Six months later, the pieces finally began to fit together.
I'll be exactly sixteen tomorrow... again.
Technically, it's the second time I've hit this milestone, but in this world? It's the first. And tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow's important—more than I care to admit.
But not for the reasons most people think.
I'm not talking about birthday cake or fake pleasantries. Not about some half-hearted "Happy Birthday" from people who wouldn't notice if I disappeared.
No, tomorrow's the Talent Awakening—the day GAIA, our all-seeing guide, "unlocks our true potential."
That's how the billboards phrase it, anyway. Kids at school won't shut up about it, giddy over which talents they might receive, like they're opening mystery loot boxes. It's exciting. It's perfect. It's everything we could ever want.
Except it isn't.
They like to tell us we have a choice. That we carve our own paths, shape our own futures. But I know that's a load of crap. We're just cogs. Parts in a machine, ticking to the rhythm of an algorithm that's already decided our fates before we take our first breath.
********
A Class in Session...
"Noah, please present your solution," the holographic tutor's voice chimed, smooth and emotionless. The android hovered at the front of the room, its translucent form shimmering with faint blue light. "The task requires the most efficient method to distribute energy resources across three Sector districts based on their consumption rates."
I rose slowly from my seat, already regretting this. Beside me, a classmate shot me a smirk. "Ooh, the class genius," he whispered, leaning in just enough for me to hear. "Better not get fancy with the tutor. You know how that ends."
"Thanks for the reminder," I muttered back, dragging myself to the display terminal.
The screen in front of me blinked to life, showing a neat table of numbers and projections—all pre-calculated by GAIA. The "correct" answer was already highlighted in glowing green text, but I ignored it. Instead, I gestured at the screen, pulling up the scenario parameters.
"Alright," I began, clearing my throat. "Instead of redistributing resources evenly, what if we prioritize District 2, since their infrastructure is already optimized? Districts 1 and 3 could temporarily share—"
"Incorrect," the tutor cut in, its tone sharpening. "The proposed solution deviates from the established efficiency model."
I held up a hand. "Wait, hear me out. By prioritizing District 2, we're reducing overall waste because—"
"Deviations from GAIA's data set are not permitted," it interrupted again. "Efficiency is maximized through equal distribution. Any deviation introduces unnecessary variables."
The class fell silent, all eyes on me. I could feel the tension, the unspoken rule I was breaking. Nobody argued with the tutor. Nobody questioned GAIA.
"But… what about long-term gains?" I pressed, my voice rising slightly. "If we focus on optimizing one district now, we could—"
"Warning," the tutor said, its voice cutting through like a blade. "Continued deviation will result in performance penalties."
Beside me, Graham hissed under his breath. "Dude, just give the right answer."
I clenched my fists, staring at the glowing green text on the screen. "Fine," I said finally, my voice flat. "Equal distribution it is."
The tutor's tone immediately softened. "Correct. Efficiency achieved."
The room exhaled collectively, the tension breaking as I slumped back to my seat. Graham leaned over, his grin more cautious this time.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
"It's just a question," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the desk. "Doesn't mean I agree with the answer."
He shook his head, chuckling softly. "You're gonna get yourself reset if you keep this up."
********
Reset? Right... I'm not looking forward to that if I miss out on tomorrow.
Cause tomorrow's the day I find out exactly where I stand in that machine.
I glance at the tablet on my desk, its holographic interface lighting up the room with its sterile blue glow. GAIA's platform is slick, efficient, and—most frustrating of all—predictive. It knows what I'll do before I even do it.
Another notification pops up:
REMINDER: Talent Awakening. Report tomorrow at 0900 hours.
I swipe it away with a flick of my wrist. Seventh reminder today. Guess GAIA really doesn't trust people to show up, huh?
Skipping this isn't an option. Failing to show up isn't just "missing the appointment." It's erasure. They call it a "reset." No one's ever actually come back from it, so no one really knows what it means. But I'd prefer to never find out.
