently dreamed about attending intellectual competitions and winning awards and going homes with buckets of prize money. He would be a celebrity. But now. Now he was just working as a data analyst in a small nonentity firm ¡ª so small and poor that the company could only afford a human data analyst below the minimum wage.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    What a waste of his talent, thought Michael. However, others saw it otherwise. What Michael possessed was a useless skill at the contemporary society. This was like having fast shorthand writing speed. Pointless and dispensable. The important jobs were the ones that machines couldn¡¯t replace and the ones that entertain people. Artists. Poets. Musicians. Actors. There was only one exception in this structure. If one began in the path of mathematics and continued to study computer science throughout elementary school, secondary education, and university and then studied for five more years in special Artificial Intelligence Construction colleges, they could go apply for jobs in the major AI corporations like ArtTech. This path was really a gamble though. The employment rate of ArtTech was as low as ten percent. The other ninety percent, like Michael, would suffer through poverty.


    Michael¡¯s trip down his memory lane was cut off as a new front page message popped out on his screen. ¡°Abandoned missile silo located. Government refused to make an explanation¡±.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Michael mumbled. His pupils dilated as he clicked to read the full article.


    ¡°An abandoned missile silo base was found at the countryside (detailed coordinates pasted on the map below). The flags and badges in the silo vaguely indicated that this silo once belonged to the United States Marine Corps, a division of combat when military and individual nations still existed.


    ¡°¡®I found it when I was hiking and got lost near the cliffs. I didn¡¯t venture too far in, but I saw a lot of antique guns and ancient technology¡¯ reported Mr. Bridges, the owner of the house and a current full time digital painter. What he didn¡¯t mention but we saw were crates of foreign currency in forms of cash that were possibly seized from illegal parties, old redacted files with information regarding governmental cooperation with major corporations, and ancient-looking thumb drives and hard disks. Investigation of this location is absolutely necessary, and citizen journalism is highly encouraged.¡±


    That was certainly weird, Michael mumbled to himself. It was weird to a degree of stupidity. In this decade of 2040s even clickbaits and phishing messages would be disguised with a sophisticated intellectual aura. But here, ¡°crates of foreign currency¡±, ¡°old redacted files¡±, ¡°ancient-looking thumb drives¡± were all childish terminologies. This message seemed too brainless to be a fraud and too stupid to be a prank.


    What seemed odder, however, was that the title of this report seemed completely normal, even interesting to a degree. The tone seemed nothing like the body of the article. If it really was for some clickbait or phishing, why wouldn¡¯t the publisher just put the ¡°hook¡± into the title?


    And lastly, why would the geographical coordinates? If the content of this article was true, it would serve the publisher no benefit for a huge crowd to venture into such a base to loot the wealths. If the content was fake, the author couldn¡¯t possibly receive any benefits.


    Just as Michael was pondering over the article, he got knocked back for a few steps, and the Bracelet screen flickered a few times and died. He raised his head. A big man was standing in front of him, and there was a look of brief shock, anger, and suspicion in his eyes.


    ¡°Hey you! What do you want!¡± The big man hollered. His left hand immediately went through all his pockets to check whether he got anything stolen. His right hand, however, was pointing right at Michael¡¯s face. Michael took a closer observant look at the big man¡¯s hand. Nail dotted with small traces of different colors. Old sleeves smeared with paints. Yes. An acrylic painter. The colors on his finger nails were very different from the stains on his sleeve. It could be deduced that he mixed a lot of paint but didn¡¯t put much on the canvas. And why would that happen? Inspiration ran dry? Public¡¯s taste of art changed? Didn¡¯t matter. This big man was in a terrible mood.


    ¡°Oh great,¡± Michael thought to himself, ¡°An angry rich man who met obstacles in life. Perfect person to piss off.¡±


    Then Michael raised his eyes a little, and his pupils dilated again, but this time it was out of fear. He was surprised that a person as observant as him didn¡¯t notice it. The man¡¯s left hand was now in his inner jacket pocket. There was something glowing that he was holding.


    The man was holding onto a lethal plasma pistol, ready anytime to fully exercise his rights of defense upon Michael.

 Chapter II

    ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t want any trouble here,¡± Michael immediately raised his hands with palms open. He was also moving slowly back, but his eyes were staring right into the big man¡¯s eyes. He knew that this was a way to increase trust, by keeping constant eye contact.


    ¡°What did you take from me?¡± The big man¡¯s gun was out now.


    ¡°Nothing. You can check for yourself.¡±


    ¡°So you can run away while I¡¯m distracted checking my pockets. Ha ha what a smart thing to do. Hmmm¡­ Let¡¯s see. You must be a mathematician, dressing in this poor and ugly outfit.¡±


    Michael was still moving backwards. He was using his peripheral vision to gauge the distance from the previous street lamp. Ten meters. Thirteen meters. If he remembered correctly, and of course he always did, there should be something there that could help him.


    ¡°Stop right there!¡± The man moved one step closer. ¡°I¡¯m going to ask nicely once more. Before I shoot. What! Did! You! Take!¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Michael replied with one word. Okay. Now he was standing right under a camera ¡ª specifically a camera that was used for tracking illegal car parking in this area. Yes, that was a close shot. A blind spot here. Good. He couldn¡¯t help but smile a bit.


    ¡°What are you smiling about, you mathematician?¡± The man emphasized the word ¡°mathematician¡± with a tone of disgust like it was some un-profane language.


    Michael smiled even broader, ¡°Right above me now is a camera. It has seen everything that happened. It has recorded how you pointed at me with a gun and how you forced me to this corner. So. if you pull the trigger. This is not self defense; this is murder. And I wonder what will happen to your job and your salary¡­¡± He trailed off right there, intentionally leading the big man to ask the question.


    ¡°How¡­ how did you know?¡± The man¡¯s hands are shaking right now. His eyes darted up towards the camera and made a brief eye contact with the mechanical lenses.


    ¡°If I were you, I would go home to my wife instead of blaming my misfortune on some stranger that bumped into me. You know¡­ The bail nowadays are quite expensive.¡±


    The man¡¯s hands tightened up around the gun then loosened again. The protruding veins on his neck finally fell back. He took one last look at the camera and put the plasma pistol back into his pocket.


    ¡°Damn you mathematician. Today¡¯s your lucky day!¡± he stormed towards Michael¡¯s direction and shoved him out of the way.


    Whew, that was close. Michael sighed heavily. It really was a gamble. Who could predict what the big man might do next. He might have been aggravated when Michael mentioned his salary and directly shot him. Or he might have not cared about the camera and shot him anyways. There were all kinds of factors and variables affecting the outcome of this confrontation, yet Michael had predicted every single one of them and played all the cards in his hands to the right extent.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Michael just started walking for a few minutes when a black car pulled up right in front of him. A white eagle ¡ª the badge of the government ¡ª was printed clearly on the side of the car. Oh, now what. Michael cursed. Criminals disguised as government? There had been far too many incidents when human traffickers vehicles were disguised as the government to force people onto the car. Well, how many enemies was he going to make in one day.


    Michael immediately turned left and opened the door of the building. He walked in casually, pretending he was strolling by coincidentally. But as soon as he closed the doors, he scanned the surroundings for half a second and turned off the light switch. It¡¯s an abandoned supermarket. There aren¡¯t any things on the shelves anymore. He flipped over the checkout counter and hid behind it.


    There were always some sorts of weapons or defense mechanisms hidden behind the checkout counter for the cashiers to use when facing a robbery. After constant cashier robberies, a new legislation was passed to guarantee the security of cashiers. The logic of the government was always simple: The only way to deal with bad guy with guns was to arm the good guys with guns, Michael groped in the dark for a moment and felt the contours of something long. An electric baton.


    He didn¡¯t randomly choose this counter. There was a giant mirror diagonally behind the counter, and Michael¡¯s reflection could be faintly seen. Although there was a potential risk that his location could be pinpointed after they saw the mirror there, it was still more likely for them to lunge at the first target they saw without processing the images detailedly in their head. As soon as they walked past Michael, the electric baton could be put into full use.


    Footsteps were approaching. Okay, thirty meters. Twenty meters. Michael¡¯s hands sweated a little as he gripped tighter onto the baton. He could feel a man coming closer and closer. He was ready to swing the baton. He rehearsed this option and twenty-seven other possible options in his head for hundreds of times already.


    But the footsteps walked directly past him. Why? Did they not notice the mirror? Or were they searching this building inch by inch? Why would they do that? What would be the point anyways? And what would they want from him? He was neither rich nor powerful. The only thing valuable he possessed was his genius, but what would they need for that. Artificial intelligence could beat him.


    What if they were actually the real government? Michael would still be useless. He never took part in politics.


    Then suddenly the lights were on. What the¡­ Michael was pretty sure that the footsteps walked past the light switch already.


    Multiple flashlights were pointing right at his counter. A booming voice blared in the supermarket speaker, ¡°Michael Livingstone. Please come out behind that counter. And we recommend you to drop the baton in your hand.¡±


    Michael almost swore out aloud.


    He stood up slowly and put his hands behind his head. Five SWAT droids had encircled him, and their guns were pointing directly at Michael¡¯s head. Although they were not even half as tall as Michael, but the row of finely polished weapons, the camera below that was staring dead into Michael¡¯s eyes, and the wheels that were pointed directly at him were enough to instill fear. Moreover, multiple SWAT teams were standing behind the droids, their plasma rifles charged and aimed.


    Damn it. He was such a bloody fool. Michael was trying hard to resist the urge of slapping himself across the face. How could he not see this! It was so clear that this building was set for ambush. He had missed the most obvious clue.


    Why would any building be open at a time like this. And why would the doors be unlocked. Every sensible human being living in this place right now would know to triple deadbolt their doors. Even buildings right after construction would be locked so nobody could sneak in to steal wall paints and wooden planks and steel poles. How could he neglect the fact that the building stood there to welcome him.


    Judging from the scale of the ambush, it seemed that they were absolutely certain he would be here and that they were absolutely certain that he would miss the obvious detail.


    How? How could they?


    A woman dressed in all black walked up. She raised her hand a little and all the droids lowered their guns. Then she held out a small badge. She put her finger on the smooth back side, and then a holographic display of her face and her descriptions appeared under it. Yes. It was a government badge. Only the government had the time, energy, and will to make something so small and intricate and useless.


    ¡°Mr. Livingstone. We are with the government, you can trust us.¡± Her voice was sweet and young. If it wasn¡¯t for her uniforms, Michael would imagine her as¡­ as a princess.


    Back to reality! Michael snapped his mode of thought back into forming plans and eliminating each option. So the government wanted to take him. What leverage did he have?


    Then he got it. Michael found one last plan. Dangerous. But worth a try.


    Then he willingly followed them into the black car. He didn¡¯t resist when they put the blindfold over him. There was only one chance.

 Chapter III

    It was a tough ride. Normal people would have gotten car sick already with the blindfold and earplugs; moreover, the government intentionally drove in circles and did countless unnecessary twists and turns so that nobody could track their cars'' directions. However, Michael''s superior sense of space allowed him to stay completely awake.


    When the government officers took off Michael''s blindfolds, Michael found himself in a room surrounded by strangers. However, it wasn''t like those dark government interrogation dungeons in the movies. This room was brightly lit by overhead LED lights, and Michael could see computer screens and projectors all around. The one thing that stood out was the big old-fashioned meeting table in the center surrounded by chairs. Chairs ¡ª real, physical chairs ¡ª not those holographic projectors that display images of officers all around the world into one room.


    Then Michael''s eyes drifted to the windows. There were blinds covering them. Clearly they didn''t want Michael to see where their secret safe house was located at. He sighed, only option B for him now.


    That princess-like woman was here again. She was about to walk towards Michael when suddenly he held out his hand around his Bracelet.


    "I know exactly the coordinates of this safe house, and I am not bluffing. You come one step closer and I''ll immediately broadcast it to the whole Airnet." Michael was trying to make his voice sound authentic when he spoke.


    That woman didn''t stop moving, but she slowed down her pace. "Michael, you can trust us. Calm down. Besides, this place is signal-blocked. You have no access to the Airnet."


    Michael''s hand relaxed for less than a second before it tensed up again. "Trust you? No. Tell me why I am here! Or I will press the send button. And we both know here that the Airnet is in the air. You can''t block off its signal."


    The woman looked to her left and made eye contact with a man. Michael turned his head slightly and focused his vision on them for a second.


    That man had neatly cut hair and wore a freshly ironed suit, but the thing that caught Michael''s attention the most were his gaze. It was as cold as steel saber, piercing through Michael''s eyes and minds, digging out any sorts of information. But that only lasted for one second, and the next second, the man realized that Michael was glancing at him and immediately softened his stare into a casual browse of vision, though Michael could still sense the calculation in that man''s head.


    "Having reduced rate of blinking, but possibly due to nervousness. Hand is shaking. Noticeable contractions in diaphragms. Eyes keep averting towards the bracelet, so very probable that there is indeed something there. Right hand extremely tensed up, probably ready to press the button anytime. He is not bluffing." The sharp man dropped these sentences cleanly, as if he was cutting his analyses into fragments then weaving them together into a bigger conclusion.


    "Who are you? Stop pretending to be a mindreader or something!" shouted Michael, "I will press send, I''m not joking here."


    The woman blinked for a second, and an expression of anxiousness appeared on her face. Only for a brief moment though, as she quickly concealed it within her usual countenance of friendliness.


    "Relax Michael, we are here for a friendly talk."


    "Shut up. Three... Two..." As Michael counted towards one, his arm raised high, and he was actually about to press the send button when the woman finally flinched back and raised her hand palms open.


    "Okay okay. Michael. Calm down. I''ll tell you everything."


    The woman swiped her finger over her Bracelet and the droids and bodyguards retreated out of the room. However, there were still a few individuals remaining in the room.


    Michael looked around. That micro-expression analyst was still standing there in his usual firm posture as if he just belonged there. There was another woman and man standing on the sides.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "I am Agent Amelia, and I''m the head of this operation. I should start from the very beginning. Currently, we are here because we are facing an extremely devastating crisis. I believe you have seen it on the news already. There''s the discovery of an abandoned silo."


    "And please don''t tell me that the rumors are actually true and there are actually crates of cash that I could have gone over and taken," Michael talked in a very sarcastic tone.


    "No..."


    "With your intelligence I thought you would have a bit more common sense than that." The micro-expression analyst broke in abruptly with a cold smirk.


    "Nicholas. Please," Amelia turned her eyes to look at the micro-expression analyst then back to Michael, "Most people would know that this is probably one of the rumors, and nobody would trust it. However, the location of this ''silo'' is a bit too coincidental to be true. It must have been a leak of information, and a criminal or terrorist group probably is using this to sabotage the government."


    "What''s wrong with the coordinates?" Michael questioned.


    "We have a valuable digital weapon located at that place."


    "I thought the government now stores all their digital weapons on the encrypted cloud network."


    Then Amelia began to fill Michael in with surprising truthfulness. The weapons nowadays were categorized into physical weapons and digital weapons. Physical weapons were a mere amplification of the traditional swords and guns by adding some plasma and laser. These were mundane and ineffective. However, a new form of weapon was cooperatively invented by the government and ArtTech. This new kind of weapon was completely composed of codes, but it was capable of dealing substantial damage.


    When the nation was facing major terrorism threats from major militant groups, the government had decided to give the new digital weapons a try. For the first degree, it was only the government tapping into the terrorists'' communication systems and browsing through the decrypted messages. Soon enough, however, the government was able to shut down their entire communications network, then the remote control network of droids and drones, and finally directly dismantle their digital base.


    That wasn''t even the scariest part about digital weapons. In a society when every physical thing ¡ª machinery, infrastructures, and even furnitures ¡ª was connected to the cloud, and when the signals of AirNet was embedded into the molecular structure of gaseous particles and spread literally everywhere (thus came the name AirNet), the digital weapon could literally manipulate, translocate, and destroy individual section of the cities.


    Through the cooperation with the government, the ArtTech corporation undoubtedly rose to hegemonic power and took control of a major portion of the sovereignty of the people, but whenever there was a company, there would always be a competitor. The archenemy of ArtTech was Hypersphere, founded by a group of people who were tired of the AI dominance by the ArtTech. The government imposed a set of laws at first to ensure the monopoly of ArtTech, but it was soon repealed as a series of violent protests took place to ensure the "economic freedom of the people" and to avoid "modern imperialism and slavery". The government knew that the current peace lied on a very fragile balance, and any disturbance could cause the thin and weak unity to splinter.


    "So tell me about the digital weapon. What was so valuable about it?" Michael now finally had some clues on the complex relationship among the government, the corporations, and the people.


    Amelia sighed. She took a sip from the cup and swallowed the water slowly. Then she raised her head and spoke.


    "250 years ago, we had the industrial revolution. Production was centralized. Factory workers, water wheels and steam engines took many jobs of many artisans and individual craftsmen. Then 150 years ago, we had the electricity revolution. Electricity began to replace manual power for energy, and assembly line was put in use with machinery. 60 years ago, the automation revolution took place, in which computer-controlled robots substituted almost all human jobs in assembly lines, and productivity greatly increased with the near-perfection state that the computers and automatic machines could achieve. Then 23 years ago, in 2025, the Artificial Intelligence revolution. The span went beyond the factory walls and reached into all other kinds of jobs. 90% of the jobs had been replaced by AI, and this percentage was still increasing."


    "Yeah, and how does this correlate with the weapon?"


    "No Michael, this isn''t just a weapon. This is a piece of technology so controversial that some seek its immediate obliteration from the face of the planet while others will sacrifice their lives to protect it. Mathematicians in history and our computing systems now had all predicted something both sublime and catastrophic."


    "And why is that so?"


    "Innovations will be emerging at an unimaginable exponential speed ¡ª maybe one new creation every minute, even possibly every second. The speed of computation will be close to infinity, and it will continuously increase nevertheless. All humans will be completely unemployed and replaced. The way of life will completely transform, and who knows positively or negatively."


    "All this will be brought about by a single piece of technology?"


    "Yes, because it will trigger the fifth revolution. Mathematicians call it the Singularity, meaning when infinity is reached and all systems and laws we know today explode."

 Chapter IV

    Michael never bothered studying much about the histories of technology revolutions. All that he knew was that since the AI revolution, the society just divided and splintered. However, he never really took in consideration of the possibility of a fifth revolution. Getting the salary and finding a reason for him to not get replaced out of the work force seemed like a great concern to him. That was Michael, always engrossed in the present with his genius but never really looking into the future.


    Then Michael''s attention suddenly drifted to Nicholas and the two other people standing in the room. They didn''t talk this entire time.


    "So you guys just believed what Agent Amelia said? All the revolution and Judgement Day stories? What if this is all just a big bluff set up by you guys so you could keep me here for whatever reason!"


    "I could clearly tell she''s not lying," Nicholas said in a monotone. "Besides, Dr. Alexandra Gauss here has formed a prediction model in her head that supports what Agent Amelia is saying."


    Having the affirmation of a talented human like Nicholas provided enough credibility and shock for Michael already (despite the fact that Nicholas seemed to be a jerk), but apparently that woman, Dr. Alexandra Gauss, also seemed to be an intellectual prodigy.


    "Dr. Alexandra Gauss?" Michael turned towards the woman and held out his hand," Michael Livingstone, data analyst, it''s very nice to meet you."


    "Oh, drop the doctor please, it''s unnecessary. Just go by Alexandra." Alexandra took Michael''s hand with a firm handshake. "I had a few Ph.D degrees at calculus, physics, and engineering, but it doesn''t really matter today anymore does it?"


    "Alright. Alright. The geniuses are done introducing themselves now? Let me introduce myself." The other man spoke. Michael and Alexandra both turned to stare at that man while Nicholas let out a sneer.


    "Nicholas. Manners please!" Alexandra complained.


    "So my name is Jay. I''m a street magician, a scammer, and an occasional con artist." Jay brought out a deck of cards as he spoke.


    "And now can you tell us your special talent?" Nicholas spoke in a sarcastic tone.


    "Yes. Indeed. I can read people just like you. Actually it''s my cards who read the people. Here pick any card," Jay spread out the cards. Nicholas curled his lip but picked a card anyway out of sheer curiosity.


    "Now you know what people say? Cards represent people? How about let''s take a look at what card represents you?"


