_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">Year 60 since Landfall

  The VitaCorp Grand Pza gleamed in the morning sunlight, its polished surfaces reflecting the carefully cultivated trees that lined its perimeter. Giant screens mounted on surrounding buildings dispyed the Corporate Council's emblem—a stylized pnetary ring surrounded by the seven corporate logos, symbolizing their encompassing control of Terminus.

  A crowd had gathered before the central stage, their clothing and posture immediately distinguishing their pces in society. In the front row, Architect-css families stood in impeccable attire—fabrics so fine they seemed to shimmer, accessories of genuine precious metals rather than synthesized alternatives. Behind them, the Privileged css waited in well-made but less ostentatious clothing, maintaining a respectful distance from their superiors. Further back, Servicers in their functional uniforms stood at attention, while the outer edges were packed with Workers in their pin, mass-produced jumpsuits.

  Marcus Voss, now in his fifties but still appearing barely thirty, stepped onto the stage. The crowd fell silent immediately.

  "Citizens of Terminus," his voice carried effortlessly through the advanced sound system, "today marks the implementation of the Resource Optimization Initiative, the culmination of years of careful pnning by your Corporate Council."

  On the screens, graphs and charts appeared, dispying resource distribution models.

  "For sixty years, our society has operated under the inefficient premise that all citizens should receive approximately equal resource allocation. This well-intentioned but fundamentally fwed approach has led to the resource instability we now face."

  Marcus gestured, and the dispys changed to show the new model—a pyramid with clearly delineated sections.

  "The Resource Optimization Initiative establishes a structured allocation system that directs resources based on contribution value, ensuring Terminus's continued prosperity and growth."

  In the front row, the Sheffield family watched with satisfaction. Jonathan Sheffield, chief financial officer of VitaCore Industries, stood with perfect posture, his wife Eine and their two children simirly composed. Their neural interfaces—tiny A-CNS units elegantly integrated behind their ears—were barely visible, a stark contrast to the bulky models worn by lower csses.

  "About time," Jonathan murmured to his wife. "The old system was unsustainable."

  Eine nodded slightly. "Marcus has managed this transition brilliantly. Richard would have been proud."

  Their son, William, aged twelve, listened carefully. Unlike his cssmates, who found these ceremonies boring, he understood their importance. His education at the Executive Preparatory Academy had emphasized resource management principles since he was six.

  "Father," he whispered, "will this affect our water allowance?"

  Jonathan smiled thinly. "No, William. Our allocation will increase. It's others who will learn to be more efficient."

  Halfway back in the crowd, Dr. Rebecca Chen adjusted her gsses. As a neurological specialist at Helix Medical Center, she represented the highest tier of the Privileged css—essential professionals with specialized skills that served corporate interests.

  Her P-ANI neural interface was sleek and functional, though cking the seamless integration of Architect models. It provided her with a continuous stream of technical data, currently analyzing the resource allocation charts with highlighting on neurological development resources.

  "Interesting," she murmured, noting that neural interface technology would receive increased funding under the new system, while basic healthcare for Workers would be reduced by seventeen percent.

  Rebecca felt a momentary twinge of concern for her patients in the Worker districts, but quickly suppressed it. Her position at Helix was secure but not unassaible. Questions about resource allocation were not part of her professional purview.

  On stage, Marcus continued:

  "Under the new system, society will be officially structured into four contributing csses, with resource allocation calibrated to contribution value."

  The screens dispyed the cssification system:

  "Architect css: The visionary leaders and owners who guide our society's development. Privileged css: Specialized professionals whose expertise supports our continued advancement. Servicer css: Management personnel who implement corporate directives and oversee operations. Worker css: The foundation of our bor force, performing essential production and maintenance functions."

  Rebecca noted there was no mention of the increasingly visible fifth category—those who lived outside the corporate structure entirely. The Unaligned.

  Supervisor Kaito Nakamura stood rigidly at attention with the other Servicers, his crisp gray uniform distinguishing him from the Workers he managed. His S-ENL neural interface—a utilitarian band across his temple—dispyed his productivity metrics and management targets directly in his field of vision.

  As Marcus described the Servicer css's "vital coordination role," Kaito felt a flush of pride. He had risen from Worker css through demonstrated efficiency and unwavering loyalty to FusionTech Enterprises. His family now lived in a Servicer residential block—one room for each family member, reguted climate control, and weekly fresh food supplements.