I lean back in my chair, fingers brushing through the short pink hair I've kept since the day I woke up here. The room's quiet—aside from the distant hum of the city, its neon lights flashing against the skyline. GAIA's towers. Monuments to their so-called "utopia."
But I see the cracks. I know what's lurking beneath the surface of this gilded cage.
Because before I was Noah Adler… I was someone else.
A hacker. A damn good one.
And if there's one thing I know, it's that every system—no matter how tight—has a vulnerability. Even GAIA.
********
Dinner Time...
The smell of cheap pasta lingers in the air as I sit across from Damian, my older brother. He's buried in mission reports on his tablet, kicking back with his boots off. His face is tired—life's worn him down, but he still cracks that half-assed smirk when he sees me.
"So, tomorrow's the big day," he mutters, twirling his fork.
"Yeah." I shove a forkful of pasta into my mouth. "Not that it really matters. GAIA already has everything mapped out."
Damian leans back, stretching his arms. "You're overthinking it, Noah. GAIA's never wrong."
"Yeah, sure," I mutter, twirling my fork. "That's what they all say."
"Because it's true," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Look at me—I got Tactical Augment. Perfect for my role. You'll get something just as fitting. Just trust GAIA."
Trust GAIA. The phrase everyone repeats, like breathing. I bite back a response. No point arguing with a wall.
My little sister, Brixley, bursts into the kitchen, practically bouncing off the walls. "Noah, what if you get something awesome? Like teleportation! Or… dragon summoning!"
I can't help but laugh, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, Brix. Maybe I'll wake up with a dragon sidekick. But, knowing my luck, I'll probably end up with 'Data Entry Specialist.'"
Damian snorts, rolling his eyes. "Well, whatever it is, we'll still celebrate. Even if it's 'Professional Stapler Operator.'"
I chuckle, shaking my head. For a moment, the tension fades, and the weight of tomorrow's looming decisions feels a little lighter. But deep down, I know it's just a temporary distraction.
********
Midnight...
A digital ping breaks through the quiet. Another system notification.
Groggy, I glance at my HUD, half-expecting another meaningless birthday greeting.
"Happy Birthday, Noah Adler."
I snort. "Thanks, Big Brother GAIA."
More notifications flood in—generic greetings, automated well-wishes from people I couldn't care less about. I ignore them all. But then, one catches my eye:
[Codebreaker]
My heart skips. A cold prickle climbs my spine. What the hell is this?
I reach for the notification—
[Incoming System Override.]
Static erupts in my skull. A thousand needles stab through my brain, white-hot and electric. My vision fractures, the room around me ripping at the seams like corrupted code struggling to recompile.
I hear GAIA's voice—except it's wrong. Stretched. Dissonant.
SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.
SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.
SYSTEM ERROR—
This isn't how it's supposed to go. GAIA doesn't make mistakes. GAIA doesn't glitch. GAIA is perfect. Everyone says so.
Yet when I reach for the notification—
ERROR. UNDEFINED. ATTEMPTING SYSTEM RECALIBRATION.
A thousand needles stab through my brain, white-hot and electric. My vision fractures, reality tearing apart like corrupted code. My hands claw at the air, but I can't move. Can't breathe.
The world collapses inward—
And then, silence.
A cold mechanical voice pulses through my ears.
[CODEBREAKER SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
[SYSTEM REBOOTING.]
A new interface emerges. Black. Green. Raw code bleeding across the screen. The font is crude—like something from an old-school analog terminal. The text scrolls across the screen in a maddening jumble of ones and zeroes, unreadable.
Then, just as fast as it appeared, the chaos starts to make sense. The text sharpens. The interface solidifies. A title slides smoothly into place: Codebreaker.
The sterile GAIA interface?
Gone. Replaced with something sleek, dark, and far too real.
What the hell just happened?
I swipe at the air, desperate to return to GAIA. But nothing. My fingers cut through the air again, faster this time, but the screen stays frozen on Codebreaker.
This… This isn't GAIA.