    Nicholas flipped over the card. It was an ace of spades, but written in capital red ink was the word "JERK". Michael and Alexandra couldn''t help but laughed out. Nicholas'' face turned a bit more gloomy.


    "Very clever. Ha. Very clever. Cleverness is the superficial substitute for intelligence."


    Alexandra broke in to change the topic. "Jay, how about you tell our new friend here a little more about yourself?"


    "Well. So basically I started off as a street magician. So yeah. Street magic is very different from stage magic. So I just go around the streets to perform to people instead of renting a big stage. But soon, however, people were like ''Oh he must be trying to steal my wallet''. You see? Street magic relies on the trust from the spectators, but in a society like this, nobody would trust you. The moment you approach someone, they would just walk away, or worse, assault you."


    Michael recalled his confrontation with that acrylic painter he bumped into. Yeah, that was a close shot. A shiver ran down on his spine.


    "So basically the field of street magic was dying. And I imagined myself as one of the heroes trying to revive it. Still trying sometimes now, you know? But... I doubt it will happen. Anyways. So I still need to find a way to make a living somehow right? But what can I do? I only understand street tricks. So I''m like, ''How about I scam a few people.'' Yeah I know you are gonna say that I''m ruining people''s trust here, but what can I do? Don''t we all just want to survive?"


    Jay told his story in a very lighthearted and humorous tone, but Michael could sense a tint of heaviness from his words. It was as if Jay was trying to cover up his desperation and helplessness with some optimistic thoughts.


    Agent Amelia broke in. "All right, so I guess I should also share a little bit about myself. I mean, I am in charge of leading you guys..."


    "You?" Nicholas interrupted rudely, "Lead us? Are you kidding me?"


    Amelia ignored him. "... for the next operation. My name is Amelia Smyth. Just call me Amelia is fine, my friends all call me that."


    "Psychological manipulation. Trying to hint subconsciously that we are her friend. Attempting to let us trust her." Nicholas muttered under his breath.


    "I have been working in the SWAT force for five years. However, this is the first time I''m dealing with people like you guys."


    "She''s not lying," Nicholas said.


    "Alright, alright," Michael finally decided to clear the situation up, even if it might mean losing some etiquette. "Please give us a reason on why we should agree to help you, when you just forced us over here like this."The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Actually it was only you and Jay. Nicholas and I came voluntarily," Alexandra commented, "but yeah sure, keep asking your question."


    "Well..." Amelia thought for a few seconds. "The first thing I know is that both you and Jay are suffering from the artificial intelligence crisis. You guys don''t have a decent job. Moreover, both of you feel strongly that your skills are going to waste. Both of you would really appreciate it if you have a group of audience to admire your skills."


    "No. Who said I was trying to show off my skills..." Michael tried to debate but was soon cut off by Nicholas with another sharp yet accurate comment that revealed Michael''s inner thoughts.


    "Don''t worry about it brother, it has only been one day and I''ve gotten used to his comments already," Jay patted Michael on the back.


    "But back to the point! You guys literally kidnapped me here! What''s all the fuss for? Why don''t you just knock kindly on my door and request me to come with you guys? Well, unless this operation..."


    "Yes. This operation is classified. You are analyzing it correctly," said Amelia. Michael was shocked by her blunt truthfulness.


    "But what if I tell you I''m satisfied with my current life? I don''t wanna cooperate with you guys on this life-and-death mission to save humanity!"


    "Well. I wonder what your life will be like if the Singularity is reached. In fact, I wonder what the entire human civilization will be like."


    "If anything is to happen, at least it''s not anytime soon..."


    "Can you still not see it, Michael? Stop trying to be stubborn! You see it! Every time, the new revolutions take less and less time to happen! It''s exponentially decreasing! Our last revolution was 23 years ago. When do you think the Singularity will happen? Soon. Very soon. Less than a few years. Maybe even less than a year. Now, imagine the power of the Singularity falling into the wrong hands."


    "I want a day to think about it," Michael demanded. He tried to put strength into his voice, but he doubted that he could when he knew that Amelia had hit the all points of his weakness. Amelia definitely had the upper hand here. All Michael was trying to do was to pretend he had some leverages so he wouldn''t submit entirely to the government. Any kindergarteners nowadays knew that a man without any cards in his hands was equivalent to a dead man.


    Amelia considered for a moment and agreed. Before she walked out of the room, she turned to Michael, "You don''t need to go back tonight. There''s a bunk for you in this building."


    "But wait. I didn''t agree yet. What about my job and everything?"


    "Don''t worry. We will take care of that."


    The second Agent Amelia left the room, Nicholas bursted out, "She was definitely hiding some important details."


    "Chill, Nicholas," Jay responded, "don''t we all have something we want to hide?"


    Michael and Alexandra coughed very loudly at the same time. They looked at each other and bursted out laughing for a brief second. Then Michael went back to his serious mode.


    "So do you guys actually believe what she was saying? And do you all think that we actually matter in this thing regarding Singularity?"


    "They wouldn''t tell us the details either, but they would probably either want us to seize that piece of weapon or to protect it." Alexandra said it as she was staring into the wall, contemplating and piecing together the puzzle pieces.


    "My experience and instincts told me that there was a way bigger plan beyond all these. Protecting this weapon would just be a bluff. Maybe the government wants us to steal something they are incapable of doing?" Jay said.


    Then the thought hit Michael. Once again, he was surprised that this obvious question didn''t dawn upon him earlier. "Why don''t they just use droids and drones though? That would make things so much faster! And besides, don''t they have their own SWAT officers?"


    "Exactly why I believe there is a greater plot behind all these," Jay readdressed his point. "What''s something that we can do but AI cannot?"


    Michael tried to think for an answer. However, Michael actually wasn''t able of finding an answer to this question. Jay was the only special individual here ¡ª he had no correlations with the science fields; he was hurt by the AI revolution in a completely different way. If Jay was a magician of any other kinds besides street magician, he could have been a success in this era.


    "I say we should agree. I will try to read Amelia more as time passes. Maybe we will have a definite answer then," Nicholas gave a suggestion in the tone of a command.


    "But what if we have gotten ourselves in too deeply? It will be impossible for us to quit this thing by that time!" Alexandra caught the problem.


    "Well, I''d actually side with Nicholas for this. Judging by how Michael and I were brought here, and judging by Amelia''s arrangement of this place, I doubt that she would allow us to say no. The best move is to play along when she is still wearing the nice mask." Jay stepped next to Nicholas.


    Michael weighed the pros and cons for a while and finally decided to stick to the plan. The next day, he told Agent Amelia that he would agree to help the government.


    "Perfect!" Agent Amelia flashed a sweet smile as she exited the room. "I''ll just make a few arrangements with your boss then, taking a few days off."


    After half an hour, Nicholas called Michael over. Michael saw a news feed on Nicholas'' Bracelet.


    "God damn it!" Michael cursed out after he finished reading it.


    It was a news article from two minutes ago. It read, "Young Man Named Michael Livingstone Murdered at Roadside by a Mentally Unstable Painter."


    The mugshot of the murder was of the exact same person as the acrylic painter that Michael confronted earlier today.


    There was a video footage under it. It was taken from the exact same traffic camera that Michael stood under. Because of the blind spot, all that can be seen was Michael flinching back as the man stepped threateningly closer with the plasma pistol in his hand.


    The passage said, "Diagnosed by our clinics with mental disorders, this painter had pulled out his pistol in extreme self defense after the poor Michael Livingstone bumped into him on the street. The painter refused to listen to the victim''s explanation and cornered the victim, eventually ending his life with two shots fired from the pistol. The suspect''s face was recorded under the camera, and he was immediately arrested afterwards to be brought to justice." After that was a video of Agent Amelia and her SWAT team ¡ª the exact same people that took Michael into the car to this place. "The SWAT team arrived immediately afterwards to control the situation. Eventually, the criminal was found hidden inside an abandoned building. The SWAT team besieged that building and controlled the criminal."


    Damn it! All the lies would piece together for those people unaware of the situation. Those who saw Amelia and her team would only think that they were there to arrest the acrylic painter. These false perceptions fit together into a perfect counterfeit image!


    And now, Michael was a "dead man". He could no longer go back to the society. All his identifications would be invalidated, and people trusted statistics and computer verifications more than verbal persuasions nowadays. The society would not believe and acknowledge Michael Livingstone as a valid member anymore. If Michael couldn''t return to the society, he would have to help the government then, for living, for survival.


    Michael realized that he had completely played into the government''s hands.

 Chapter V

    Amelia rushed into the room.


    "Michael! Oh my god! Michael! I''m so sorry! I didn''t know that they would do that to you! All that I filed in was a proposal to have you work with us over this mission."


    Michael''s rising adrenaline deafened him from hearing Amelia''s claim. He stomped over and towered over her, "Shut up! Is this what you government do? Lies! More lies! Shut up!"


    If it wasn''t for the last bit of etiquette and logical mindset that remained in Michael''s mind, Michael would have started to attack Amelia. Trust was a very fragile thing in the modern society. The old sayings were that, "Once trust was broken, you could never repair it back to whole". Now it goes, "Once trust was broken, you could never live a life without mortal threats".


    "Listen to me Michael!" Amelia shouted out loud for the first time. There was a bit of desperation in her voice, "I am not in control of this. My superiors are. I don''t get to determine what they do! Trust me, I understand what you are feeling now. I understand."


    For once, Michael appreciated the existence of Nicholas. He turned to face the psychologist. Nicholas nodded his head and confirmed silently that Amelia was telling the truth.


    Jay added in too, "Michael. She''s right. She''s merely a small part of the giant bureaucratic hierarchy."


    Jay''s words calmed down Michael''s fumes. For some unknown reason, Michael held this ineffable reverence for Jay ever since the first time they met. Perhaps it was Jay''s special life experience that set him apart from the rest of the team. Michael decided to put some trust in Amelia for now, based on the logical analysis made by Nicholas and out of the respect to Jay.


    "So what do you want us to do? Are you just going to throw us straight into that place without any trainings?" Michael finally put himself back together.


    "Trainings?" Amelia began talking normally again, "I don''t believe training would be necessary for people with your talents. You have probably trained such talents for almost your entire life anyway, so no need. But before you confront the ultimate problem, we need to start off on a few smaller ones just to set a solid foundation, and simultaneously you guys can know the situation better."


    "Small problems? Such as what?"


    "How well do you know about ArtTech and Hypersphere?"


    "I''m sorry, you mean the real government and Hypersphere?" Nicholas immediately mocked.


    "Well," Amelia said, "it seems like you know a lot about Art Tech."


    "At least I know that ArtTech is working closely with the government," Michael finished off Nicholas'' speech, "and that it has been supporting government with a lot of useful technology. In return, the government gave them quite a lot of benefits." Then Michael added, "No offense to you."


    "None taken," Amelia responded. "Seems like you understand the situation in the most general terms, but what we need you to understand is the relations among the government, ArtTech, and Hypersphere.


    "ArtTech had been cooperating closely with the government for many decades, even before the AI revolution. In fact, it is the government''s funding and investment that offered them enough ground to start the research and development of artificial intelligence. However, what people do not know is that we are also funding Hypersphere."


    "Isn''t Hypersphere a private corporation aimed solely to compete against ArtTech?" Alexandra asked.


    "Yes, exactly. And why do you think we are funding Hypersphere? Because we are seeing all the protests arising from the ArtTech monopoly, and we need a force to counter the growing power of ArtTech. This could make sure society will not break into chaos and the gap between poor and rich will not overly widen. Moreover, Hypersphere can provide employment to the poor workers. However, all the fundings we have given to Hypersphere are under the table, and only very few individuals know about this funding."


    Michael still felt a bit skeptical over this story, but he was beginning to assimilate some of the information. Amelia got a point that the government was aiming for the unity of the people.


    Jay sat in silence throughout most of this conversation, but after Amelia finished that sentence, he had to interrupt, "What about the rest of the government''s intentions? Not trying to destroy your gift wrap of political correctness, but it is clear that the government is funding Hypersphere because it is afraid that ArtTech will grow too much in power, and eventually replace the government itself."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Yes, and that too." Amelia sighed heavily. "And it is clear that this is already happening, but there''s not much we can do about it. ArtTech in itself accounts for 30% of the employment of the entire globe, and still increase. Most of the welfare given to unemployed people are actually funded by ArtTech. There''s really nothing we can do when they are handling so much social responsibility."


    "Except for the fact that their inventions are the main causes to the current societal crises," Michael muttered.


    "Yeah, if you want to know more about this, listen closely to me. We are assigned to a mission that will give us further knowledge on the intentions of ArtTech and Hypersphere. Trust me, this mission will bring fresh knowledge to both you and me, as nobody is aware of these corporations'' ultimate goals."


    "So explain to us about the mission," said Michael.


    After a huge lengthy introduction by Amelia, Michael summarized the mission into the following.


    First of all, Marcus Johnson, the CEO of ArtTech, will have a press conference to launch their newest product tomorrow.


    Secondly, HyperSphere executive council will be there, along with a group of "Hypersphere security guards" to ensure the "personal security" of the top executive teams.


    Thirdly, the leaders of the two major political parties will be there ¡ª the left-wing unionists and right-wing technologists.


    The involvement of the political parties in a conference like this is what will create a gigantic mess. Nowadays, politics completely revolve around economy, and ArtTech and Hypersphere are undoubtedly the two most prominent figures in the politics. Having two fervent mobs at a conference like this would bring nothing but catastrophe. The weird thing was that Marcus Johnson could easily order security to keep out any individuals, and nobody would see it as unacceptable because of Johnson''s prestigious title and the power of ArtTech.


    What Michael and the rest of the team needed to do was to be at the conference, observe the situation, and figure out any potential threats. If there was any, it was to be reported immediately.


    The following day, Michael and the rest of the team were dressed in expensive attires. Just the tie that Michael was wearing was worth a his entire year''s salary.


    "Act as if you belong here," that was Amelia''s final words before they left.


    Amelia was originally planning to arm them with camera contact lenses so that she could get a clearer feed from the government surveillance room, but she soon figured that the security checks were extremely strict at ArtTech conferences. Another impact of this was that they couldn''t arm themselves with any weapons against potential chaos.


    "Don''t worry. I know how to sneak weapons in," Jay volunteered himself to handle the difficult task.


    So, with Jay''s words of promise, Amelia had trusted them with some of the government''s most advanced gadget that could disguise as normal physical attires. There was a small laser knife disguised as a hairpin for Alexandra, and a retractable stun combat knuckle was concealed as Michael''s cuff-link. To a naked eye, these objects seemed extremely normal, but to any weaponry scanning device, the object''s true function would immediately be revealed. The whole team, even Amelia, could rely on Jay''s magician expertise and con artist street smart.


    Michael also knew that the fact that the government would be willing to give them such advanced arms meant that this task would not be as easy as the described "observe and locate potential threats".


    The attires that Michal was wearing were elegant and classy, but they were nothing comparing to the conference building. The building wasn''t like those ordinary tall skyscrapers, but instead, it was five storied, spanning outwards as moving up, with the base lobby being the smallest floor. The shape of the building was composed of a mixed design of cubes and spheres concepts, but they were blended together so perfectly that the organic arcs of the circles strongly complemented the geometric angles of the squares. The outside layer of mixed concrete, glass, and steel decorated and emphasized the unique bevels and bends in the outside shape, polishing it to look like a sculpture masterpiece.


    Just by looking in at the lobby, giant holograms about ArtTech information illuminated the grey-toned marble floors and walls. Gigantic decorative statues made of magnetic microbots were constantly reprogramming and rearranging themselves into complex three dimensional polyhedrons. A baroque styled fountain lied in the center of the lobby ¡ª a very archaic architectural design ¡ª except that the water streams were compressed and warped by the pressure fields around the fountain to form beautiful patterns. At that instant, Michael knew that it was art, not pure technology. He had never seen a better example of the fusion of these two concepts.


    The majesty of the exterior and royalty of the interior stunned Michael, and he would have just stood there and stared for thirty minutes if it wasn''t Jay who knocked his shoulder lightly to bring him back to reality.


    Usually, Michael could only see images and holograms of these buildings over the Airnet on his devices, as he could never have a chance to set foot in the rich communities. His own poor communities only had short, ugly residential blocks. Seeing the one to one ratio real life was definitely thousands of times more astounding. The concrete and steel seemed to carry with themselves a sense of intangible power that expressed the imperial and monumental position that ArtTech held in the society. It destroyed the stereotypes of technology as devouring and lifeless but instead put vigor and spirit in modernization and modernization in art. The building alone would make any bystander immediately turned their heads to offer their highest respect towards ArtTech.


    As for a worker who had been battling poverty and unemployment for the first half of his life, Michael found it extremely difficult to act as if he belonged here.


    Michael took a deep breath and walked in with the rest of the team.

 Chapter VI

    The moment Michael walked into the luxurious lobby of the ArtTech conference building, thin streams of blue and green lights emerged from the marble floor and entwined themselves intricately around Michael''s feet like a beautifully woven footwear, and the rays keep on extending and curving around Michael''s legs and then up onto his torso. Michael knew that this was just a combination of biometric sensor and photon coordinators, but it still resembled magic to him. Real, fantastical, beautiful magic.


    After Michael and the rest of the team walked to the end of the lobby, the streams of luminescence had already covered them fully. After a few seconds, a crevice appeared in the middle of the walls, and the gap is getting wider and wider. Michael took a closer look and saw that it was in fact the walls moving apart from each other, revealing a small room behind. The built-in mechanism of this whole procedure flowed so smoothly that it put Michael in awe.


    To even further shock Michael, a gentle female voice sounded from the walls around him. "Level one security check complete."


    Michael''s heart accelerated for a few seconds then slowed down. On one hand, he held even more admiration towards the artistic taste of ArtTech and its architecture, but on the other hand, Michael was a bit terrified by how the beauty of the lobby distracted him from the consciousness on the security check. Not only was he unaware that these ornate glows of lights were in fact photon security scanners, but he had also completely forgotten about the presence of the security check. He cursed under his breath. He knew that one of his greatest flaws was that he could get misdirected by one thing and completely forget about his surroundings ¡ª just like how he walked into the abandoned and unlocked building a few weeks ago when it was so obvious that it was the government''s trap.


    Michael found some comfort after he glanced around. Everybody except for Jay seemed to also be shocked by this security check procedure. Michael''s eyes met Alexandra''s for a second, and a gaze of understanding and reassurance flowed between them. Nicholas'' face was stoical, but Michael could see that he swallowed uneasily.


    "Guys, act as if you belong here," Jay reminded them gently.


    "Trying," Michael and Alexandra muttered simultaneously.


    "Good thing that the government''s weapons are good enough to hide from the AI security check," said Jay.


    As soon as he said that, the walls closed again. The small room that they were standing in began to move. Michael could feel that the room itself was lifted upwards and sideways. It was an elevator.


    The same voice came from within the walls again. It began with a welcome message and then talked about ArtTech. Then it said, "Level two east sector reached. Please proceed to level two security check."


    The walls opened, and they walked out. A line of security barricade laid out about a hundred meters in front. There seemed to be a sharp divide among the people, people dressed in expensive suits and dresses and people wearing cheap shirts. Most of the people with cheap clothing also wore a blue armband with a white pen and white hammer forming a cross. That white cross was the symbol of all left-wing unionists, showing the unity between white-collar office workers and blue-collar factory workers, both of whom are the biggest victims of the unemployment and replacement caused by the AI revolution.


    Just as Michael''s team was walking towards the security, there was a sudden commotion. A security officer pointed at the unionist''s watch and shouted something. Then four men dressed in dark suits immediately surrounded that unionist. Before they could enclose around the unionist, however, the unionist unstrapped the watch and spun it in midair. The steel watch straps bound to each other as a blade sprang from the side of the watch face. It was a very cheap version of a collapsable knife.


    The unionist pushed the security guard away from him and ran towards Michael''s direction. Michael''s team and the other people immediately scattered to the sides to avoid colliding head-on with the knife. The four men in dark suits took out their bracelets and tapped something. Then the floor in front of the unionist raised up violently. Standing ten meters away, Michael could feel the force shaking him a bit off his balance. As for the unionist, he was completely thrown off his feet. That was... That was brilliant engineering! That was mystical sorcery! Michael could no longer differentiate between these two.