  "Servicers will receive resource allocation sufficient for optimal function and appropriate comfort," Marcus was saying, "with advancement opportunities based on performance metrics."

  Kaito's interface highlighted this statement and automatically updated his personal objectives. He would need to increase his team's efficiency by at least twelve percent to maintain his current status under the new system.

  Behind him, he could feel the tension from the Worker section of the crowd. He would need to monitor his team carefully in the coming weeks.

  Maria Diaz stood among thousands of other Workers at the pza's edge, her standard-issue W-SNL neural interface bulky against her temple. Unlike the higher models, it provided only basic information and constantly monitored her productivity, location, and even her vital signs.

  "Worker allocation will be calibrated to provide precisely what is needed for optimal productivity," Marcus was saying. "No more, no less. This is not a reduction but an optimization."

  Maria's interface transted the corporate terminology automatically: her family's water and food allotment would be decreased again. The two-room apartment she shared with her husband and three children would now be cssified as "space-inefficient" for their Worker status.

  "Each css will reside in appropriate zones," Marcus continued, "with transit permissions adjusted to job requirements."

  The screen dispyed a new map of the city, color-coded by css zones. Maria's current home was now shaded in gray—a transitional zone being recssified from mixed status to Worker-only. The factory where she worked, previously a fifteen-minute walk away, was now in a different zone entirely.

  Her interface blinked with a notification: "TRANSIT RESTRICTION UPDATE: NEW PERMIT REQUIRED FOR CROSS-ZONE TRAVEL. APPLY THROUGH CORPORATE PORTAL."

  Around her, simir notifications were triggering on thousands of interfaces, causing a wave of murmurs through the Worker section.

  "The transition period will be efficiently managed," Marcus assured them, though his attention seemed focused entirely on the front rows. "Your corporate representatives will provide all necessary guidance."

  Beyond the pza's barriers, outside the official broadcast range, a small group watched the ceremony on a salvaged screen. Unlike the attendees, they wore no neural interfaces at all. Their clothing was a hodgepodge of repaired corporate castoffs, and their postures cked the rigidity that came from constant interface monitoring.

  "There it is," said Ravi, a former Worker technician who had removed his interface three years ago. "Official segregation."

  Beside him, Sophia nodded grimly. Once a Servicer-css medical assistant, she had fled when her questioning of resource allocations had triggered an interface loyalty evaluation.

  "They're not even pretending anymore," she said, watching as Marcus described the physical barriers that would define the new css zones. "What's that he's not mentioning?"

  On their salvaged screen, they could see what the official broadcast cropped out—construction machinery already at work at the district boundaries, erecting not just the "transit management stations" Marcus described, but what clearly looked like security walls with ProtectoCorp logos.

  "Us," Ravi replied simply. "He's not mentioning us. The Unaligned. The system errors."

  Their small settlement in the abandoned industrial sector was one of dozens that had formed over the past decade. People who had removed their interfaces, fled their assignments, or simply fallen through the cracks of the corporate system.

  "His charts account for ninety-eight percent of the popution," noted Taris, a thin man who had once been a Privileged-css data analyst before asking too many questions about disappearing resources. "That leaves roughly five hundred thousand people uncssified."

  "Unpeople," Sophia corrected bitterly.

  Back on stage, Marcus had moved to the neural interface portion of the presentation.

  "To optimize information access and productivity tracking, each css will receive appropriate neural interface technology."

  The screen dispyed four distinct models.

  "The Architect-Css Custom Neural System provides comprehensive data access and enhanced cognitive integration for strategic leadership functions."

  The A-CNS dispyed was barely visible—a sleek device that seemed to merge with the user's skin behind the ear, with no external components.

  "The Privileged Advanced Neural Integration offers specialized information access calibrated to professional requirements and enhanced processing for complex problem-solving."

  The P-ANI was a slim, elegant device that curved around the ear with a small visible component at the temple.

  "The Servicer-Css Enhanced Neural Link provides all management functions and supervisory protocols necessary for efficient team coordination."

  The S-ENL was a utilitarian band that wrapped halfway around the head with a more prominent interface at the temple.

  "The Worker-Css Standard Neural Link delivers essential task information and optimal productivity guidance."