    Seeing that the threat was neutralized, the security guard went back to check through this queue. Meanwhile, the four suited men walked over to the unionist. One of them simply raised his hand, and the knife escaped from the unionist''s grip and landed safely in the suited man''s palm. If it wasn''t for the oriental electromagnetic embedded beneath the man''s bracelet, Michael would have seen that move as telekinesis.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The unionist was forcibly lift up by two men despite his screaming and pleading. They escorted him to the elevator, and as soon as the walls closed, the unionist''s voice was completely cut off. The gathered crowd soon dispersed back to their security queues, though every single person had a pretty clear idea on the fate of the unionist.


    "Shit." That was all that Michael could say.


    The whole team looked at Jay. Their eyes already communicated what they wanted to say. They knew that the same fate would befall them if the government weapons were unsheathed in security check.


    "Trust me. Act alongside my part," Jay said a few seconds before they reached the barricade.


    Jay took a quick look at his bracelet before hurrying towards the barricade officer along with the team. His feet knocked the floor impatiently as he handed his blazer and belt to the security guard. Michael and the others did the same.


    The security guards used a scanner and went through every inch of the blazer detailedly. After the incident with the unionist, they were spending an unusual amount of time to check through every piece of attire.


    "How much time have we got till the conference starts?" Jay turned and asked Michael. A faint tone of annoyance was beneath the words. Without bothering to turn his face, Jay''s eyes looked towards the security guards for half a second before turning his gaze back to Michael.


    "About three minutes."


    Jay exhaled with a growing impatience as the security guards were now requesting all of them to take of their shoes. Having sensed Jay''s irritation, the guards were speaking in an extra polite voice. They all understood that jobs were pretty scarce these days, and judging by Jay''s attire, they could see that Jay had to be a wealthy person of the middle-high class, or worse, an individual with personal ties to the board of ArtTech. The people following Jay also looked extremely rich and powerful. One simple misdemeanor from the guard could result in an instant unemployment.


    The guards proceeded to check Michael''s blazer. No! Michael shouted inside his head. The disguised cuff-link was standing out prominently on the cuffs of the left sleeve. Shit. The guards were fumbling down the right sleeve already, and they were casting this suspicious look at the left sleeve. No, the plan would be blown. Michael''s hands tightened tensely, and sweat was breaking out from his forehead. Fortunately for him, the guards were only paying attention to the clothing and to Jay.


    Seeing that Michael''s cover was in danger, Jay strode through the biometric scanner, and the scanner alarm began beeping. Michael''s heart missed a beat. That couldn''t be. Jay wasn''t carrying any weapons. The weapons were disguised in his own cuff-link and Alexandra''s hairpin. What problem could there be?


    "I''m sorry sir, security protocols." The head security guard mumbled apologetically and looked down.


    "Could you please hurry up? Earlier we stood in queue for ten minutes and it didn''t move forward an inch!" Jay was referring to the incident with the unionist, which jammed the entire queue.


    Alexandra was a lot better than Michael at acting this out. She looked at Jay and spoke with an intentional loudness, "Boss, we only got a minute left."


    Jay snatched out his wallet from his pocket and flashed it in front of the security guard''s face. "This! This is what is causing the beeping! What are you gonna do now? Check through my wallet for another ten minutes? Oh yes. It''s such a dangerous item. I can potentially murder people with paper cuts. I can even suffocate people with the leather right?"


    The head security guard was so terrified that he didn''t even dare to put his hand on to the wallet. He just took a quick glance and let Jay pass.


    "And what are you gonna do to my employees? Huh? Are you gonna inspect his shoelace? Or her hairpin? Or even the bandaid he had put over his injured hand? Are you going to inspect those too?" By mentioning the hairpin in the same parallel structured sentence as the irrelevant shoelace and bandaid, Jay had successfully misdirected the attention from the hairpin. Then Jay''s voice turned polite again. "You let my team go in now, and if we get to the conference on time, I will pretend this didn''t happen. Or else."


    The head of security was completely frozen in place with cold sweat dripping from his forehead. After a full second, he grasped the situation and immediately signaled to the other security guards to let Jay''s team pass.


    When Michael was sure that they were out of the hearing range, he sighed a huge relief. Even Nicholas relaxed his face a little bit.


    "Damn! Brother! That was amazing!" Michael slapped Jay on the back.


    Jay laughed and said humbly, "Didn''t expect that to work out so well either. It was a close shot."


    "But what were you doing with a wallet? What kind of person still uses a wallet nowadays? I mean with all the e-pay and stuff..."


    "Oh, about the wallet, I forgot to tell you guys," Jay took out the wallet while slowing down his pace, allowing Nicholas and Alexandra to walk ahead. "I also armed myself a little bit, with some ''modified weaponry.''"


    Jay opened the wallet up for a few layers, displaying a pack of playing cards on the innermost layer.


    "Playing cards? That''s all you have armed for yourself?"


    Jay opened the box and fanned the cards out. He motioned for Michael to touch it.


    Michael grabbed onto one of the cards, and his hands jerked in surprise. "Ouch. You never told me it''s sharp."


    "Shhh." Jay put his cards back into the box. "Keep it as a secret for now. Don''t let the rest of the team know."


    Michael was about to question why, but Jay''s comforting gaze settled him down.


    An elevator carried them to the conference floor. A combination of excitement, nervousness, and wonder filled Michael as the doors opened

 Chapter VII

    The inside of the giant auditorium was nothing but dramatically cinematic.


    On the stage, there was a giant ten-inch thick bulletproof glass. When Michael got closer, he realized it wasn''t just glass. He read about this material somewhere. It was a special nanometer sized polymer made of a mixture of glass, acrylic, and carbon molecules. The compressed carbon molecules gave the material extreme hardness while the nanometer-sized acrylic and glass provided a resilient formation that mitigated the material''s brittle nature. Michael was pretty sure that one square centimeter of this military-grade material costed more than the price of ten days of his meals added together.


    Next to the walls of the auditorium stood security guards. Human security guards stood together with droids. The guards were standing so still that they looked like statues. From what Michael had read, this was how the soldiers stood when nations still have their own militaries. Their uniforms and paint formed a black fence of tall and short around the whole auditorium.


    Sitting on the most left side of the auditorium were a group of unionists. They were all wearing the unionist armband. Michael couldn''t help but sneer a little bit. These unionists were always making their political stances so clear: going as far as using seatings to present their political spectrum. Michael supposedly should be on the left wing as well because of his extreme poverty, but he personally didn''t care about politics at all. He wouldn''t care about who was in charge or what policies were put in pace ¡ª as long as he could stay on his job and get the bread for the day. Oh well, maybe some exceptions could be made if any political party would appreciate his talent, but that never happened.


    The unionists were all dressed very cheaply with second handed suits and unaesthetic accessories, but their clothes were all ironed neatly and washed cleanly. The gentlemen and ladies were all behaving with formal etiquette, which gave a mien that highly contrasted the huge blue banners they were holding that were filled with aggressive messages about universal welfare and equality of opportunities. Michael appreciated how they didn''t create too much commotion like those extreme unionists out there.


    Then on the right side of the auditorium, it was a completely different sight. The right-wing technologists were sitting firmly, eager to hear the release of a new product that could further elevate their political strength. A lot of them were ArtTech employees, and they were proudly flashing their neatly polished employee badges pinned on their collars and cuffs. Many of them were wearing fancy technological gadgets like enhanced Bracelets or eyepieces. They were not only a demonstration of the technologists'' deeply rooted political belief that technology would bring benefit to human beings, but these gadgets also powerfully signaled their prestigious positions in the social hierarchy and their huge aggregates of wealth.


    However, the split of seating wasn''t just simply based on political spectrum. Hypersphere broke all their past traditions and made a loud presence this time; meanwhile, ArtTech surprisingly allowed them in. Seated at the back rows were the Hypersphere top employees, including their CEO. Some of them wore the unionist armband while some wore those gadgets of the technologists, but they were all huddled together in a group as if their survival and power depended on their unity.


    If one had to question Hypersphere''s political stance, Michael would say that it was an outlier. Hypersphere was trying to use the technologists'' methods to achieve the unionists'' goals. Through developing their own artificial intelligence products, they could be a force to counter ArtTech''s hegemony and eventually bring about more equality among all the people.


    Since private security droids were not allowed in the conference center, Hypersphere brought a few security guards, but judging by the equipments and posture, the Hypersphere guards seemed to be no match against the ArtTech personnels.


    Then at the center sat a mix of middle-high class people. Most of them were in the artistic field ¡ª entertainers, celebrities, artists, and other people of similar positions that were not yet replaced by artificial intelligence. There were also a group of prominent students. They brought their notetakers and were frantically typing who-knew-what into the holographic screen projected in front of them. They had a few teachers accompanying them, providing useful guidance and explanations. The study of AI is a field with intense academic competition, and the opportunity to come to a conference like this would certainly be a major b uff to the students'' grades and experiences.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Nicholas suddenly interrupted Michael''s train of thoughts, "I found our potential threat."


    "What? Why? How?" Michael was caught off guard by that sudden statement.


    Nicholas pointed with his hand so that the rest of the team could see, "That unionist sitting at the most left column, fifth row from the last. Look at how nervous he is. It is written all across his face. He''s feet are tapping the floor extremely quickly. Too quick to be a sign of impatience. It''s more like a sign of anxiety. His left hand is keep entering and exiting his pocket without taking anything out. That was probably where his weapon is located over there..."


    "And he is sweating. This means two possibilities. One is as you suggested, he is nervous." Michael was the one to interrupt this time. He was so immersed in Nicholas'' words that he was saying his deductions out loud. "But that guy is keep wiping his face. You don''t sweat from your face when nervous. So the other possibility that he is actually sweating due to the heat."


    "Thus the most possible reason is that he has worn a lot more clothing. There are two reasons to that as well. Firstly because more clothing naturally provides more insulation to all kinds of metal scanners and biometric scanners, therefore making it easier to conceal a firearm." Nicholas is lost in thought as well, just directly picking off where Michael has left it.


    "And secondly it makes escaping a lot easier. If he is dressed drastically differently underneath, all he needs to do is to take off the outer layer of clothing and put on a wig, a pair of sunglasses, and some fake mustache, and he will look like a completely different person." Michael completed the last part of the deduction.


    Nicholas was brought back to reality after Michael''s words. "Damn Michael!" he said with a tone showing great surprise, "Never knew you could read people as well."


    This might just sound like a normal statement from an outsider''s view, but from the few days that Michael had spent with Nicholas, he knew that Nicholas never expressed surprise to anything before. Therefore Michael saw this as a compliment from Nicholas, which was something more than rare.


    Michael thus replied a lot more humbly modesty than he usually held.


    "Just something I picked up from street survival. It''s nothing compared to your talent." Michael was surprised himself that he would say such nice things, especially to Nicholas.


    The corners of Nicholas'' mouth tipped up a little bit. This was the expression that resembled somewhat to a smile. Maybe this was the best that Nicholas could express, but Michael got the message already.


    The sounds of piano suddenly came through from the speakers within the walls. Everyone silenced gradually as the lights dimmed gradually. Michael and the team took the seats that were a few columns away from the potential assassin, or terrorist.


    People silenced as the sound of piano grew louder. First it was just a thin trickling stream of keys, barely linking with each other. The sounds could be perceived with skeletal clarity, and a dimension of simplicity was presented ¡ª not displayed with pretentious extravagancy but with a matter-of-fact modesty that stated the thematic message was there, and its presence was powerful enough to make a statement of its own.


    Then the sound began inflecting and amplifying as the assembly of notes grew denser, transforming from the original airy and intangible quality to a more solid and material feeling. The music was no longer vibrations of particles in the air, but it was a union of melody commanded by the emotion of the artist, and it was like matter ¡ª real, substantial matter ¡ª that were knocking on the immersed audience''s eardrums.


    The cadence began shifting with the tempo. Sometimes it was loud staccatos of cleanly severed beats that resonated toughly against the walls with a persevering personality, as if a trapped soul was finally given the right and voice to make its declaration to the world. Then a series of keys soothed the ferocity of the pianist and transitioned the timbre to a softer and more cohesive melody. It was a loud storm calming into a drizzle, a prism that refracted burning sunlight into vibrant hues, a collection of ethereal iridescence within a gemstone that transcended the bounds of physical laws and unraveled its own story.


    Then the sound began to fade. The audience was mesmerized in the song, in the artist''s emotional life that was passionately enunciated on the keyboard. The crowd was completely silent, all afraid that one tiny bit of noise would block out the sound of the piano. The rhythm slowly dispersed. The solid beats began to evaporate, particle by particle, into the vacuum of silence. The song went quieter and quieter, slower and slower, and finally, everything became silent.


    The audience was completely silent. They were completely hypnotized. Then a small clapping broke the silence and brought everyone out of the reverie. With sudden realization, the crowd exploded into a thunderous applause that continued on and on. The audience was so ardent, so emotional, and so touched by this song that many of them had sparkles of tears in their eyes as they clapped with a heartfelt zeal ¡ª unionists and technologists alike, employees of ArtTech and Hypersphere alike, the poor and wealthy alike. All boundaries of social hierarchy, economic conditions, and political beliefs are dissolved under the unity of the universal language of music.


    "Ladies and Gentlemen, I hoped you enjoyed our show." Marcus Johnson, the CEO of ArtTech, stepped into the spotlight.

 Chapter VIII

    "Before we proceed to the core of today''s conference, I would like to select a few audience members just to hear their opinions on the composition that was played earlier."


    Marcus Johnson typed a command into his Bracelet and a hologram of a random number generator was projected behind him. Then a few seat numbers were selected.


    "If this gentleman of seat Alpha 28, this lady of Beta 15, the gentleman of Epsilon 03, and the gentleman of Theta 21 would please voice your opinions into the microphone."


    "Epsilon 03! It''s that suspect over there!" Alexandra motioned to the team.


    Michael, on the other hand, was more interested in the demographics of these four seats. These "random selections" ironically contained no Hypersphere employees, but included a few unionists.


    The Alpha 28 gentleman was a technologist. He addressed how beautiful the song was and then began to change the topic to technology, saying how technology helped artists compose songs nowadays. Then he completely deviated from the original topic and began the rant on how technology would benefit mankind.


    Then the microphone drone flew over to the Beta 15 lady and hovered in front of her. From the way she dressed, it could be seen that she was a hardcore unionist. She also complimented the composition and started to talk about how she could hear an unemployed laborer suffering poverty from the rise and fall of the melody.


    How surprising, Michael thought, that two people could perceive such different messages from the same song.


    Jay tapped Michael''s shoulder to direct his attention to the suspect. The drone flew in front of the suspect. The suspect seemed to suddenly jerk awake and breathed heavily. His mouth opened but no sound came out.


    Before the awkward silence last enough to get the attention from the rest of audience''s attention, Marcus Johnson helped the man out, "Your opinions sir?"


    "Uh... Yeah... Uh... I mean the song... It was beautiful. Definitely worth listening too..." He trailed off.


    "Thank you for your feedback." Once again, Johnson seemed to be helping the man to avoid unwanted attention. Had it been any other man that Johnson was helping, Michael would be in awe of Johnson'' emotional quotient and social consideration, but this time the man was a suspect who could be potentially assassinating Johnson himself. Michael felt a ripple of regret while watching Johnson''s kindness been manipulated against him. Wasn''t this how trust began to deteriorate in the first place?


    On the other hand, Michael felt like he misjudged ArtTech with its stereotype the moment that he saw the ArtTech building. Due to his poverty, Michael had never gotten to see anything ArtTech. Even his Bracelet was Hypersphere because of the relatively more affordable prices. Perhaps it was that he wanted to blindly convince himself that he had made the right decisions, or perhaps he was jealous of those wealthy ones who could afford ArtTech products, but Michael had always held this stereotypical image of ArtTech as an extreme right-winged technologist who saw all forms of art as useless to humanity and who believed that technology companies should dominate the world. However, from what Michael had perceived so far, ArtTech was not only creative, orderly, but they also got a CEO who was empathetic. It was no longer surprising to Michael how ArtTech could rise to the global summit.


    Michael glanced around. The microphone drone already flew to the fourth person, but this time, a group of four young adults took the microphone. Michael briefly recognized them from somewhere. What was it? Yes, he remembered. It was a contemporary R&B band. They were somewhat famous and made their debut on the TV before.


    They took over the microphone. Apparently some other people recognized them, and they shouted their name. Then more people turned their heads and listened attentively to what they were about to say.


    The lead singer took the microphone and cleared his throat. "Hello everyone. If you recognized us, you would probably know that we are the Neon Mirrors. We appreciated ArtTech''s selection of such a wonderful piece of music." He pointed towards Marcus Johnson and the crowd once again erupted into applause.


    Then the lead singer motioned towards his team, "Everybody in the band here held at least a degree or two on music, and we have all reached the conclusion that this is one of the most elegantly composed piece played with the most passion. We heard a mix of Beyer, Czerny, and Bach, but we are uncertain of who blended them so perfectly together. Nonetheless, we pay our highest respect to the composer and performer. This piece showed how music is such an indispensable part of our lives."


    Everybody applauded again and nodded their heads in agreement.


    "Thank you all for your valuable input of opinions," Marcus Johnson spoke with a genuine tone and flashed a presidential smile. The holograms all around the room were now projecting a closed up shot of his face. Michael didn''t pay attention earlier but now that he had taken a zoomed in look, Johnson was a rather ideal figure that was suit for magazine photoshoots and red carpets.


    Despite his age in his early forties, Johnson was an extremely well-built man that evidently kept his shape with frequent gym visits, as reflected by the sharp contour of an upside-down trapezoid given by his broad shoulders as he stood in his suit. His facial features were well-defined ¡ª he had brown, almond eyes that seemed to be carefully engraved to present a feel of depth alongside his finely crafted nose. Below his radiant killer smile was a strong jawline. Intentionally maintained 5 o''clock shadow added a tone of attractive maturity.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "History," Johnson spoke. His deep powerful voice echoed around the auditorium, "Has always been based upon centralization."


    A history speech again! Michael immediately remembered how Amelia had given him the big speech about the stages of technological revolution. Was Johnson going to do the same?


    "Before humans even became civilized, they had formed themselves into groups of hunters and gatherers. Then with the advance of agriculture, each family centered their means of production around farming. The hunters and gatherers of every family began to work on the same piece of land."


    Although it was another history lesson, but Michael found this one a lot more magnetizing. Perhaps it was because Johnson''s voice oscillated around the room with explosive charisma. Everybody in the audience seemed to be fascinated by the concept that he was introducing.


    "Then let''s fast forward through history. Civilizations begin to have large farms to substitute for individuals working on their own lands. Then a leader was born to rule the tribe of people. After that, a centralized government took over and established a local market and a standardized legislation. Small farms became big farms. The feudal castle walls broke down as farming villages united with their neighbors to form a big nation. England is my city, but it used to be a nation, and before that, a region filled with many battling kingdoms and city-states. Politically speaking, our governing body is centralized into a global government."


    "Economically speaking, the individual craftsmen and artisans got together to form a central market to buy and sell products. The market economy soon expanded to global size. Colonies were formed. Industrialization took place and the artisans and laborers got grouped together into bigger houses called factories to work together with greater productivity."


    Michael was now glad about how Amelia educated him on the history of technological evolution. It aided him to understand this mesmerizing speech of Johnson''s.


    "However, we saw that one factory wasn''t enough. So we grouped the factories, the mediators, the advertisers, and other facilities and positions into one big company. This was so until we realized that, wouldn''t it be nice if the companies that were producing similar products were headed by one macro office? Therefore, ArtTech corporation had combined the sectors of digital education, utility application, cyber defense, work processor, and other important AI fields."


    Jay tapped Michael slightly and looked towards that unionist suspect earlier. Right now, the suspect looked extremely nervous. He was sweating heavily, and his muscles were extremely rigid. Instead of sitting comfortably in the chair like the rest of the people, he put a lot of his weight on his front feet and tilted his body towards the central walkway, as if he was ready to sprint off at any given second.


    Nobody else noticed the suspicious actions of that man. Everyone seemed to be completely drawn in by Johnson''s presentation. Even the security guards would steal glances towards the hologram projection.


    "As the current chief executive officer of ArtTech, I believe that I''m not only serving all employees of ArtTech, but I''m also serving each and every member of the society."


    The suspect began to pull something out of his pocket. Michael could see a black rectangle, but it didn''t look like a pistol.


    "ArtTech had centralized all the essential parts of the AI industry because we believed in one single creed ¡ª through centralization, we could offer a more superior quality with greater quantity."


    The technologists and ArtTech employees all began cheering fervently for their CEO and their idol. Meanwhile, the other people were clapping out of pure politeness. The suspect held out that black rectangle. It looked like... a remote control.


    "Now, we wanted to evolve the steps of centralization once more. We wanted to explore beyond the fields in technology, math, and science sectors."


    A rumbling wave of anger began to sound from people as the intelligent ones realized what was about to happen. Some people cried out furiously while some cheered louder. The suspect reached out and pressed a few buttons on the remote control.


    "Wouldn''t life carry so much more quality and efficiency if artificial intelligence could aid humans not only in the jobs of analysis but also in the tasks of creating new masterpieces."


    The unionists began shouting loudly in protest. The celebrities and artists in the middle had already stood up and pumping their arms angrily. The mere fact of artificial intelligence encroaching into the fields of art and humanities was unthinkable. Besides, it was ArtTech who would be in charge of this. This meant that the whole society''s economy would be under the control of one corporation. By then, almost one hundred percent of the workforce would be replaced. It would be one step closer towards the Singularity.


    "I therefore present to you our newest product! An artificial intelligence program that was capable of creating its own musical piece. We are proud to announce its first creation ¡ª the beautiful piano song that you have all heard and greatly complimented ¡ª The Allegro De Vive for Piano No. 2 in C sharp. Or, as I would like to call it, the Sonata of Singularity."


    The audience exploded. Some were cheering and clapping while some were cursing and booing. The liberal arts people who had earlier complimented the song were now feeling ashamed, as if they had been cheated out of their knowledge. Others were extremely terrified by the power of this new AI program and believed that it would threaten their jobs. There were also some who were extremely glad to see human technology had progressed by one more important step. This mixture of excitement and rage shook the floors. Johnson was just standing there, bowing with his charismatic radiance, as if he had just finished a proud performance.


    Meanwhile, Michael''s team was completely focused on what the suspect was about to do. So far, the suspect still didn''t notice the four pairs of eyes glanced tightly on him, or at least that was what it seemed. He continued to point the remote-like device towards the stage.


    Jay signaled for the team to be quiet. He carefully removed the hairpin from Alexandra''s hair. With a dexterous flick, he opened the two halves of the hairpin like a butterfly knife, and as his hand pushed against the side, a beam of focused laser of fifteen centimeters in length.


    Advancing with the elegance of a dancer and the silence of a preying tiger, Jay snuck up behind the unionist. He raised the knife slowly, careful not to make any sound. Before Jay''s plan could work, however, the suspect suddenly turned around, and a powerful energized blast of light emitted out of his device. Jay immediately fell down on the floor, covering his eyes in pain.


    Less than a millisecond later, Michael''s eyes were also hit. Everything was so bright all of a sudden, as if the world around him burned with white flames. Michael immediately blocked his eyes with his hands, but it was no use. He felt the world spinning around him and the floor slamming into his face. He could not comprehend what was going on, but he could hear Alexandra''s and Nicholas'' screams too.


    Then amid the blindness and dizziness came other people''s loud shouts, then screams, then sounds of heavy things crashing against each other. Michael opened his eyes a little and saw gunshots from plasma guns, then people shouting in pain, then more gunshots and fistfights.


    It was a world filled with chaos.

 Chapter IX

    Jay slammed down onto the floor, writhing in pain. How could he not have seen that coming? It was more than obvious that suspect was about to turn around ¡ª the lowered shoulder, the tensed-up hand, and the darting eyes were all crystal clear indicators, yet Jay had missed it.


    Jay''s world was now completely ablaze with white. He could not see. He could not hear. The ringing in his ears was a side effect of being so close to that device. Now he lied completely immobilized on the ground, helpless against the vibration of the floor caused by the stampedes that was happening all around them, helpless against the gunshots that cut through the curtain of ringing around his ears. A heavy blow struck his unmovable hand and kicked the laser knife away from him


    Shit. This situation was too familiar to him. He had spent years trying to forget about that night.


    The ringing began to fade around his ears. He could now hear his own shouts of pain as well as the cries from Michael, Alexandra, and Nicholas.


    He wouldn''t mind himself getting killed in this incident. He didn''t care about the dangers of death for a long time now. But, but they couldn''t die. They were good people. They didn''t do what he once did. They deserved a good complete life. That kid, Michael. He was just a young man who understood nothing about the real world. He still got the mind of an innocent kid.


    Images of a girl''s face flashed in front of him. Long straight black hair fell down her shoulders and partially covered her attractive olive eyes. Who was that again? She looked familiar... She looked beautiful... She looked... Alive...


    There were more shoutings and screaming now.


    No. Not again. With a partially shocked brain, Jay was struggling to differentiate between reality and his imagination. Which voice was real? D¨¦j¨¤ vu was hitting harder than ever.


    The blinding white light gradually faded into the red and blue lights of an empty bar. Rain was falling outside. He could hear footsteps. Rough, hard soles of combat boots were pressed hardly against the tile floor, generating a repulsive, screeching noise as broken glass shards were kicked across.


    "Jay! Can you hear me! We gotta leave." Was this Michael''s voice? Or the man in the hallucination?


    Jay felt a pair of strong arms grabbing his arm and lifting him off the floor. He still couldn''t see anything. His eyes were temporarily disabled by the flash. The only thing he could "see" was what his brain was willing to project.


    He fell back to the floor as the arms that grabbed him were suddenly knocked away. Then another pair of hands grabbed his face.


    "Jay! Stay with me! Listen, you need to get up..."


    Jay! Stay with me!


    Stay with me!


    Jay! Stay...


    The voice echoed in his head. Jay couldn''t tell where it was coming from. Was it coming from outside his head or inside.


    No. Not that flashback again. He didn''t want to remember. He spent a long time burying that memory deep inside him, into the deepest parts of his brain, where it would never be unearthed again. He managed to distort the pain into smiles, hatred into compassion. He forced a sense of optimism onto himself and stuck to it so much that he could now act without consciously thinking.


    Jay could open his eyes by a millimeter now. He saw blurred motion. The ceiling was spinning around as people dashed into and out of the room like bullets.


    Like bullets.


    This was all too familiar. The noises. The gunshots. The overall tensing urgency and fear in the atmosphere that were grasping for victims and suffocating them within the walls of their mentality.


    "Agent A-Amelia. We need immediate extraction. Jay is down. I repeat. Jay - Jay is down. Damn it. Alexandra is also injured! God damn it! Can you hear me Amelia? We need help for Alexandra and Jay."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    That seemed to be Nicholas'' voice. Even his voice now sounded panicked. Jay couldn''t imagine what was going on. Actually he could. He could imagine it. Very, very well.


    We need immediate extraction. Jay is down. Can you hear me?


    Did it say Agent Amelia, or Agent Davenport.


    Agent Davenport. We need immediate extraction. I repeat, immediate extraction at the bar at Mort Street #202.


    Nicholas'' voice slowly warped to another voice in the background. This voice higher. The voice of a teenager.


    This is Oliver speaking. Jay is down.


    Oliver. Oliver Bird. The name rang a bell. Jay could mentally see a kid with blue eyes and short, sandy blond hair wearing a bright innocent smile. Jay could also vividly see the big bleeding gunshot wound on his chest. His smile immediately shrunk and disappeared. HIs eyes and nose were squeezed together in a blend of pain and terror as his mouth opened wide open to let out a scream.


    "Agent Amelia. Jay is down. Alexandra is also injured."


    Nicholas'' voice sounded a lot more frantic.


    Agent Davenport. Jay is down. Violet is also injured.


    Violet is also injured. She''s... She''s dying.


    That same girl materialized in front of Jay again. Long black hair. Olive eyes. She was now lying on the floor in front of Jay, breathing heavily as life slowly seeped out of her from the stab wound on her stomach. Jay recognized that kind of wound. That was... That was the type of most torturing wound aimed to bring the most pain to the victim before death. The person would not die of blood loss or heart stop. Instead, stomach acid would flow out of the punctured stomach and corrode away the other organs in the body until the system could no longer run. The victim would need to suffer fifteen most excruciating minutes in their life before they could be killed in a violent body shutdown.


    Jay looked around. A dagger was on the table by his side. Blood was seeping down from the twenty centimeter blade, dripping slowly, droplet by droplet, on to the tile, leaving crimson flowers to blossom outwards. Weren''t blooming flowers always a symbol of life?


    Violet! Who did this to you?


    Paralyzed on the floor, Jay could only speak out these words, hoping to catch Violet''s last response. Jay would impose vengeance on the murderer ¡ª tear him to shreds ¡ª if he was to live out of this.


    As soon as Jay tried to say the words, he realized he couldn''t speak. His mouth couldn''t move at all as it had been taped together. The air he inhaled escaped his lungs before it could strike a note in his vocal pharynx.


    Agent Davenport! Jay and Violet are... Ahh! O-Oliver down.


    Violet''s eyes were filled with sorrow and betrayal. She looked at Jay. Their eyes locked for a moment. Violet''s eyes immediately lit aflame with rage and stared dead into Jay''s soul, as if she could shoot jay with the sharp burning glare. Her eyes shifted towards the bloody dagger onto the table then back down to Jay. Her gaze was now cold and hard like a rock of ice ¡ª the killing look that a prosecutor would shoot towards the accused before the jury issued the final verdict, as if to break apart every single cover to drill down into the innermost darkness ¡ª only this time, the accused was Jay.


    "Jay! Are you with me, wake up!" This was Michael again.


    No, Michael. Leave me alone. I must explain to Violet. Jay begged in his mind. He didn''t want to be pulled back to reality, not at this moment. This was his only chance to tell Violet the truth, to clear him off the guilt.


    No Violet. It wasn''t me. I didn''t do this. It was ¡ª


    Once again, Jay was incapable of voicing out the words. He could only look back towards Violet, but Violet now turned her eyes away. She refused to take a single glance at Jay now. Her nose twitched a little bit to express her intense disgust as her eyes refused to even face the direction of Jay.


    Violet. Listen to me! I didn''t do this.


    No sound came out.


    Finally, Violet broke down in her final minutes. A small stream of tears fell down the side of her cheek. She closed her eyes, waiting for the denouement as her fast breathing slowed down more and more.


    Violet! No. Violet! Extraction will be here soon! Just stay there. Please, I beg you. Extraction is coming now. No! No! Stay with me!


    Jay gave up resisting. He stopped trying to speak or too stand up. When violet closed her eyes, did she understand? Did she cry still believing he betrayed her, or did she finally see that he was framed? It all didn''t matter now. She was dead.


    Jay felt himself lifted off the ground by two men.


    "Nicholas, hold on to Jay''s right while I got his left. We gotta get him out of here." That was Michael''s voice.


    "Alexandra, can you still walk?" This was Nicholas.


    "Yes. The wound was on my arm." Alexandra said while panting hardly.


    Jay gradually opened his eyes. This time, he was certain that he was seeing the reality. The conference auditorium was now a completely disaster. It looked like a series of bombing just happened. There were bodies on the ground ¡ª unionists, technologists, security, students, and other unidentifiable bodies. Windows were shattered. The floor was blasted apart. All the furnitures were splintered and severed and shredded into pieces by plasma bullets, demolition explosives, and other unknown weapons.


    "Jay''s awake!" Michael called out, "Thank god Jay''s awake!"


    Michael and Nicholas set Jay down slowly. Jay grabbed onto the chair to stabilize himself, and gradually he moved his limbs. Yes, he could move now.


    "As you can see here, we''ve got ourselves in a big mess."

 Chapter X

    When the flash from the suspect first struck Michael''s eyes, Michael fell back into his chair and covered his eyes in pain. Michael''s blindness and dizziness lasted for only half a minute due to his distance from the flash. Fortunately, he was able to regain his composure as soon as Nicholas and Alexandra pulled him up. Jay wasn''t so lucky.


    Only thirty seconds passed, but it was enough for people''s long-restrained resentment towards ArtTech hegemony to boil with their crippling fear of the impending mass poverty, eventually brewing a mixture of negativity fueled a chaos of barbarism that hadn''t been seen for decades.


    At first it seemed to be the unionists who stood up. For the first three seconds, they just stood there in silence and held their banners high, making a proud and silent protest over ArtTech''s new encroachment into another major field of employment. They understood that if ArtTech controlled the art and humanities field, then the remaining ten percent of population who were employed would also suffer greatly. In the end the only career field remaining would be of artificial intelligence construction, and it will definitely be dominated by ArtTech. The inequality would dramatically augment, and all the wealth would be siphoned by the top 0.1% of the population who had ties with ArtTech.


    The silence only lasted three seconds when people standing near that suspect unionist was also harmed by the flash that blinded Michael. Somebody let out a curse word. Then there were some more swearing. The curse words seemed to have ignited a ton of explosives in people''s raging chests, for they suddenly began roaring a derogatory rant. The hatred culminated in their voices as years of their suffering in poverty and dangers of society were instantaneously unleashed into the auditorium.


    Then the technologists decided to shout back. It was mostly the extreme left and right shouting, but their zealous belief had seemingly inspired the others around them. The technologists also shouted back degrading remarks, only without much swearing. The more educated technologists decided to use profanity as a marker of their social status, though Michael personally thought that calling the unionists thieves, murderers, and rapists weren''t a very educated and high-class response.


    Unfortunately there was reason behind that stereotype. Many people who were replaced out of the workforce were unable to find any jobs in the new humanities industries and artificial intelligence sector. The meager welfare symbolically provided by the government and ArtTech could solve only the tip of the gigantic iceberg of the poor people''s problems, and, just like an iceberg, the wealthy ones at the top of the hierarchy and unable and unwilling to see beyond the surface into the crises of deeper water.


    Compelled by the desperation to sustain their family''s survival, the poor people had realized that the law was no longer by their side ¡ª it couldn''t even ensure their basic survival. Consequently, many of them decided to give crimes a try. If successful, they could sustain the family for another few weeks, and if not, the worst case was a life sentence in the prison with two guaranteed meals a day. That had been the worst case possible until the technologists decided to arm themselves with more superior weapons and serve as the criminals'' own jury, judge, and executioner.


    The unionist creed of equality, rights, and welfare undoubtedly fascinated these criminals. Unionists didn''t decide to become criminals. Criminals decided to become unionists.


    Although there was an understandable reason behind the unionists'' crimes, the society didn''t deem it anyhow justifiable. The technologists ¡ª the wealthy and powerful ¡ª made up almost the entirety of the victimhood of unionists'' crimes. Therefore, in the auditorium right here right now, it had also been the technologist''s last straw. They stood up and rapidly fired back with a cascade of insults.


    At that moment, Johnson was standing on stage. Despite his experience with mobs, protests, and chaos, he had never expected nor foresaw an unrest of such magnitude developing right in the middle of an ArtTech facility. He could only follow the usual procedure ¡ª extending out his arms, saying politically correct things to comfort people, and telling the guards to be ready to suppress any violence.


    The artists in the middle all stood up and cussed at Johnson and pointed middle fingers at him. They gradually shifted their position towards the left side of the auditorium and joined the unionists. On the other hand, the tech students were standing with helplessness and bewilderment. Many of them looked around and didn''t know which side to join, but they knew that in a conflict like this, taking the neutral side would mean receiving blows from both sides. Therefore they still moved to the right to gang up with the technologists.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    All these happened in less than a minute.


    A radical unionist standing at the front of the crowd was so infuriated that, without any careful consideration of the consequences, he picked up an artist''s toolbox and hurled it at the general direction of the technologists. The toolbox travelled through the air over some technologist''s head and struck an old man at his shoulder blade. Just one second earlier, the old man was standing there in peace. He wasn''t shouting or waving furiously as he had neither the energy nor the political passion to do so, and he ¡ª perhaps the most innocent member among the technologists ¡ª was struck down with blood seeping down from a gash on the side of his face.


    The unionist who threw the toolbox just opened his eyes and mouth in pure shock and disbelief. He glanced down at his hands, trying to comprehend what he had just committed ¡ª deliberately injuring a sixty year old man. He just stood there with his mouth open and mouthing "I''m sorry" at broken intervals.


    The two mobs both froze there for a few seconds. Despite their insults towards each other, none of them had thought of physically hurting the other side ¡ª and even if they did, they wouldn''t have dared to.


    A young technologist about the same age as Michael hurried over to the fallen old man and checked his conditions. He gently ran a finger down the old man''s bloodied face to his neck. He rested his hand attentively on the pulse for a while, desperately hoping to pickup any slight vibration of life, but the toolbox had smashed in the poor man''s skull. The young technologist, presumably the victim''s son, looked up at a woman with a sparkle of tear in his eyes as he shook his head. The woman bursted into desperate tears as she laid by the side of the body and buried her head into the cold, unmoving chest.


    "Damn you unionist! You filthy murderer! You will pay for my father''s death. I''ll rip apart every piece of your skeleton and feed it to your cannibalistic brothers!" The young technologist''s shriek shattered the silence.


    He sprinted towards his father''s murderer while letting out a battle cry of rage combined with sorrow. With a bestial leap, he tackled the transfixed unionist down onto the ground like a panther striking down its prey. The unionist didn''t even resist; he was still mentally paralyzed over what he had done.


    The crowd didn''t respond either. They still found it unbelievable that an act of murder would occur right in front of their eyes right here ¡ª right at ArtTech''s prestigious conference room.


    The technologist rode on top of the unionist and punched blindly everywhere ¡ª his nose, his abdomen, and anywhere possible for a fist to land. The unionist seemed to have suddenly waken up and began resisting and blocking, but it was already too late; the technologist had already knocked out half of his life from him.


    As if suddenly remembering something, the technologist reached into his pocket and pulled out a pointy object. It was a pen, and he clicked something and a longer blade jumped out. It wasn''t weapons of any sorts; it was just an envelope knife. This was something that a sane person would never dare to do ¡ª any normal person with a sense of empathy and moral would never think about this ¡ª but that technologist had already been so brainwashed by adrenaline, rage, and bloodlust that he no longer cared about the moral bounds. He brought his hand down with the small envelope knife again and again.


    The blade was so small that it was incapable of creating any mortal wounds; it was classified as a safe tool rather than a weapon, but it wasn''t safe when it was stabbed down twenty times at the unionist''s body ¡ª the stomach, then the ribcage, then the lungs, then the liver... People used to compare cruelty to punishments in hell, but no hell could serve more inhumane verdicts than this. The unionist writhed in pain and let out cries one after another ¡ª weaker shouts every time, as if his breath had leaked out of all the punctures in his bodies. He must have been begging for an instant death. Blood was shooting out everywhere as the unionists gathered around began screaming as well.


    Many people had seen murders nowadays, but they were mostly quick and clean. One pull of the trigger, one plasma bullet into the heart, and a fallen body. Period. Many people were completely stupefied by this because they had never witnessed such sadism and savagery. When the crowd realized that they needed to react, it was already too late. The blade had cut away all the life from the unionist, yet he still didn''t die. The blade was already completely soaked in crimson, and every time it was lifted in the air, the momentum caused giant droplets of blood to splatter around. The blade seemed to already be blunted by the flesh and bones it sliced against. When the technologist was dragged off the body by the fellow unionists, the victim was nothing but a pile of breathing flesh and bones.


    Michael didn''t witness all these, for he was still blinded. When he opened his eyes, the guards were already firing warning blank shots into sky to control the crowd. At that moment, the technologist was dragged off the unionist''s body, but he was still slashing around with his knife. The other unionists had to subdue him. His wife rushed forward but was blocked by other unionists. Then one of them threw a punch, and more punches ensued. The left and right then charged at each other into a massive brawl in which everybody took out their deepest darkest hate upon their oppositions. Even the most civilized person was now engulfed by a sense of terror and fear that pushed him to his utmost violence. Education no longer seemed to be the solution, fists were.


    Until the guard''s blank shots reminded people that guns were a better solution than fists.

 Chapter XI

    The ArtTech security''s rifles got two settings: lethal and stun. There is a switch on the rifle that determines the amount of power used to ionize the plasma; consequently, the strength of the plasma differs.