  The W-SNL was the bulkiest model, with a rge processing unit attached at the temple and visible connection points.

  What Marcus didn't mention—but what Dr. Chen's interface was automatically calcuting—was that the processing power, bandwidth, and information access varied by factors of hundreds between each css level. The A-CNS had essentially unlimited information access; the W-SNL was restricted to job functions and approved entertainment channels only.

  "Neural interfaces remain the cornerstone of our efficient society," Marcus continued. "The customization by css will ensure each citizen receives precisely the technological support appropriate to their function."

  Maria's interface blinked with another notification: "MANDATORY UPGRADE SCHEDULED: Report to District 12 Processing Center within 7 days for W-SNL repcement. Failure to comply will result in resource allocation suspension."

  Looking around, she could see simir reactions from other Workers—a mixture of resignation and fear. Interface repcements were never pleasant, and the new models would undoubtedly have enhanced monitoring capabilities.

  "They're going to track us even more," whispered the man beside her.

  "Quiet," Maria warned. The current interfaces already monitored speech for compliance infractions. The new ones would surely be even more sensitive.

  As the ceremony concluded, the Sheffield family was approached by Victoria Aqua-Nova herself, resplendent in her corporation's blue and silver.

  "Jonathan, Eine," she greeted them warmly. "I trust you've reviewed the Architect zone specifications? Your new residence in Azure Heights will be ready next month."

  "We have," Jonathan replied. "The water features are particurly impressive."

  "A personal project," Victoria smiled. "Unlimited supply, of course. The filtration system is entirely separate from the general popution infrastructure."

  "William is especially excited about the immersive learning center," Eine added, pcing a hand on her son's shoulder.

  Victoria's smile widened as she looked at the boy. "Ah yes, the neural enhancement suite. The most advanced on Terminus. Your son will have access to information even many Privileged professionals cannot reach."

  William straightened under her attention. "I've already begun preliminary corporate strategy studies," he said with practiced confidence.

  "Excellent," Victoria approved. "The next generation of Architects must be properly prepared."

  As they spoke, their interfaces communicated silently, exchanging contact information, scheduling future meetings, and updating their social networks with the interaction—all without conscious direction.

  Dr. Chen was walking toward the medical center when her interface alerted her to a new directive: "RESIDENCE RELOCATION NOTICE: Your dwelling has been rezoned as Privileged-Only. Worker inhabitants of your building will be relocated within 30 days."

  She frowned slightly. Her apartment complex had been mixed-css, with Workers occupying the lower floors, Servicers in the middle, and Privileged professionals like herself in the upper levels. Now, apparently, such mixing was deemed inefficient.

  Her interface provided additional information without being prompted: "Privileged-css residents will have expanded units once Worker partitions are removed. New Privileged-compatible amenities will be installed."

  More space would be nice, Rebecca admitted to herself. Still, she had become accustomed to greeting Maria Diaz, who cleaned the building's common areas, and her friendly children who sometimes pyed in the courtyard.

  Her interface interrupted this train of thought with a workpce reminder: "NEURAL RESEARCH PROJECT: Review new W-SNL compliance protocols before 18:00. Approval signature required."

  Dr. Chen sighed and quickened her pace. Whatever her personal feelings about the changes, her professional obligations were clear.

  Supervisor Nakamura's first challenge came sooner than expected. As he headed toward the FusionTech facility, his team tracking metrics began to fsh with alerts. Several Worker-css employees had stopped at the newly established checkpoint between their residential zone and the industrial sector.

  His interface zoomed in on the situation: security personnel were expining new transit procedures, which now required documented work assignments to cross between zones. Three of his workers had apparently been issued outdated permits.

  Kaito immediately diverted to the checkpoint, where his Servicer credentials allowed him to bypass the line of waiting Workers.

  "These personnel are required at Reactor Maintenance Bay 12," he informed the security officer, transmitting the work orders directly from his interface to the checkpoint's system.

  "Their permissions are obsolete," the officer replied ftly. "New authorizations required. Standard processing time: three to five business days."

  "This maintenance is scheduled for today," Kaito insisted. "Reactor efficiency will drop below acceptable levels if deyed."

  The officer's expression didn't change. "That sounds like a management problem, Supervisor. You should have updated your team's permissions when the notification was issued st week."

  Kaito's interface showed no record of any such notification, but arguing would only worsen the situation. His performance metrics were already showing negative adjustment due to the dey.

  "I'll take responsibility for these workers," he said formally. "My authorization should override transitional restrictions."

  After a long pause, the officer nodded reluctantly. "Temporary exception granted. Their interfaces will be fgged for permission update by end of shift."

  As they passed through the checkpoint, Kaito noticed the massive construction equipment already assembling what looked to be a permanent wall behind the "temporary" security station. His interface offered no information about these structures, despite his Servicer clearance.

  "Thank you, Supervisor," one of his workers said quietly.

  "Don't thank me," Kaito replied automatically. "Just increase efficiency by seventeen percent to compensate for the dey."

  Maria never made it to her shift that day. The checkpoint between her residential zone and the factory had a line stretching for over a kilometer. After waiting three hours, her interface suddenly pinged with a new notification:

  "ASSIGNMENT UPDATE: Employment status changed to PENDING REASSIGNMENT. Return to residential unit and await further instructions."

  Around her, dozens of other Workers received simir notifications. Their jobs hadn't technically been eliminated—they simply could no longer reach them under the new zone restrictions. They would be reassigned to whatever facilities needed Workers within their now-restricted travel areas.

  "But my specialized training—" a man beside her began to protest to the checkpoint officer.

  "Training is calibrated to Worker needs," the officer cut him off, reciting from his interface. "New assignments will be appropriate to css capabilities."

  As Maria turned to begin the long walk home, her interface calcuted the most efficient route—now avoiding the streets being sectioned off by construction crews. The shortest path back to her family's apartment was 2.7 kilometers longer than it had been that morning.

  Her thoughts turned to her children, who attended a general education center now located in a different zone. Would they be home? Would they be reassigned to a closer facility? Her interface provided no answers.

  By nightfall, the physical transformation of the city was already evident. Temporary barriers had appeared at every intersection between differently cssified zones, with ProtectoCorp officers checking transit permissions. Construction crews worked under bright lights, assembling more permanent structures along zone boundaries.

  In the Architect zone, the Sheffield family enjoyed a dinner of actual grown meat—not synthesized—with fresh vegetables and wine made from grapes cultivated in the exclusive AgriDome reserved for Architect consumption.

  Their interfaces coordinated the environmental systems automatically, adjusting lighting, temperature, and ambient sound to optimal levels for digestion and rexation. The news feed projected on their dining room wall showed only the positive aspects of the day's transition—Architect families touring their new exclusive residential areas, children entering advanced learning centers, the Corporate Council overseeing the "smooth implementation of necessary resource optimization."

  "William, your developmental metrics showed excellent progress today," Jonathan noted, as his interface shared his son's daily assessment. "Your neural interface integration efficiency is in the ninety-seventh percentile."

  "Thank you, Father," the boy replied, sitting perfectly straight despite the te hour. "I've been practicing the neural focusing techniques Dr. Helix recommended."

  Eine smiled warmly. "We've scheduled your A-CNS upgrade for next week. The new model allows direct knowledge transfer for advanced corporate strategy simutions."

  In the Privileged residential towers, Dr. Chen watched her own filtered news feed, which acknowledged "temporary adjustment challenges" but emphasized the "enhanced professional environment" that css segregation would create. Her more advanced interface allowed her to access limited information about transition implementation issues, carefully framed as technical challenges rather than human problems.

  As she prepared for bed, her interface reminded her: "PRIVILEGED NUTRITION SUPPLEMENT AUTHORIZED: Monthly allocation increased by 15% under new css calibration."

  In the Servicer dormitories, Supervisor Nakamura completed his daily productivity report, carefully documenting the checkpoint dey while emphasizing his team's increased efficiency after arrival. His interface calcuted his performance rating had dropped two points today—not critical, but concerning if it became a pattern.

  Through his window, he could see the Worker housing blocks in the distance, where the power had been reduced to minimum levels as part of the new "efficiency measures." The buildings were dark except for occasional windows where someone had managed to afford supplemental lighting.

  His interface presented his updated resource allocation: slightly increased food quality, maintained water allocation, and a five percent reduction in living space to "optimize Servicer residential efficiency." A fair adjustment, he told himself. Certainly better than what Workers were experiencing.