    When the security guards and droids were firing blank shots into the air, the rifle was on stun. The rage of the plasma under this state was extremely short, and the damage was very low. However, most unionists did not know about these details. All they saw were advanced plasma rifles, and anybody with a bit of common sense knew that plasma rifle was one of the most dangerous SWAT-grade weapons.


    Michael couldn''t remember whom, but a person had decided to seize a rifle from the security. He took a musician''s flute as a weapon and charged towards a guard, attempting to smash him in the head with the flute like a metal pipe. The security guard, with his extensive trainings under ArtTech, easily dodged the pipe and shoved his rifle into the assailant''s chest to stun him at point blank. The assailant flew back for several meters with the force of impact.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, please freeze what you are doing now and calmly return to your seats, or force will be used!" Johnson was trying to take back control of the situation, but nobody bothered to stop and listen to him.


    The unionists pointed at that security guard and yelled, "They are shooting civilians! They are tyrannical capitalist henchmen!"


    More unionists charged at that security guard and were welcomed by returning fire form more guards and droids. Despite the overwhelming power of the rifles, the security was still highly outnumbered. The guards were soon overtaken by the flood of unionists, and many of them got tackled to the ground with their rifles seized away. The droids meanwhile were constantly moving among the mobs and stunning them, but soon enough, the mobs had realized that they didn''t need to be as kind to the droids as they were to fellow human beings. Many people took flutes, violins, guitars, and other kinds of heavy objects to smash the droids. Although they had a surface made of metal alloys, they still couldn''t stand such intense attack. Many of them began to glitch around, and the mobs then plucked out their wires.


    The people who managed to grab a rifle were now firing at droids at people alike. They fired in stun mode for a while, but soon realized they could switch to lethal mode. After a minute, the plasma had scarred the room completely that the floor was either burnt black with the electricity from the rifles or dyed red with people''s wounds.


    It was such a gruesome chaos ¡ª a mess of white plasma, silver glints of steel, and red flesh and blood ¡ª that one could only differentiate people based on their clothing. Those wearing the unionist armband and those who didn''t. Those who flashed their ArtTech badge and those who didn''t. Those who wore expensive suits and those who didn''t.


    Michael was frozen in place. He watched as a fuming technologist produced a hidden dagger and plunged it into the chest of a unionist. Not too far from them, a unionist fired at a helpless student who futilely tried to shield himself with his backpack. A thin blue white beam emitted from the muzzle of the rifle and pierced through both the bag and the student, leaving a big burned hole on the point of impact. That student fell down and died before he could scream. The next second, however, the back of the unionist''s head was bashed in by a guitar, and his rifle was taken away by another person.


    Three unionists noticed the unconscious body of Jay and the laser knife in his hand, and they assumed that Jay must be some wealthy man who was in possession of a powerful weapon and quite a lot of cash, because one of them immediately decided to kick the knife out of Jay''s hand towards his gangs, and then he picked up Jay''s arms and dragged him towards his gang. From the look on their faces, they probably wanted to strip Jay off any wealth, that was, his clothes and accessories.


    "Stay away from my friend," Alexandra walked over and yelled, and she punched the gang leader in his face. Both Michael and Nicholas were shocked by her courage, especially because that man was at least five inches taller.


    Michael rushed over and put his hand over Jay''s face, "Jay, stay with me! Listen. You need to get up!"


    The gang leader turned around and spitted some blood on the floor beside him. "Bitch, I''ll teach you how to talk to a man properly." He dropped Jay''s torso onto the floor and advanced towards Alexandra with the laser knife newly picked up, a distorted and ugly smile of greed on his face.


    Alexandra turned his face away in disgust. "I only keep my lady etiquette around gentlemen." Before she even finished speaking, she lashed out her foot up right at the man''s groin. He stepped back with his face twitching painfully as spasms of agony shot up his body.


    "Damn! You never told me Alexandra''s such a badass," Michael whispered to Nicholas.


    "Oh bitch, you''ll regret this." The gang leader seethed silently as he tried to step forward, "You will lose more than your dignity here. You will be begging me to stop."


    Michael and Nicholas were about to step up to help Alexandra but the two other gang members stepped up and confronted them. Both of the gangsters were taller and stronger than Michael and Nicholas.


    Nicholas gave Michael a look and glanced back at the two members. Michael faintly understood the meaning behind it. If Nicholas was to do what Michael thought he would do, then that would be extremely risky, and the price for failure could be fatal.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Hey man, I can see that you are a little bit concerned with something. You don''t seem to be really focused," Nicholas said to the gang member in front of him. That gangster hesitated for a moment and then hissed at Nicholas. His shoulder was turned, ready to deliver a punch at any time.


    "Was it your parents? Your wife? Your friend? Oh yes, it was your wife. How was she? Was she not acting like herself?"


    Michael added on to the dramatic effect of this, "Oh, and your friend right beside you. Look at the way he''s standing. He''s back seems a bit sore doesn''t it. Maybe he used it a bit too much last night? Wait your wife was cheating on you? Oh shit. That would be so coincidental."


    The two gangsters exchanged a fierce look of distrust at each other, as if they were trying to pry out each other''s brains for an explanation. It was only a second, but it was enough. Nicholas through out a quick and accurate punch at his man''s throat, and Michael grabbed his own man''s neck and kneed him in the solar plexus. The two man fell back a few steps and cried in pain, but soon enough they had regained their composure and fell back into the battle stance; only this time, their eyes were filled with the urge to kill.


    "Michael, pistol now!" Nicholas commanded.


    Michael slipped off the cufflinks from his left sleeve and followed Amelia''s instructions word for word ¡ª latch together the two long ends, spin them ninety degrees, and then rotate the disk shape two times. Well, he did that, and he was expecting something magical to happen. Maybe some transformers movie effects or something that would shape shift the cufflink into a gun, but nothing happened. This thing looked nothing like a plasma pistol.


    "Idiot, you done over there? I''ll hold them back." Nicholas yelled in his old scornful tone. It didn''t take a genius to figure that he was extremely anxious.


    Nicholas threw a punch at the leading gangster''s face, but this time he was ready and easily dodged it. A roundhouse kick was returned and struck Nicholas on the ribs. The second gangster then tried to punch Nicholas in face. Nicholas spun his torso and used his arms to block it, but he consequently lost his balance and was tackled to the floor.


    "Michael! Really need some help here!"


    Michael was still fumbling around the device. Now it just looked like a ring, but so what, how could he use it. He suddenly noticed a small row of text on the end of the device, at the place that somewhat resembled an emitter. There was a small row of text engraved, "Front towards enemy."


    Yeah, front towards enemy, like I didn''t know that. Then Michael suddenly had a whimsical idea. He flipped the center of the disc upwards and made it into a ring shape, and he slid it over his index finger. Now this device resembled a ring with a rectangular emitter pointing in the same direction as Michael''s finger, and there''s a small disc on top that acted as a crosshairs.


    "Stop right there!" Michael pointed the smaller-than-life "plasma pistol" at the man that pinned Nicholas down.


    That man lifted his head and hesitated there for a second. He looked more bewildered than scared. The other man was also staring at the device in Michael''s hand.


    Michael look down and realized something. Shit there wasn''t a trigger. How could anyone fire this thing?


    Michael turned and aimed at the other man. He didn''t even respond. He just stared.


    Oh god. What if this thing couldn''t work. Michael thought about this as his fist tightened up. Then suddenly, Michael''s hand was knocked back by the hard recoil as a thin plasma beam fired out of the emitter and struck the man on his arm. Immediately, the hole burned through and blood erupted from the wound, followed by a hoarse cry of pain.


    Michael turned around and aimed at the gangster who was attacking Nicholas, but he had scrambled onto his feet and dashed away in fear already.


    At this moment, the gang leader pinned Alexandra on the wall. His hand was holding the laser knife as he tried to stab it into Alexandra''s shoulder, but her hand grabbed onto his wrist and tried to push his hands away. But the man was too strong. His hand gradually pushed forward as the tip of the laser seared into Alexandra''s left upper arm.


    The gang leader''s lips curled upwards contemptuously as he tried to push the laser blade deeper into Alexandra''s arm, but he suddenly lost his balance as an excruciating pain attacked his left knee. He fell down and saw that his knee was completely devastated by a plasma.


    Nicholas ran over to check if Alexandra was okay ¡ª his usual arrogant slow walk was replaced by a hurried sprint. Alexandra repeatedly said she was fine, but Nicholas still tore down the right sleeve of his shirt and bandaged Alexandra''s wound.


    Then he punched a few buttons on his Bracelet, "Agent Amelia. Jay is down. Alexandra is also injured."


    After ensuring Alexandra''s condition, Michael rushed over to the unconscious Jay.


    "Jay! Are you with me, wake up!" No response from Jay.


    "Nicholas, hold on to Jay''s right while I got his left. We gotta get him out of here." Michael''s voice was filled with a stern, commanding tone.


    Nicholas didn''t protest and followed, "Alexandra, can you still walk?"


    "Yes. The wound was on my arm."


    The four of them were just trying to move to the corner of the auditorium to seek an exit when they realized that a ring of mixed people besieged them. All of them were looking hungrily towards the miniature plasma pistol on Michael''s finger and the laser knife in Alexandra''s hand.


    Jay stirred in Michael and Nicholas'' grip and opened his eyes slowly. Michael saw it and called out, "Jay''s awake! Thank god Jay''s awake!"


    Michael set Jay down slowly as Jay tried to stand and walk while using a chair as an aid.


    "As you can see here, we''ve got ourselves in a big mess." Michael said desperately to Jay and motioned around.


    More people encircled them. Most of them had some kind of wound on their body, and a lot of them had and burns over their limbs and faces. To make matters worse, they were armed with some simple but brutish weapons ¡ª pieces of wooden planks with sharp ends, makeshift knives made of paper cutters, and other gadgets like pepper sprays, blow torches, and tasers. Some of them wore looks of bloodlust while others had countenance of desperation to survive, but no matter what, it could be certain that they would tear down Michael''s team to reach their goal.


    Michael tried to run away, but before he could reach out one foot, all of the people jumped into combat stances. He suddenly realized that some of them were fighting to claim the weapons they were holding while others believed that Michael''s team was a threat to their lives and must be neutralized..


    Michael finally knew why people said that you should never play with god''s weapons when you were just a mortal

 Chapter XII

    "Jay, what do you suggest we do here?" Michael asked.


    Jay looked around. Everybody in the team was staring at him helplessly with desperate expectation, as if he was some kind of oracle that held the answers to life. "I... I don''t know."


    "Maybe it''s just the weapons that they want? If we hand them the weapon maybe they will let us walk out in peace."


    Michael''s words prompted a series of images in Jay''s head again ¡ª the events that happened before Jay and Violet got them into the fatal situation. "No!" Jay''s voice was a lot more stern and commanding this time, "Under no circumstances can we hand out our weapons! That is equivalent to suicide!"


    The crowd around them were advancing closer and closer. Then one woman shouted something and charged forward towards Michael. Michael stared right into her eyes, but he couldn''t find any signs of hatred or bloodlust. It was pure fear ¡ª fear that was driving her to charge forward and eliminate Michael, fear that clouded her judgement and made her believe Michael would murder her if she didn''t act, fear that made her seem so brave but when actually she was too scared to not leave Michael unharmed. It was the type of feeling a newly recruited soldier would get before charging into the frontline: one second of bravery on the surface instigated by the fact that she was too terrified to think.


    Michael at this moment too was too anxious and scared to process the situation in his head logically. He could only follow his primitive instincts of fight or freeze or flight, and seeing that the latter two options would not be of much effect, he raised his plasma ring and fired at the woman without any thoughts of aiming, just right at the center of the mass.


    Due to the severe shaking of Michael''s hand, the shot went wild and struck the charging woman at her stomach. Blood sprang out as the organ was punctured. The woman screamed and fell down, and blood kept pumping out. She tried to block the wound, but she had no more strength left in her body, and when she screamed for help, nobody stepped forward. The fear and hatred in people''s eyes just intensified.


    Michael was transfixed on the ground, the woman writhed in pain in front of him, and then her screams weakened and her movements slowed. The woman would suffer an inevitable, painful death, and Michael would be the cause of it. Was he becoming a murderer as well? He could have shot her legs or her arms, and it would be enough to neutralize her threat, but he had shot her right in the center of her body. Was that shot simply out of fear, or was he seeking vengeance against the mobs who caused all these chaos and put his security in crisis?


    That woman. She could have children. How would her children live the rest of their lives without their mother. Her mother was fighting only for survival; she was acting hotheadedly out of the love and care for her children ¡ª so that her children could still afford the next day''s breakfast and receive protection they deserved in this dangerous society.


    Killing a person didn''t seem as something so terrible until Michael had actually done it himself. He had seen countless footages and descriptions of homicides: on movies, on news, sometimes even in real life. Homicide has become something so common in today''s world that the death of an individual had become no more than a few words and numbers. It had become something mechanical, something apathetic, as if killing a fellow human being was the mere process of stopping the blood from flowing into the organs.


    But this time. This time it was different. Michael did it himself. He stared at the woman right in the eye. He fired the shot. He watched everything in slow motion ¡ª the plasma concentrating at the emitter, the widening of the woman''s eyes in fear, the thin yet lethal beam of plasma zooming right towards the woman''s abdomen, the scream that came out before the shot even hit. The millisecond that the woman''s eyes connected with Michael''s, Michael felt that he could read the woman''s entire life story from her eyes. He could see a small girl who dreamed to be a princess, a teenage girl who worked hard in school to achieve something in future, a hardworking employee who wanted to afford more than the next day''s meal with her earnings, a loving mother who suffered poverty but still felt great happiness with her family. Now all these shattered.


    "This wasn''t your fault. She charged at you first, and you were only acting out of self defense." Jay put a comforting hand on Michael''s shoulder.


    Michael appreciated how Jay was able to notice the weights in his heart, but for this time, Jay''s words weren''t enough to transform how Michael was thinking. Michael''s guilt grabbed and tore apart his conscience and rolled it on a floor with razor shards, letting it bleed out the tears and blood in front of the eye of Michael''s mind.


    "I hate to break this to you, but the moment we have decided to work for the government, we had become their SWAT team," Jay spoke with an unnatural calmness. "And the first principle a fighter must uphold is to never panic during a battle."


    **********


    Jay saw Michael blankly stare at the space in front of him. The crowd around was getting more and more aggressive. Many of them were shaking hardly as they saw their fate up ahead, but they knew that staying back would mean getting gruesomely slaughtered by others, so charging was the only option for survival, even if the chance was so slim.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was perfectly natural for someone to shut down out of shock after their first kill. Jay had experienced it too, thus he knew that it was extremely fatal for it to happen right now. In a barricade situation like this, losing one quarter of the manpower wasn''t the best move for survival.


    Jay had to take action now. With one swift motion, he slid the plasma ring off Michael''s numb hand and let it fall onto his left index finger; meanwhile his right hand reached into the pocket and produced the pack of modified cards and locked them onto a special slot on his belt. Then he aimed his ring at the leg of the frontmost charger and incapacitated him, and immediately ensuing that was a ninety degree turn and another man screamed with a razor-sharp card slicing through his quadriceps.


    Shoot and throw. Shoot and throw.


    Jay transformed into a war machine.


    People continued to charge at him, but the number thinned down as more got crippled and more got waken up with some sense and ran away in fear.


    Nicholas and Alexandra stared at him with confused shock. Oh yeah, that was right. His identity was supposed to be a street magician and con artist, not some kind of elite soldier. He didn''t intend to reveal his identity this early, but under this situation he had to.


    It was kind of nice to have a portion of his old life back ¡ª not the things that he didn''t want to remember about Violet, those things got emotions attached to them, and he couldn''t bear it in his heart, but this was something a lot more mechanical: muscle memory instead of actual memories. It was the same kind of inner pleasant feeling as a retired basketball player finally getting his hand on the ball again.


    Jay''s finger slowly caressed the smooth metallic face of the ring. It felt so familiar.


    Who are you? Agent Davenport''s roaring voice echoed in Jay''s mind again. Jay''s consciousness traveled back to the day of the recruitment trainings.


    "I am a soldier," Jay mouthed the words silently as he aimed another crippling shot at a charging target.


    What is your mission? This felt just like shooting the moving holographic targets back at the training camp. People always said that shooting a real person felt different, that it carried a ton of emotions, but in the end, under the massive impending threats, the emotions would shatter and all that was left was the mechanically trained action. Human beings and holograms, they made no difference, except the former would shoot you if you didn''t fire first.


    "Kill one to protect many. Sacrifice the smaller for the greater." In this situation, it seemed like the opposite ¡ª Jay was immobilizing a bunch of civilians, ruining his chance of escape, revealing his identity, and giving a lot more just to protect the lives of three individuals, but he knew that the lives of these three individuals mattered. They would be the clue towards the real cause behind the incident at the Mort Street bar that killed Violet. Everything just for Violet? Yes, and it would be worth it.


    There was something else as well. Guilt. Guilt towards Michael. Guilt towards Alexandra. Guilt towards Nicholas. The reason behind the guilt was so complex that Jay didn''t want to think about it for now. Avoiding reality wasn''t part of his persona, but sometimes he knew that taking a break from reality could help him stay sane. He would find a day to explain things to them, but not today.


    Right now, the only thing that mattered was making sure his three teammates could stay alive.


    Then among the mess of blood and bodies, a path was cleared out with the speed and neatness of an avalanche invading a pine tree forest. Standing in stark contrast to Jay''s ripped shirt slaves and tattered suit, the new group was armed with military order ¡ª black bulletproof and plasma-proof uniforms, multi-functional headgear, and giant ballistic shields. From the sound emitting from their rifles, Jay could easily tell that the fire power was set to the maximum charge, the combat mode that was designed to kill.


    It didn''t take long before the group killed their way to Jay. Jay instinctively fired a shot at the leading member, but he merely raised his shield and absorbed the shot.


    "In formation, extract the four VIP!" That was Marcus Johnson''s voice. Jay rubbed the sweat and dust off his face to take a closer look.


    Marcus Johnson the Hypersphere executives were standing in the middle, and the armed guards formed a phalanx of shields around them. Jay recognized some of them as the team of security that Hypersphere brought along, and some were the ArtTech guards standing next to the walls with the droids. What was this alliance?


    "We will explain when we get out. Right now we need your team to come along with us."


    Jay looked back towards his team, now already encompassed by the wall of guards. Michael was still standing there in daydreaming mode, though he began to move his feet towards Johnson already. Alexandra and Nicholas, on the other hands, were staring at Jay in absolute shock over what he had just done, but they nodded and followed.


    The phalanx was like an aid van at a war zone, a raft at a shipwreck. Some violent mobs still futilely tried to attack the group but were quickly gunned down. The others that ran over, however, were the helpless victims crouching on the floor or hiding under chairs, the one who prayed not to be involved in this chaos. They were running along, crying, shouting, begging to be taken along outside the room. Some were desperately crying about how they still have children at home that they must take care of, and some were holding out their wallets and piles of cash. They knew that the emergency exits of this auditorium didn''t open throughout this chaos for a reason ¡ª they didn''t know exactly why, but they were intelligent enough to figure out that Johnson didn''t want them out, maybe out of fear for media exposure or legal punishments ¡ª and they knew that once the important ones were escorted outside, the exits might never open.


    A raft that took too many survivors would sink. Jay knew that, Michael knew that, Johnson knew that. They couldn''t stop for a single second. The phalanx fought their way to the exit, and Johnson stepped over and used his own retina to unlock the door.


    Seeing the door opening, the mobs gushed over like a tsunami pushing through a bottleneck, but all of them got shot down by the guards. The instructions were clear ¡ª only the four VIP, nobody else was allowed to get out of the room.


    As the last of the group left the room, the titanium door closed and locked itself from the outside.

 Chapter XIII

    Marcus Johnson was a man with a complex character and controversial opinions.


    There were people who could spend days listing out all the positive things about him, and it was true that he did improve the lives of a lot of people ¡ª not just limited to those philanthropy funds with a multiple digit number that all celebrities nowadays would do. Johnson would expend great time and effort to cross the barriers of the more-than-ever polarized social hierarchy to truly listen to what the people needed, and he would find slots of free time to supervise the entire production and distribution process to fully ensure that the aids could actually reach the hands of those in need.


    With all the lives he had saved, there were people who went as far as idolizing him, viewing him as an angel sent from heaven above, and if it was necessary, it could be certain that there were people who would fight for him. The same kindheartedness was also reflected from his treatment towards his friends, and it was definite that his close friends would trust him one hundred percent and even give up their lives for him.


    On the other hand, some said that he was a hypocritical actor filled with greed and ambition. There were conspiracy theories accusing him of creating car accidents and burglaries to murder his business opponents and rivals, and when such ideas got published over the Internet, others all began their attempts of tying recent deaths with Johnson''s recent business activities. It might be that Johnson established too much of an influence among the government organs, or it could be that these theories were false in the first place, but Johnson was never officially convicted of any crimes.


    Right here, right now, in this auditorium of bloodbath, Johnson knew that people were seeing him as a monster.


    This project originated with a good intention ¡ª to expand the boundaries of technology, to provide artificial intelligence with the power of creating art. Not only would humanity''s creation be one more step towards perfection, but this could also bring humanity into computer programs, to allow both races to coexist. This whole project was an art in itself. The Sonata of Singularity was a perfect example of how machines could create beautiful things that humans would enjoy, but none of the people appreciated that when this exact same artwork was labeled as "made by AI".


    Johnson knew that they were anxious because the ten percent of the workforce ¡ª the artists, the entertainers, the poets ¡ª they would be replaced by the newly enhanced AI. In a society like this, anyone without a job would be walking in an invisible, moving casket, and that was the daily life of the ninety percent of the population. However, Johnson believed that he could identify the roots of this crisis better than others.


    The people were suffering poverty, but the society was wealthier than ever. Given the highly productive nature of machines and AIs, there was so much more produced than actually needed. Economists'' research had already demonstrated that there the food production was of 25 times the minimum requirement to feed the global population, and the GDP had been continuing to grow in increasing acceleration, but the empirical evidence on people''s daily lives had proven to be of stark contrast, as hunger and lack of shelter became a more and more common thing. Consequently, crime rate increased, trust deteriorated, and a negative spiral began.


    Before the AI revolution took place, the world played by the 80/20 rule, where 80% of the wealth was concentrated in the hands of 20% of the population. However, this had gradually polarized into a 90/10 ratio, and it was still radicalizing. The giant economic gap had been the cause of all the suffering in the lower section of the hierarchy, and the ones in charge had been hesitant to take action because the government and major corporations all belonged to the 10 percent.


    There was no way to revert this power flow anymore under the status quo, but that didn''t mean there would be no hope. This new project that ArtTech worked on, the revolutionary enhancement that would replace the ten remaining percent of the workforce, would push the power concentration even further, up to 95/5, 97/3, and then eventually all the power would be compressed at the hands of a few corporations such as ArtTech and Hypersphere such that the external victims would be of enough size and pressure to crack down the ceilings of the hierarchy and compel the power holders to release their wealth and power to the ninety-nine percent of society.


    The reason for poverty was inequality, but when the power kept flowing upwards, the exploiters would become the exploited, and when everyone became impoverished, the inequality would cease to exist. The remaining one percent of the power holders would not have the capacity to hold on to such magnitude of wealth and power; consequently, money and food would be distributed equally to each individual, and property ownership would be readjusted to accommodate the majority.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Moreover, the time of this power outflow would be happening at the exact same time of the Singularity, therefore people could immediately utilize their newly received resources to create literally infinite sets of possible renovations to life. All that could happen within a few years of endurance.


    Resistance would be temporary, but the legacies would last for eternity. Of course there would be sufferings at first, but it was for the greater good.


    Kill one to protect many. Sacrifice the smaller for the greater.


    However, Johnson didn''t expect the consequence to be so severe. Yes, he expected quarrels and protests, but he didn''t expect murders and bloodbaths.


    Johnson didn''t panic at all. He knew that it wasn''t the danger that would lead a soldier to death but panic and fear. They would make you illogical and stupid.


    When the crowds began throwing insults at each other, he followed the trained procedure, saying comforting words to calm people down, and usually it would work on well educated people, but this time people''s anger was too strong that the words seemed to only fuel the conflict.


    When the old man got killed by the toolbox, Johnson still didn''t panic. He knew that this would spark off a major conflict, but these people weren''t his primary concern. There were four individuals in the crowd possessing unusual talents, and Johnson needed them to help achieving his grand social reordering. Intelligence had said that these people were undercover government spies, but Johnson didn''t care. He needed to ensure these four individuals'' safety.


    At first he tried to call in the security guards inside the conference auditorium to directly rescue the four VIPs. Before he could speak into his Bracelet, however, all the security guards were overwhelmed by the charging crowd.


    Then somebody pointed a plasma rifle towards Johnson. Instinctively he kicked his briefcase towards the direction and knocked the gun off the assailant''s hand. No matter how well trained Johnson was, his mortal flesh was no match against plasma bullets. He ducked under the grand piano and used an emergency trapdoor to escape the auditorium.


    As soon as he was out of the auditorium, his chief security manager asked him if the auditorium exit should be opened so that the innocent ones could escape.


    Johnson directly refused. He was well aware of the potential consequences, and that was why he interfered all types of transmission signals the moment the argument broke out among parties. The media must not report this to the outside world. Likewise, nobody would be allowed to exit the room to spread the news outside.


    If a group of highly educated people would transform to such savage and murderous beasts after hearing the news, then how would the rest of the world respond. The world would be purged in fear, rage, distrust, and brutality. ArtTech would crumble down, and without ArtTech, the society would never have any hope for reform.


    It was to kill one to save many, to sacrifice the smaller for the greater.


    Then the chief security manager projected a holographic footage of the CCTV cameras inside the auditorium. The CEO of the Hypersphere executive board, Maxwell Rhodes, was speaking to the CCTV camera.


    "I know you can hear this, Mr. Johnson, and my executive board and I are very well aware of why you would not open the door. However, I''d like you to consider the consequences if the world heard about the whole executive board of Hypersphere perished in an ArtTech conference. Think about how the world would respond."


    Johnson knew that Rhodes was right. However, he had some other plans in mind.


    "How many elite security personnels do we have left?"


    "Five. Sir. More could be transported here but it would take approximately five minutes." The chief security manager saw what Johnson was planning to do. It was crazy, yes, but he would always be ready for it.


    Twenty seconds later, the side door of the conference room slid open. The Hypersphere people were about to rush out when Johnson''s men came in, "Before you leave. I would like you to cooperate with us in this rescue mission."


    Maxwell Rhodes nodded at his security. The ArtTech elite personnels threw the Hypersphere guards a few devices that resembled a much bigger and wider version of the Bracelets. After putting them on and pressing a few buttons, the Hypersphere guards watched the devices emitting nanometer-sized threads that covered their bodies and interweaved into a much stronger and more resilient material.


    The ArtTech and Hypersphere personnels looked at each other in the eyes with a sense of understanding. Then they formed into the deadly phalanx and battled their way towards the VIPs.


    The four government spies were surrounded by a group of aggressive crowds. One man looked as if he was mentally unconscious and physically paralyzed. If Johnson remembered correctly, then that man was Michael Livingstone. Then not far away from him were a man and a woman with an expression of pure shock on their faces. Nicholas Descartes and Alexandra Gauss. Then Johnson traced their vision towards the man they were looking at ¡ª the man in the middle fighting all the charging crowds with the set of elegant and deadly combat moves that Johnson himself recognized with a dreading familiarity. It couldn''t be... No, it wasn''t him. The profile said this man was called Jay Wilde.


    Johnson knew that there would be a load of things to explain to these four people, but he would do it the following days. After all, he needed them for the Singularity to take place.

 Chapter XIV

    Michael watched the physical world burning down with his mental world.


    No, he couldn¡¯t have killed a woman. That couldn¡¯t be true.


    He knew it was true. He watched her die. He watched her final stare of pain, shock, anger, and desperation.


    He literally could not move. Even standing upright made him sick to the very inside. He wished someone could just knock him out or give him a shot of sedative so that he could get distracted by a looming darkness. He needed a break from this.


    The soldiers of the phalanx were shooting people as if they were target boards. Did they ever think about what it meant to take a life? Or did they get too accustomed to it? How would they be able to sleep at night? Michael was certain that he would never get an ordinary night of sleep from this day on anymore. However, that discussion would be for later. Right now Michael had to concentrate on using his powers to help his team to get out of the sticky situation.


    The phalanx was escorting Michael¡¯s team through a maze of corridors, then a few elevator rooms, then another few corridors. Michael was mapping out the entire structure of this facility in his head.


    It wouldn¡¯t take a genius to figure out that the phalanx was leading them in circles and loops after they walked for ten minutes, but Michael¡¯s problem was that he still couldn¡¯t manage to properly model the structure. He was able to recall the details of the pathway they had taken, and meanwhile he was also creating a 3D blueprint of the building in his head through microscopically observing the details of each room. His spatial talent allowed him to remember the arrangements of the chairs and tables in each room, and this allowed him to differentiate almost identically structured chambers.


    However, when he tried to overlay his visualized pathway with the 3D model in his head, he found discrepancies that he never encountered before in his life time. There were multiple mismatches, and even after efforts of rescaling the two layers of construction, it was still clear that many segments of the alleged pathway extended greatly out of the physical boundaries of the building. This couldn¡¯t be possible unless they walked out of the windows.


    Or unless¡­ A revelation came upon Michael as he remembered the structure of the elevator rooms¡­


    ¡°Here is the destination for you four!¡±


    Johnson¡¯s voice severed the links of Michael¡¯s analyses. Johnson scanned his retina, and the door glided open. The guards escorted the Hypersphere executives through another exit while Johnson led Michael¡¯s team through the suite. Johnson toured them around the four chambers on each side of the suite before halting at the central common area.


    ¡°I understand that what happened at the auditorium was a traumatizing event, and ArtTech would take full responsibility for it. But your wellbeing could be fully guaranteed over here.¡± Johnson brought out his calming, trusting tone again.


    ¡°Take full responsibility? Bullshit! By trapping the rest of the people in the auditorium until they kill each other?¡± Alexandra suddenly exploded from her silence and shock. Nicholas¡¯ eyes turned towards Alexandra¡¯s direction as if he wanted to calm her down, but he soon revoked that decision upon seeing her enraged countenance.


    ¡°I agree with you, Miss Gauss, that this isn¡¯t the most optimal outcome, but I believe a mathematician of your status understands that this is the decision I must make to minimize the potential damage.¡±


    Alexandra opened her mouth and closed it, and after a while she opened her mouth again, but not a single sound came out. Then she stayed in silenced frustration and defeat.


    ¡°What do you want from us?¡± Jay asked the real question.


    ¡°Cooperation. I know the government sent you all here, and I¡¯m not against that. I can help the government with achieving their ultimate goals, and in the process I will need you guys to help me.¡±


    ¡°Hey! We are not the equivalent of the government here! Don¡¯t assume that we represent them,¡± Michael interjected.


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Livingstone, but don¡¯t you agree that the poverty and unemployment issues are harming everyone here, and it must be solved.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Michael¡¯s thoughts drifted off for a second. He never enjoyed poverty, not even since he was a kid, but he just lived with it. He lived with all byproducts like bullying and derogation when he was young, but he could still faintly remember that his life used to be different.


    When Michael was still a kid, his parents worked in offices, like hundreds of millions of other replaced workers. The artificial intelligence revolution began when Michael was born, and ever since, the efficiency of AI increased and their prices decreased. At that time, Michael¡¯s parents were extremely hardworking and outstanding, so the first wave didn¡¯t hit them. Their colleagues and friends, however, were not as lucky.


    Michael¡¯s parents always told Michael the importance of studying hard. When Michael was just born, his parents would play Mozart and Beethoven for him. He learned to read the alphabet before he learned to walk properly, and he learned simple arithmetic calculations with number cards before he could even hold a pen. It was Michael¡¯s astounding learning speed that made his parents aware of his talent, but it was Michael¡¯s experiences in the automobile shops that made his parents certain of his genius.


    Michael always liked to go to the gigantic collective 4S automobile shop. That whole place was a metropolis in itself ¡ª floors and floors of interlaying mazes of corridors decorated with vehicles of different brands. Michael always skipped excitedly towards the saleswoman standing at the front of the store. Michael always called her by Paula. At that time Michael was only eight, and Paula was twenty. They were both young to this new society and new technological revolution, oblivious of the impending catastrophe.


    Often times when Michael¡¯s parents went to work, they would drive Michael to the automobile shop and have him stay with Paula. Paula would then show him around the labyrinth of corridors with the help of a five-page map, and other times she would bring Michael to the observer¡¯s room, where he would watch all the corridors flying and dancing around and connecting themselves with each other like a magical castle right out of Harry Potter. He also idolized the Tesla model displayed at the lobby. He could stare at the car for an entire hour. The warm and bright orange often livened up the atmosphere of the greyscale normcore and minimalist construction.


    The shifting corridors and mobile stairway of the automobile shop. That was the key! It was a maze back then, and the concept was used in this maze right here!


    In the present reality, Alexandra took a step in front of Michael and protectively shielded him from Johnson as if Johnson was a lurking predator. ¡°Stop using your brainwashing words on Michael. How dare you mention about poverty? It was your corporation, your artificial intelligence, that caused the unemployment and poverty!¡±


    Oh, Alexandra was just like Paula. They resembled each other so much.


    ¡°ArtTech¡¯s fundamental goal is to reduce the inequality in the current economy, and as you work along with us, you will see more and more on how this could be realized with our current strategic approach.¡±


    The inequality in the current economy¡­ Inequality wasn¡¯t a current thing. When Michael was still at elementary school, his family was still not affected, yet, by the AI revolution. However, some of Michael¡¯s classmates weren¡¯t so fortunate. The notorious school bully Superman¡¯s family wasn¡¯t an exception from this. Whether it was out of jealousy of Michael¡¯s intelligence or of Michael¡¯s family¡¯s employment, or maybe out of pure envy that Michael could afford more expensive things than him, Superman decided to pick on Michael. He forced all his followers to call him by the superhero name Superman, and every act of bullying was to ¡°restore order¡± and ¡°establish justice¡±, so in this case he self-justified bullying Michael into Superman beating up a rich wanton and taking a stand for the oppressed and unemployed.


    This continued on for a few weeks, and Michael never dared to tell his parents. One day, Superman and his goons were chasing Michael past the automobile shop into an ally near by. Just when Michael was about to suffer another beating, Paula showed up with a walkie talkie.


    Stay away from Michael, or I will call the automobile shop security.


    Pauls took a step in front of Michael, just like Alexandra did, and shielded Michael behind her from Superman. Her usual friendly face was filled with determination and assertiveness. Superman was seething with rage, His eyes and mouth opened wide and stared at Paula, but Paula didn¡¯t flinch a bit.


    If you ever dare to bully him again, my security guards will find you.


    Superman and his goons ran off, and they never touched Michael again.


    Michael thought his life would be a little more peaceful.


    Back at the ArtTech suite, Nicholas threw a question at Johnson, ¡°Why does cooperation involve imprisoning us here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for security purposes.¡±


    ¡°Security? Do we look like we are capable of hurting other people?¡± Nicholas said coldly and Jay coughed.


    ¡°No. Security to protect you four.¡±


    Security for physical safety didn¡¯t matter as much as financial security in this world. Physical wounds would heal, but unemployment was permanent.


    Michael¡¯s family was shattered when both of his parents received the letter of layoff on the same day.


    Michael was only nine at that time. He didn¡¯t understand the argument his parents had in the bedroom. His mother cried about how the family must stay together no matter what, and his father shouted how they must prioritize Michael. Even now, Michael couldn¡¯t understand why his parents must separate, and he still felt the burden of guilt on his parents¡¯ divorce because of his father¡¯s words.


    When his parents walked out of the court, both of them were crying. They hugged each other so tightly like two lovers saying goodbye. His asked his dad why they had to divorce, and his dad responded with tears that it was for his own good and he would understand when he grew up. Michael never understood.


    When Michael¡¯s dad accompanied him to their new home, they walked past the automobile shop again. Paula was packing up a small box of her personal belongings, and her badge was gone. Michael could see that her eyes were red. Next to her, some workers were removing the orange Tesla model from the display stand.


    Michael moved in to a much smaller flat with his dad, and his dad never dated another woman.


    Back at school, Superman shot Michael disgusting looks again, telling him it was karma.


    Michael passed by the automobile shop again.The orange Tesla was gone from the stand, replaced by a suffocating grey model. The last tint of color was gone. It was a greyscale world.


    Paula was no longer there. A holographic machine now took her place.


    A manager saw Michael dressed in cheap, dirty clothes. The manager shooed Michael out of the store.


    Michael never returned to the store again.

 Chapter XV

    Andromeda was furiously typing into the holographic keyboard in front of her. She was surrounded by layers and layers of holographic images ¡ª computer codes, AI assistants, graphic interpreters, and other incomprehensible hacking tools ¡ª some of the displays were concentrated so closely together that a fiery white orb was formed from the overlaid images. However, this didn¡¯t matter to Andromeda, because she knew exactly what she was doing.


    Even with her expertise and experience of illegal digital assaults, Andromeda was still awed by the complexity of ArtTech¡¯s digital security. The attack would require so much flexibility, decision-making, and improvisation that an artificial intelligence hacking system would never be capable of handling. Despite how they flourished in the market and businesses, Ai systems after all were just machines, and they would never be able to handle complex human tasks like the ones Andromeda was performing right now. They were programmed by humans, and they would be enslaved by humans. Just like how the most brilliant CEO would still be under the control of the shareholders, AI systems would always be under human control.


    Andromeda glanced at a hologram on her left. Her two AI assistants were malfunctioning, and this wasn¡¯t the first time that it occurred. Every single AI system and digital weapon that was used to infiltrate the ArtTech system would eventually break down. At first, the hacker communities believed that it was just unforeseen bugs in their programs, but when the frequency of this increased, brilliant hackers like Andromeda realized that this wasn¡¯t just a coincidence.


    What a dirty move for ArtTech to do. As the biggest advocate for AirNet security, ArtTech ironically used viruses and worms as part of their own defense. These security viruses were disguised so well that no databases contained their records; even hackers¡¯ forums had no knowledge of such things. Only a well experienced and abnormally intelligent hacker like Andromeda could discover traces of such weaponry.


    Andromeda spent years trying to figure out a way to get past these security viruses, and her final conclusion was that it would be impossible. These viruses would forcibly download themselves to any foreign intruders, and they wouldn¡¯t aim for immediate destruction at first. They scanned all the code and transmitted the memories to their mainframe computer, under which a digital immune system would record all variations of the intruder¡¯s code. Then these information would be to for the periodical automated scans and defensive anti-virus programs.


    The viruses would embed themselves in the intruders¡¯ code and backtrace from the malware to its developer. Once reaching the developers, the viruses would immediately turn hostile and splice apart any code and interject incomprehensible strings, turning the source code files into complete trash.


    Combatting ArtTech security was something of a whole new level. Andromeda performed some impressive assaults on other facilities before, such as infiltrating the government intelligence agency to gain the exact coordinates of where they stored the revolutionary technology that was capable of activating the Singularity. She also got into a news agency network and wrote the report on an abandoned missile silo that contained ¡°crates of foreign currency¡±. She intentionally put in the coordinates of that location so that people would venture into that place, but she didn¡¯t expect anything productive done by the normal civilians. The purpose of the report was just to create some public interferences against the government, and this would be needed for the latter steps of the plan to work.


    The government files and news media network were nothing comparing to the ArtTech security. Through the years of experimentation, Andromeda understood that there was no way to defend against the security viruses of ArtTech, but there could be possible ways of sneaking past them.


    Andromeda keyed in a series of commands, and she got into the computer of an ArtTech employee. Andromeda selected that employee carefully ¡ª he was careless, fallible, and rebellious against the strict ArtTech security regulations. In fact, the problem was that he was too intelligent. He travelled between the realms of software engineers and hackers, believing that his talent would grant him impunity from all the illicit activities he was doing.


    However, going straight for his computer was too direct. She needed to infiltrate him as a person. Andromeda aimed for the weakest part of the man ¡ª in fact the weakest part of all human beings ¡ª desire and vanity. Andromeda staged a huge show. She intentionally walked into an alley  notorious of crime, and she knew that her target would be walking on the street nearby. She feigned to be an ignorant little girl and carried a valuable handbag without paying too much attention. Just like predicted, a man pulled out a pistol on her and demanded the bag. Andromeda shed some tears and handed him the bag. She angled it so perfectly that when her target arrived she was just in his line of sight.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    However, that criminal wasn¡¯t satisfied by the handbag alone. He stared at Andromeda¡¯s bare shoulders and tight tube top and desired for something more. A bestial smile emerged on his face as he drew in closer on Andromeda, forcing her to the wall of the alley.


    Andromeda looked panicked on the outside, though she had her calculations in mind perfectly already. She counted down in her head. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. And the criminal¡¯s eyes went blank as his bodied fell heavily on the ground. Behind the criminal was Andromeda¡¯s target with a lead pipe in his hand.


    This would have ended as a textbook example of justice if that ArtTech employee had just accepted her gratitude and left, but through a series of Andromeda¡¯s flirtatious expressions, the man decided to start a conversation with Andromeda. Andromeda intentionally let her tube top slid down a little bit before pulling it back up.


    The man introduced himself as George and asked for Andromeda¡¯s number. George told Andromeda a little bit about what she already knew about him. Then he offered to give her a ride home.


    George seemed to have completely fallen under Andromeda¡¯s enticing postures. Despite Andromeda¡¯s choice of sitting at the backseat, he was still frequently glancing back at Andromeda from the rearview mirror in his car. It was also part of Andromeda¡¯s plan, playing hard to get. She knew that this man would only vie for her if she presented herself as a difficult challenge.


    The rest of the events unfolded exactly according to Andromeda¡¯ mental script. The man asked if Andromeda had had dinner and mentioned casually that she could grab a drink at his house. Funny how this whole time the man thought that he was manipulating Andromeda. He probably thought that he had luckily ran into this situation and played the hero and saved the beauty and cleverly offered a gracious service and subtly influenced Andromeda step by step into staying over at his house.


    All that Andromeda needed to do was reach George¡¯s personal laptop, but she knew that it was inside his bedroom. She had to find a way to get into the bedroom without suffering her dignity. She could already sense George throwing her seductive glances and moving their conversation zone towards the bedroom. Under this situation, she had to do some more skilled acting.


    They began taking each other¡¯s clothes off as George pinned her to his bedroom wall and made out with her. George¡¯s attention was so focused on Andromeda¡¯s lips and body that he had neglected the fact that only one of Andromeda¡¯s hand was on his hips. Andromeda¡¯s other hand extended towards his laptop and attached a black minuscule sticker onto it. That sticker was custom made to have the same color and texture as George¡¯s computer, and it would be impossible to notice it without paying extremely detailed attention. Inside the sticker was a series of microscopic circuits that would grant Andromeda access into the host device.


    After attaching the sticker, Andromeda panted heavily and pushed George away from her a little bit. Since the job was done, she decided to not lose her dignity. She acted as a young girl who didn¡¯t understand her own emotions, and she apologized to George, saying that she wasn¡¯t ready and probably shouldn¡¯t get to that stage. She looked so guilty and self-pitying on the outside that it would be impossible to refuse her request. Despite the inner frustration and the ten seconds of hesitation, George still maintained his gentleman composure on the outside and respected Andromeda¡¯s decision. Andromeda pulled on her skinny ripped jeans and left George¡¯s house into her pre-arranged taxi.


    Looking back now, Andromeda was gracious of her decision. Although she could be extremely manipulative of others¡¯ emotions, there was still a secret part in her heart where she still believed in fairy tales and prince charming. This was irrational, but this was hope.


    A new prompt appeared on her screen, and she went back into the hacking process. She implanted her virus into George¡¯s computer and entered ArtTech¡¯s network as a friendly entity. However, George¡¯s access level was extremely limited, so Andromeda didn¡¯t have any chances to leave any malware inside the mainframe. However, the access level was enough to access the security footage.


    Andromeda quickly located what she sought for ¡ª the security footage of the auditorium room for ArtTech¡¯s conference. What happened was similar to what she predicted, but a lot more radical. She expected people to protest or shout in anger or maybe even brawl, but she didn¡¯t expect it to turn into a bloodbath. More interestingly, ArtTech dedicated a lot of resources into rescuing the four VIPs while locking the other people in.


    She quickly cut the footages and downloaded them onto her personal drive. She went through it once more. It shocked her how ArtTech would be ruthless enough to lock all these people in and have them murdering each other just to avoid the information going to the outer world. ArtTech would have achieved their goals, because except the four VIPs, all other members who attended the conference died from the violence.


    Shame that ArtTech¡¯s cruel plan of information restriction would fall apart because of her.


    A new prompt message appeared on her screen, ¡°Are you sure you want to publish the video files on AirNet?¡±


    Andromeda clicked yes.


    A minute later, the whole AirNet exploded with news reports on the ArtTech technology that would replace creative jobs and the bloody chaos in the ArtTech auditorium.

 Chapter XVI

    ¡°Look Jay, we need to find a way to leave here.¡±


    Ever since they had been brought into the ArtTech suite, the air had been tense among Michael and the three other members of the team.


    When facing the ArtTech employees and Marcus Johnson, the team seemed to stand firmly together, always upholding the same value and making the same criticisms. However, once the external threat is gone, the atmosphere reverted to a polite and distant feel that seemed overly odd for a group of people that had just walked along the edge of death together.


    Michael¡¯s main problem was dealing with his traumas of killing. He knew that a part of him was gone already. He could feel it. But from time to time, Jay would come often and often counsel to make Michael feel better, and surprisingly, Jay¡¯s words seemed to have a magically therapeutic power that managed to numb and distract Michael. Michael is slowly reverting to his normal self.


    ¡°Before that, why don¡¯t we have Mr. Wilde here explain who he truly is,¡± Alexandra interjected bitterly, asking the same question for the ten-thousandth time.


    ¡°What do you expect me to say?¡± Jay shook his head and motioned around. Jay had already hinted to them multiple times that he shouldn¡¯t speak about this in front of all those surveillance cameras and microphones. Michael believed that this is a legitimate reason for Jay not to expose his identity. Alexandra and Nicholas felt that Jay was just trying to evade the question.


    ¡°And Michael, back to your question,¡± Jay twisted the topic back again, ¡°I believe you are the only person who has the ability to lead us out of here. Could you still remember the path we took when they led us into this room.¡±


    Although it had been five days, Michael could still remember the path perfectly. Had it been any ordinary building, Michael could easily create a mental 3 dimensional projection of the building from the fire escape plan. He would backtrace the paths they took and the doorways they entered and construct a mental model of the paths. Then he would mentally put the two projections together and walk through the projected map again. That way, he could draw a simpler path and erase all the redundant circles and confusing loops that the ArtTech guides made them walk.


    However, this time it was extremely different. Michael could still easily recall how the guards led them in circles, but every time the circle seemed to be a little off from each other. Where a door used to be two minutes ago would turn into a solid wall the next time they walked over. Sometimes, they would hit the end of the building within a minute of walk, but other times, they would walk for three whole minutes in a straight line.


    Michael could ascertain that the building was just the shape of a mixture of cube and sphere. The fire escape plan projected on the entrance screen mapped out the general skeleton of this building as a cylinder. Even with all the stylish arcs and angles propping out of the cylindrical skeleton, the building should still have a general fixed radius, meaning that it was impossible to have such a huge difference in the diameter he walked, unless¡­


    ¡°I believe the structure of this building is constantly changing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry what?¡± Nicholas sneered, ¡°I¡¯m sure a man of your IQ would have noticed a constantly transforming building before walking inside. Or at least, I would have seen it.¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Nicholas, please. Let Michael finish the talking.¡± Alexandra was also getting impatient. The five days of imprisonment had planted seeds of anxiety inside everyone¡¯s brain. Furthermore, nobody knew what exactly was going on in the outside world. The last thing they saw was a group of highly educated intellectuals massacring each other.


    Michael himself was also highly irked by Nicholas¡¯ rude nature. Any tiniest trace of bonds he felt with Nicholas had now vanished.


    ¡°The elevator we took when we walked in! That was the perfect clue!¡±


    ¡°Michael, could you please walk us through step by step. We don¡¯t have your talent over space.¡± Jay¡¯s compliment soothed out the flames inside Michael¡¯s chest.


    ¡°The way they walked us here, the loops and circles, the path they took. Those were different every time. The circles aren¡¯t really circles but changing.¡± Michael became lost in his own thoughts again and drifted off in an incomprehensible speech.


    The three team members still looked confused.


    ¡°Do you mean that although they are leading us in circles, the paths we took each loop still varied?¡± Alexandra tried to interpret what Michael was saying.


    Michael took a deep breath and started rephrasing his speech, ¡°Yes. What I meant was that, although I knew we were walking the same paths every time, I could still feel that we weren¡¯t walking exactly on the same trail. Sometimes this difference is so big that it¡¯s physically impossible in a building with fixed layout. For example, we had walked in a straight line so long that we would have walked out the window long ago.¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting that the rooms and paths were shifting places as we were walking?¡± Jay asked.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Michael continued.


    Nicholas suddenly interrupted, ¡°So just like the elevator we took up here, which was in fact just a big room, are you saying all the rooms here can move like that?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Michael said. Occasionally he was glad that Nicholas could always quickly grab his point. They could have been good friends if Nicholas was twenty times milder with his personality. ¡°And you all saw what the ArtTech security did with the floor to that unionist with the knife. They somehow made it undulate like a wave under his feet. Then it wouldn¡¯t be hard for them to make the floor retract like a treadmill to provide the illusion that we are walking when we area actually staying on the same spot.¡±


    ¡°So does it mean you can¡¯t figure a path out?¡± Alexandra¡¯s anxiety was growing.


    ¡°I could try to recall for patterns to see if the building alters in a specific pattern¡± Michael mumbled lightly.


    The memory of the walk once again began to unfold inside Michael¡¯s brain. They started off from the auditorium, and Michael labeled it with a red dot right in the center of the vacuum of his thoughts. Then he set off the dimension of time, letting the time seeping through the vacuum like water through sieves. The dot began to move as the team had walked out of the auditorium. Ever corner, every stairway, every left and right and up and down had been represented in this glowing red line.


    All the time had passed through the vacuum, and a gigantic three dimensional structure had been created. Crimson lines intertwined with each other in a way that the individual strands were no longer distinguishable to the naked eye but only to the eye inside the mind. Michael began to backtrack through the time, trying to seek for significant repetitions in the way they walked. He could identify at least four major points where a significant amount of lines intersected at, but that wasn¡¯t any helpful.


    ¡°I believe we should find another way to get out,¡± Jay suddenly spoke.


    Michael didn¡¯t respond and continued searching through the intricate model inside his brain. There were at least fifteen patterns that were prominent throughout the paths.


    ¡°Michael!¡± Jay said. ¡°Even if you figured out, it¡¯s not like they will open up the front door for us. They have the surveillance cameras and microphones everywhere.¡±


    Michael gave up. It was too difficult.


    ¡°How about we try another idea? We use the fire alarm to get us out directly. A building as technologically advanced as this would definitely have an automatic fire escape protocol.¡±


    Michael thought about it. This sounds like a good idea, except¡­


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you just preach to us about all the surveillance cameras and microphones in this room? Whatever you just planned was now heard on the other side,¡± Alexandra spoke sarcastically.


    ¡°Yes, but one, the fire escape protocols would certainly be automatic; they couldn¡¯t do anything to prevent it. Two, they won¡¯t have enough time to react, because we are doing it now.¡±


    Jay opens the fridge and produced a bottle of high-proof whiskey. Michael glanced at the tiny number 110 printed on the side of the bottle. 110 proof ¡ª that is enough for ignition.


    Jay flipped a few switches on the electric stove. Despite all the previously set safety precautions, the stove still heated up. Jay soaked a few sheets of paper towel with the Whiskey and put them onto smooth scalding surface, and Michael could already foretell the alcohol getting evaporated by the heat.


    Then Jay took out his electric cigarette lighter and produced a small flame. He tossed the lighter onto the stove. The alcohol fumes around the paper towels contacted the flame and, in a flash, the whole stove was covered with bright fire.


    Immediately, the fire alarm system was triggered. The suite door opened. A set of green lights appeared on the floor and led to the emergency staircase. The team of four ventured into the outside world that they had long hoped to see and would soon regret seeing.

 Chapter XVII

    Michael¡¯s team ran alongside the green escape trails amidst the sea of red flashing lights and sirens.


    Whenever they ran out of a room, the heavy fire-proof curtains just dropped behind them, completely blockading the doorways as a mechanism to lock the fire within that room.


    Michael could feel the building reshaping itself this time. As soon as they ran out into the main corridor, he watched the floor he stood on fell. More precisely, it was the rooms behind them elevating. As soon as the artificial intelligence system detected that all people had cleared out of the room, the program commanded the locked down rooms to elevate to the top of the building. This way, the heat from the flames will not scorch through any other parts of the buildings, and the important steel structures in the body of the building will not be burnt through by the flame.


    Fortunately, or unfortunately for Michael, the fire that they created was too small to cause a total evacuation from the building. However, Michael could see that a few dozen other ArtTech personnels were running alongside them. They seemed too hurried to recognize who Michael was.


    The evacuation paths eventually led to the central social space of the building. It was a large room with some couches, tables, and holograms. There was a set of switches and controllers embedded within one wall.  As people rushed into the social space, the building¡¯s central system immediately sent commands to the controllers on the wall, and the controllers created a turbulence on the nanotech floor in this room to sweep all furnitures and devices to the sides of the room.


    The whole time that Michael was running through this building, he unconsciously felt the awe of ArtTech¡¯s technology. In his life, he had never seen anything so grand and so splendid before. From where Michael was from, perhaps the most advanced technology was just some holograms and augmented realities and the Hypertubes he took to work everyday. But this ArtTech smart building, it was something from a different universe.


    A huge PA broadcast voice boomed in the room. ¡°You are all secure here. Backup ventilation has been activated. The fire has been controlled in the first moment and never escaped the room. You all can return to your posts now.¡±


    ¡°Goddamnit,¡± Jay muttered under his breath.


    ¡°To your right,¡± Nicholas patted Jay¡¯s shoulder and eyed a guard a few meters away. The guard looked very weary. His steps drag with heavy bodyweight.


    ¡°Keep him distracted,¡± Jay motioned to the other three members of the team.


    Alexandra immediately understood Jay¡¯s plan. She walked over to the guard while making eye contact with him. Michael and Nicholas followed forth.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Hey Clark, how¡¯s it going?¡± Alexandra smiled at him. She gradually took her paces backwards, leading the guard near the center of the room. Alexandra purposefully chose a position so they were blocking the other employee¡¯s ways.


    ¡°Hello¡­ Do I know you? How do you know my name?¡± The guard¡¯s eyes became a little more alert, but soon he was distracted, trying to search his memory for Alexandra¡¯s face.


    Then at that moment, Jay blended in a group of employees. Jay¡¯s shoulder briefly collided against the guard¡¯s torso, but the guard didn¡¯t take notice among all the people.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Samantha!¡± Alexandra continued.


    The guard still looked confused, but Jay was already signaling to them. Job done. Jay got what he wanted.


    ¡°Ah I got to go now, see you Clark,¡± Alexandra hurried away with Michael and Nicholas.


    ¡°How did you know the guard¡¯s name?¡± Michale couldn¡¯t help with his curiosity.


    ¡°Badge,¡± Nicholas simply remarked.


    What Jay stole from the guard was a plasma pistol. All their other weapons, including Jay¡¯s playing hards, had been confiscated by ArtTech. The pistol was their only arm left.


    ¡°Are you sure the ArtTech building¡¯s windows could be broken so easily with a plasma pistol,¡± Alexandra questioned, and then she shifted back to her bitter tone. ¡°Oh but of course, maybe you might be one of their security guards undercover among us. You would know.¡±


    Jay ignored her comment. He walked over silently to the wall, and before any guard could comprehend what he was doing, he raised the pistol and fried the controlling system with the plasma. The lights and ventilation immediately died. The room was pitch dark. Michael could see some traces of moonlight seeping through the window panes.


    The big central system spoke again, ¡°Backup generator powering in thirty seconds.¡±


    Jay then fired a few shots at the corner of the window. Now that the power of the room had temporarily died, the different layers of shielding and vibration-absorber on the window was disabled. The windows shattered immediately under the powerful plasma.


    Jay was just about to climb out the window when Michael stopped him.


    ¡°Wait Jay, this way,¡± Michael whispered and pointed to the entrance of the air vents on the wall across the window. Jay understood. Jay trusted Michael¡¯s understanding of the structure of the building. Michael would choose the vent for two reasons. Firstly, it was a lot safer than recklessly jumping out of a window. Secondly, amidst all the chaos, everybody would think they escaped through the windows, and if they left through he vents, they could exit in a completely opposite direction.


    The team of four crawled through the air vents. Thanks to Michael¡¯s memory of the blueprints, they could find their way to the first floor, and thanks to the vandalism caused by Jay, the building had stopped altering its structure temporarily.


    Michael popped his head through the vents. The world outside seemed darker than usual. What happened to the bright streetlamp and commercial holograms? What happened to the roaring vehicles on the street? The world was deadly silent.


    Michael and the team walked out of the ArtTech building¡¯s perimeters. Jay made sure they were not followed. They could see some lights now, but it wasn¡¯t the usual blue and white. This lights came from a source of flicking orange. It was a fire.


    Then suddenly, a group of seven or eight stepped out of the buildings and alleys around Michael. Beams of flashlight shined right at Michael¡¯s face, and Michael could clearly see the shotguns and rifles in their hands.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Michael said in a shaky voice. Jay hushed him.


    ¡°You are within the boundaries of the Central Circle. You better drop your arms and walk back to where you come from.¡±


    ¡°Yes, certainly, as long as you don¡¯t pull the trigger,¡± Jay bent down his body slowly and lowered his pistol, ¡°But do you see where we came from? We were from the ArtTech facility. ArtTech never likes their employees being pointed with guns.¡±


    The mobs exchanged a few looks. Their leader breathed more and more heavily. Then he shouted, ¡°They are the bastards. They are the bastards from ArtTech who killed our brothers and sisters in that massacre.¡±


    Michael immediately knew what they were referring to. The massacre at the ArtTech press conference. Marcus Johnson intentionally locked everybody in the auditorium so nobody could know about this. How did the information get to the outside world.


    ¡°No no no. Please, let us explain. We are the victims of the massacre as well!¡± Michael knelt down and begged.


    ¡°Do you think we give a damn? Boy, this is a war. It is kill or being killed.¡± The leader spoke as he pointed the shotgun towards Michael¡¯s temple.

 Chapter XVIII

    ¡°A war?¡± Michael asked. He took a quick glance around. He was so distracted by the plan of escape that he failed to acknowledge the reason of darkness around him. A war broke out. The darkness was either from the destruction or the blackout.


    ¡°Look, we have information for you,¡± Jay advance forward a step and all the guns began pointing towards him, ¡°We were also harmed by ArtTech. We literally just escaped their facilities, and we can give you information about them. All you need to do is just lower the gun.¡±


    The leader of the mobs hesitated for a while. Michael could see the tip of the gun lowered by a few centimeters. However, he raised up the gun again. ¡°That is simply illogical. Why would anyone possibly want to leave an ArtTech facility in a moment like this.¡±


    Now Jay is confused as well, ¡°What do you mean? A massacre happened there a few days ago, and they imprisoned us. Of course we would want to leave.¡±


    It is perhaps Jay¡¯s genuine confusion that convinced the mob leader that Michael¡¯s group was not dangerous.


    ¡°Alright, follow me,¡± the mob leader motioned as the group began a hurried walk.


    The mob leader led the group into a dark building. When they pushed open the door, they realized that the inside of the building was brightly lit with artificial lights, though all the windows were covered with reflective materials. People hurried up and down.


    ¡°Alright, I will fill you in on what is going on. My name is Derek¡­¡±


    A loudspeaker¡¯s booming voice tore apart the conversation, ¡°Residents of the Central Circle, ArtTech is looking for four missing individuals, comprised of three males and one female. ArtTech will offer high rewards for those who could report the location of the missing individuals.¡±


    Michael took a glance out of the window. There is a line of tanks ¡ª at least five or six of them ¡ª traveling down the dark remains of the road. Beams of white searchlights pierced open the veil of unknown surrounding the Central Circle. Within the fifty meter radius of the tanks, everything was illuminated as if with sunlight.


    The tanks were a group of archangels descending down the depths of hell, Michael thought. The tank formation moved steadily towards them, using energy fields to levitate a few centimeters from the dirty, mundane ground with an air of superiority. Wherever they go, there was brightness.


    ¡°Quick, turn on thermal-insulation shields around this building, and send our best soldiers to hold the second perimeter. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Remember, they are ArtTech soldiers, we don¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    Michael still shivered at the memory of the ArtTech phalanx that broke into the massacre and rescued his group. They lethally gunned down the charging crowds with clinical precision, and they took Michael¡¯s group away without a single break in their formation. They were highly trained mercenaries and veterans.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The woman next to Derek the mob leader seemed to display similar concern as Michael. She flashed a look questioning if it is really worth their lives to guard some strangers.


    Derek ignored her and she carried out her orders.


    ¡°Right after the footages of the massacre were aired, I felt that something was off. Everybody began to have this hostile look in their eyes. Everybody realized why this massacre happened,¡± Derek whispered to the team.


    ¡°Did the police do anything?¡± Alexandra spoke for the first time since they exited the building. Michael could still see distrust and fear upon her face. She intentionally kept some distance from Jay. Jay could sense that too but did not respond.


    ¡°Oh, yes. They tried.¡± The door creaked opened.


    At the door Michael could see the silhouette of Marcus Johnson ¡ª the one and only CEO of ArtTech, the one who pulled the team out of the massacre but imprisoned them ¡ª standing alone with a casual posture.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± Derek raised up his shot gun.


    It was too late. Marcus Johnson dashed forward when Derek was just gripping onto the gun. He ducked from the muzzle and moved gracefully beneath the shotgun barrel. Using his shoulder as a fulcrum and a kick towards Derek¡¯s thigh, Marcus Johnson wrenched the gun from Derek. However, Johnson threw the gun at the floor.


    ¡°I came here to negotiate,¡± Marcus Johnson said.


    **********


    Five days ago, right before the massacre, Agent Amelia Adrianna was pacing anxiously in her office.


    She recruited the four young geniuses ¡ª three to be precise, because Jay is neither a genius nor ¡°recruited¡± the same way as others ¡ª and she felt responsibility towards them.


    The superiors designed this mission to just be a simple surveillance mission. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be dangerous. But the moment the team went into the ArtTech facility, Agent Amelia lost all visuals and communications with the team. There was some kind of signal blocking device that outdid the government¡¯s communication system.


    And now, the massacre in the auditorium. Agent Amelia watched it over and over, despite the traumas and horrors. She didn¡¯t know how to react.


    Now, the team will no longer trust her. They will think that Amelia set them up for some suicide mission. They will think that the government had manipulated them, just like how they forcibly abducted Michael or ransomed Alexandra¡¯s family.


    She would explain for them. She would be genuine and sincere to regain their trust, but her priority would be to find them.


    She watched the footage of the massacre over and over again. It was obvious that the footage was taken by ArtTech¡¯s own surveillance cameras in the room, but she couldn¡¯t figure why any ArtTech employee would have the intention to publish such footages. It must be some cyber criminal organizations that hacked into ArtTech¡¯s database, though Amelia couldn¡¯t think of any known hacker organizations who have the capability to brake into ArtTech¡¯s defense.


    The hour after the massacre footages were aired, riots broke out on the streets. It started from protests, which soon turned violent.


    When such a violent and inhumane footage was published, people would have a wide variety of responses. Most people turned towards panic and anxiety at the fear of further unemployment. Many also began to harass and attack ArtTech personnels for what their company allowed to happen in the auditorium. Many more subconsciously learned from the massacre and began to carry out vigilante justice and terrorism themselves.


    The same night was the Night of Seventy Riots. The police department of New York City ¡ª Agent Amelia and Michael¡¯s city ¡ª alone had received 70 reports of robbery, shootings, and terrorism.


    It began with a group of unemployed people setting fire to the cars of a few ArtTech employees. The ArtTech employees tried to run away were cornered by the crowds. They tried to defend themselves, and a crossfire happened. The police force was dispatched and managed to escort the ArtTech employees safely to the hospital.


    However, the police resources were soon drained. As soon as the SWAT team dealt with one riot, another five took place in different parts of the city.


    Fear would lead people to do irrational things. Here, the fear of getting completely replaced by Ai, the fear of being the next victim of a massacre, the fear of any and all uncertainties of the future all summed up.


    Fear let the civilians pick up arms against each other, and fear also led them to attack the SWAT force. The government¡¯s SWAT team never suffered such a cruel hit.


    The next morning, the global president declared martial law, which had never been declared since the Great Unification of nation states. However, a martial law is completely futile under this situation.


    The city was divided into different dominions. The city¡¯s living quarters were arranged according to wealth, and people of the same financial level and profession naturally lived closer to each other. The dominions were thus divided by geographic boundaries. Numerous pioneers had attempted, and failed at the cost of their lives, to cross from one dominion to another.


    The martial law could not defend a nation that would rip itself apart from the inside.

 Chapter XIX

    ¡°What do you want? You murderer!¡± Alexandra hissed. She had recovered gradually from the stun of the trauma, to a degree where she could begin to muster a tone of rage.


    Seeing that Michael was glaring at him with an aggressive caution, and seeing that Jay was facing him in a half combat stance, Marcus Johnson said, ¡°Look, if I wanted to imprison you guys, I could have just ordered the tanks to completely demolish this building and capture you four.¡±


    ¡°Why did you come here alone?¡± Derek questioned.


    ¡°To negotiate with you guys, like a peaceful man amidst the time of war.¡±


    ¡°You do realize that I am the leader here right? Whatever you want with the four people there, you go through me.¡±


    ¡°If you want to proclaim yourself as a hero here, I wouldn¡¯t object with that,¡± Johnson¡¯s voice carried a hint of satirical aloofness. ¡°But hear me out. These four people are extremely crucial to ArtTech, and perhaps, the future of the URP.¡±


    Michael gasped at the mention of URP. Derek and Jay completely froze at the word. Alexandra was unaware of the weight behind those three letters. Nicholas quickly picked up on people¡¯s reactions and heightened his vigilance.


    URP, the abbreviation of the United Republic of Peace, was the official name of the nation that Michael was living under. However, virtually no written record could be found on this term, except very brief and abstract definitions on encyclopedias. Michael wasn¡¯t an expert on history, but he had heard stories about the fateful things that happened with this republic.


    From what Michael knew, the two hundred nation states of the 2020s did not all choose to merge voluntarily. The United Republic of Peace was the catalyst, and sometimes the enforcer, of the merging process. From Jay and Derek¡¯s response, Michael realized that he didn¡¯t even know the full darkness of what the URP did to attain its goals.


    But in a world where literally everything else was free speech, the censorship of URP was quickly neglected and forgotten. Politicians beta to use words like ¡°we as a people¡± and ¡°global government¡± to replace any mentioning of the URP.


    ¡°Explain,¡± Jay spoke coldly.


    ¡°Wait, before that, explain to us why you left those people there to kill each other,¡± Alexandra interjected.


    ¡°You probably know the reason as well,¡± Johnson spoke calmly. ¡°It is not about protecting my corporation¡¯s reputation; it is that I am trying to exactly prevent this status quo rom happening.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps if you haven¡¯t let them all kill themselves, the people wouldn''t have been so angry.¡±


    ¡°And how would I be able to expect a hacker breaking into our camera database to publish the footage? In fact, ArtTech is devoting full resources to find the real identity of the hacker.¡± Johnson did not try to conceal his suspicion at Michael¡¯s team to be affiliated with the hacking.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Johnson then went on explaining the story from the ArtTech perspective. According to him, he figured that Michael¡¯s team was sent by the government when he saw the weapons they were carrying. He also realized that except for Jay, the other three had almost no combat experience. They must be special in their own ways, thus ArtTech decided to pull the four of them out.


    ¡°We were planning to just place you guys in the suite for a night and ask a few questions, but then the war broke out.¡±


    Michael had several doubts about Johnson¡¯s claim. If the war hadn¡¯t happened and if his team hadn¡¯t escaped, then Johnson would probably put them into an interrogation room.


    ¡°And what was ArtTech doing for the past few days?¡± Derek interrupted. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like they are helping with the peacekeeping.¡±


    ¡°You know very well that you can¡¯t solve this problem by force.¡±


    How ironic, Michael thought, that Johnson was now advocating for a peaceful solution, when he was the head of possibly the most elite soldiers in the world.


    ¡°So how do you think having us could help?¡± Jay asked.


    ¡°The government¡¯s intention, in fact, isn¡¯t so different from ArtTech¡¯s intentions. We all know that this day is going to come sooner or later. Everything had been brewing in this giant cauldron of URP, with the necessary ingredients of social inequality, fear and distrust, and the impending rumors of the Singularity, where once reached, all human beings will potentially be replaced by Artificial Intelligence¡±


    Michael exchanged eye contact with Nicholas, who nodded to approve the validity of Johnson¡¯s speech. The problem was that, whenever Johnson spoke, he always phrased everything in a matter-of-fact tone, and he used vague terms and general truths. Perhaps he was aware that Nicholas could read his expressions, or maybe he was just careful.


    ¡°About a week ago, ArtTech had found the same news report about the ¡®abandoned missile silo¡¯ with ¡®crates of foreign cash¡¯ and other crucial government inofrmation, and we have the same reaction as any other rational person ¡ª this report is absurd.¡±


    Johnson used his bracelet to project the news report into a hologram.


    ¡°An abandoned missile silo base was found at the countryside (detailed coordinates pasted on the map below). The flags and badges in the silo vaguely indicated that this silo once belonged to the United States Marine Corps, a division of combat when military and individual nations still existed.


    ¡°¡®I found it when I was hiking and got lost near the cliffs. I didn¡¯t venture too far in, but I saw a lot of antique guns and ancient technology¡¯ reported Mr. Bridges, the owner of the house and a current full time digital painter. What he didn¡¯t mention but we saw were crates of foreign currency in forms of cash that were possibly seized from illegal parties, old redacted files with information regarding governmental cooperation with major corporations, and ancient-looking thumb drives and hard disks. Investigation of this location is absolutely necessary, and citizen journalism is highly encouraged.¡±


    Michael immediately remembered it. This was the same news article he was reading when he was walking home that day, and then he bumped into the painter who almost shot him, and then he stumbled into a building where he was taken by Agent Amelia¡¯s SWAT team, and then everything else happened. This news report broke the pattern of Michael¡¯s daily routine. It was the spark for everything.


    ¡°In an age where fake news and fraudulent activities are prevalent, this news report just seems like some cheap, mindless prank. Everything in this report is vague and unrealistic, except for the out-of-place map coordinates given.


    ¡°For common laymen, this article would seem like a stupid prank only to be disregarded. However, anybody with a high degree of observance, like you, Mr. Livingstone, would notice that this article seemed to be a mere cover for something more important present at the coordinate. This article is like¡­ an invitation.¡±


    Michael¡¯s own thoughts were interrupted at Johnson¡¯s mention of his name. Why was Johnson specifically calling out his name? Did he know about Michael¡¯s spatial talent? Did he know that Michael¡¯s life had completely changed the moment he began reading this article?


    Moreover, Mr. Michael Livingstone no longer existed, thanks to the superiors of Agent Amelia. The government had already announced the death of this identity. Michael was now more of a non-person at the government¡¯s free disposal. However, Derek seemed not to notice anything wrong with the name. There were too many deaths nowadays for anybody to keep track of the names, and after all, who still bothered to care about the victim¡¯s identities?


    ¡°However, this seems like a bigger plot. The creator of that article wants people to gather at that coordinate, and she doesn¡¯t want any random person, but intellectuals who are able to deduce the oddity of this article.¡±


    ¡°How can you be certain it is a she?¡± Nicholas picked up the tiniest detail and spoke for the first time since Johnson walked into the room.


    ¡°We traced the publisher of the article and realized that the profile and the article itself were protected by a high-level encryption, meaning that we could neither read the detail information nor do any changes onto the news article. We couldn¡¯t even delete it. We only found one pseudonym among the encryption, written there explicitly as if wishing to be found.


    ¡°The thing is, we found the same pseudonym in a file in our system after our camera footages were hacked and leaked. All we got is ¡®Andromeda¡¯¡±.

 Chapter XX

    The fact that the publisher and the perpetrator of the two events shared the same identity became another obstacle of deduction.


    Alexandra called Andromeda a terrorist. Michael couldn¡¯t disagree more. Perhaps ArtTech could have succeeded in containing the riot if it wasn¡¯t for Andromeda. Andromeda did instill fear, but unlike other terrorists, she didn¡¯t announce her names to the public. Her signatures were placed in the files accessible only by the infiltrated organizations themselves.


    Perhaps she was more of a criminal. However, she would have nothing to gain from creating such chaos in the city.


    Maybe she was more of a genius lunatic, who wished to create a paradigm shift. Michael could not see how this divided world would be any better.


    ¡°And perhaps, Mr. Derek Ortiz over here is wondering why I have revealed so much information right in front of him,¡± Johnson spoke as he reached into his pocket.


    Derek¡¯s face went through multiple expressions within half a second. First it was a look of surprise at how Marcus Johnson knew his name. Then it was fear, when he thought that Johnson was reaching for a pistol to silence him permanently. Finally it was relief, when he realized that Johnson was merely taking out a small hologram projector.


    What Johnson took out was a small circular device with half the radius of a CD disc. When he slid the device to the center of the table, a full hologram was projected. It was a map of a small island.


    ¡°This is the real-time surveillance projection of the so called ¡®abandoned missile silo¡¯. I don¡¯t know how much the government had told you about this, but I will give you some basic information.¡±


    Michael was surprised by Johnson¡¯s sincerity and willingness to share his information. Johnson probably needed the team¡¯s help desperately. Or Johnson could also feed them lies. Michael made a brief eye contact with Nicholas, who then proceeded to inspect Johnson¡¯s expressions with more careful attention.


    ¡°If you guys don¡¯t mind, would you please excuse Derek and I for a moment.¡±


    Johnson brought Derek to a corner and typed a few lines on his Bracelet. Whatever he wrote to Derek, it seemed to have a magical effect. Derek returned to the group with simultaneous fear and awe. The hostility was gone from his eyes, replaced by respect and compliance.


    ¡°Mr. Wilde,¡± Johnson was now pointing at Jay, ¡°I am about to explain a crucial part of our plan, so would you mind telling your government rescue team to halt there for a while.¡±


    Michael was shocked. He was so consumed by the recent issues of escape and capture that he almost forgot his original objective. It was the government SWAT team who sent them here, and the government who was supposed to come to their extraction. Michael would admit this flaw of his: the obsession with small issues that blinded him from seeing the bigger picture.


    Out of everybody in the team, Jay was the only one who thought of contacting the government, as reflected by the same astonishment on Alexandra and Nicholas¡¯ faces. Would this flaw be one commonly shared by the team?


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    On the other hand, Derek looked more scared. He already got the ArtTech tanks on his plate, and he couldn¡¯t stand another equally elite force trampling upon his territory. If any kind of war broke out between any parties on this land, Derek could not even guarantee his own safety.


    Jay¡¯s face flashed a look of a child whose prank had been exposed. He didn¡¯t expect Marcus Johnson to find out. However, he also complied, just like how Derek had earlier. He whispered into his bracelet.


    Johnson seemed to understand an art of hypnosis that could always get people to listen to him.


    ¡°What we have on this island, or the so called silo, is a piece of un-released technology that could create the Singularity.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the government told us that already,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°Wait, so that piece of digital weapon, did ArtTech make it for the government?¡± Alexandra spoke, ¡°I knew it. The conspiracy about ArtTech making weapons for the government. It¡¯s all true.¡±


    ¡°Did the government tell you that it¡¯s a piece of weapon, Miss Gauss?¡± Johnson remarked. ¡°It can be one, figuratively, if you define weapon as any device that creates damage and do harm. However, a thunderstorm can also create damage and do harm, and is that a weapon? What we have there is a technology, a neutral item that can both be benign and harmful depending on when, where, and how you use it.¡±


    Loud sirens echoed around the Central Circle. Outside the window, the ArtTech tanks arranged in a crescent formation in front of Michael¡¯s current building. Across them were over a dozen armored SWAT vans. The SWAT droids and soldiers formed in a battle formation on the ground. They held an array of weapons, from light machine guns to heavy ground-to-air missiles.


    At a chaotic period like this, when police peacekeeping was desperately needed, Agent Amanda still spent so much resources on this mission. Michael felt a little scared at his potential value to both the government and ArtTech. He couldn¡¯t understand why his ¡°useless¡± talent could be of such importance.


    Then Agent Amelia walked out of the SWAT formation in a full battle suit. Unlike the thin and flexible nanotech suits that ArtTech soldiers wear, Agent Amelia was armed a lot more heavily. There were night vision eyepieces and backup gas masks on the helmet, and the body armor was made of heavy titanium powered by motion-synchronizing thrusters.


    This wasn¡¯t some simple SWAT armament, this resembled that of an infantry.


    Agent Amelia also seemed like she understood telepathy and walked directly towards Michael¡¯s building. She stared deadly into the central tank of the ArtTech formation. Marcus Johnson whispered something into the air, and the ArtTech tanks opened a gap.


    With a single power-enhanced jump, Agent Amelia reached the balcony of Michael¡¯s room. She held out her arm, and a device extended from the titanium armor on her arm. She held it in front of the locked window, and after a brief second, the lock cracked open and Amelia entered.


    ¡°Long time no see Amelia, I didn¡¯t quite expect them to send you,¡± Marcus Johnson greeted her with a warm smile. Michael was surprised by the first name referral.


    ¡°Yes, Marcus. My superior is quite occupied right now. He sure would be glad to see our four VIPs though.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see you have come fully prepared. Yet your fashion always remains a little behind.¡± Michael believed that Johnson was referring to Amelia¡¯s suit.


    ¡°Perhaps ArtTech could offer me some more modern fashion advices after I complete my own mission.¡±


    Johnson waved his hand a little bit, motioning for Agent Amelia to look at the hologram.


    ¡°I believe this is gonna be the next step of your plan as well?¡± Johnson spoke with a teasing tone. ¡°Coincidentally, I am going there as well. After all this is our joint facility.¡±


    Amelia froze for a second and she suddenly noticed Derek¡¯s presence. She raised her hand and immediately the titanium suit extended two pistols above and below her palm.


    ¡°Who is he? He is not authorized to this level of conversation.¡±


    Marcus Johnson stepped forward and shielded Derek, ¡°Don¡¯t worry Amelia, he is my friend Derek Ortiz, the leader of the Central Circle dominion. Derek, this is Amelia.¡±


    Johnson¡¯s friendliness towards Derek seemed too quickly formed to be genuine. But whatever intention lied behind Johnson¡¯s smile, it wouldn¡¯t matter much for Derek. At least he didn¡¯t get killed.


    ¡°Look, we can talk on our ride there.¡±


    Amelia hesitated at Johnson¡¯s offer for going there by the same aircraft. She was even uncertain at whether she should bail her mission. However, Johnson would undoubtedly offer a shortcut to her final goal, and besides, her boss would be too busy right now to scrutinize over her every action. But then, there was the security issue¡­


    ¡°Come on Amelia, we¡¯ve cooperated for so long, and you are still worried? I also have a reputation to protect.¡±


    Amelia considered for a moment and agreed. She told the SWAT team to stand off.


    Johnson pressed a button on his Bracelet. Outside the window, a personnel transport aircraft materialized. Along the surface of the aircraft was a layer of nanotech paint that provided a visual cloak. Around the spherical cockpit was four large circular rings. When taken a closer look, one could see that they were actually powerful motors emitting powerful currents of air in the middle. Each of these motor rings was placed in a spherical skeleton, inside which they could rotate freely to face all angles.


    Everybody except for Derek boarded the aircraft. It seemed that Johnson placed Derek there for another purpose.


    What they didn¡¯t anticipate was that when six of New York City¡¯s brightest minds had flown away, the city was susceptible to all the possible chaos, just like what Andromeda had planned.