  In a Worker housing block, Maria sat with her three children in their now-obsolete apartment. Tomorrow, according to the notification on her interface, they would be relocated to a "properly sized Worker dwelling" in a different building—one room for the entire family instead of two.

  "Will we still go to school tomorrow?" her youngest asked.

  "I don't know," Maria admitted. She had received no updates about educational arrangements. The children's basic interfaces—simplified versions of the adult models—showed no notifications either.

  Their dinner had been synthesized protein cubes—their allocation reduced by twenty percent under the new system. The apartment's temperature was set permanently to seventeen degrees Celsius, deemed "sufficient for Worker comfort requirements." The water had been shut off for six hours as part of the "system recalibration."

  "What about Papa?" her daughter asked. "Will he know where to find us?"

  Maria had no answer. Her husband worked in a different section of the industrial zone, and she had received no communications from him. The basic messaging function on their interfaces had been "temporarily suspended during transition."

  She held her children close, trying not to show her fear.

  Outside the increasingly segregated city, in the growing Unaligned settlement, Ravi and Sophia helped newcomers adjust to life without interfaces. Three more Workers had arrived today, having removed their devices despite the pain and disorientation that came with separation.

  "The withdrawal symptoms st about a week," Sophia expined to a trembling woman who kept reaching for her now-empty temple. "Your brain has been receiving direct stimution for years. It takes time to adjust."

  "How do you know what to do?" the woman asked, her voice small. "Without instructions?"

  "You remember," Ravi told her gently. "You decide for yourself."

  Their settlement had grown to nearly a thousand people, occupying abandoned warehouses and manufacturing pnts in a district deemed "economically non-viable" by the corporate assessment. They had rigged rudimentary power systems from salvaged sor panels and created a water collection system from industrial components.

  It wasn't comfortable or easy, but they were free from constant monitoring, from performance metrics, from resource allocations determined by corporate algorithms.

  "We've received word from Sector 17," Taris announced, returning from a dangerous scavenging mission. "Their community has grown to over five thousand. They've established a functioning system independent of corporate resources."

  "Five thousand?" Sophia whispered. "How have they not been shut down?"

  "They've gone deep," Taris expined. "Old mining tunnels and processing facilities. ProtectoCorp can't track them without interfaces, and they're not worth the resources to hunt down manually."

  Ravi nodded slowly. "We should consider something simir. The surface will become increasingly dangerous for Unaligned as these new boundaries solidify."

  Around their small fire, the group looked at each other—former Workers, Servicers, even a few Privileged who had chosen freedom over comfort. None of them had the artificial youth of the Architects or the resource security of the corporate system. But their faces were their own, their thoughts unmonitored, their futures uncertain but self-determined.

  "Tomorrow," Sophia said, "we'll begin exploring the abandoned subway tunnels beneath the industrial sector. If Sector 17 can build something independent, so can we."

  From his office in the VitaCore tower, Marcus Voss watched as the city transformed below him. The separation of csses—physically, technologically, and socially—was proceeding exactly as pnned. His advanced interface showed real-time updates of resource reallocation, construction progress, and compliance metrics.

  "Phase one implementation at eighty-seven percent and proceeding on schedule," reported Victoria Aqua-Nova, her image appearing in his visual field via direct neural projection.

  "Efficiency improvements?" Marcus inquired.

  "Already evident. Worker productivity up twelve percent under optimized resource allocation. Architect creative output increased seventeen percent with enhanced information access. Projected resource savings of twenty-four percent across all consumption categories."

  Marcus nodded with satisfaction. "And the anomalies?"

  Victoria's expression tightened slightly. "Unaligned poputions continue to be a minor irritant. Current estimates suggest approximately five hundred thousand individuals operating without interfaces or with disabled monitoring functions."

  "An acceptable margin of error," Marcus decided. "They'll find survival increasingly difficult as resource access is formalized. Those with useful skills will eventually return to the system out of necessity."

  "And the others?"

  Marcus dismissed the question with a slight gesture. "Irrelevant. Natural attrition will reduce their numbers over time."

  As night fell completely over Terminus, the city's lights revealed the new reality—bright illumination in the Architect and Privileged zones, moderate lighting in Servicer areas, minimal power in Worker districts, and darkness in the abandoned sectors where the Unaligned struggled to create an alternative.

  The Resource Optimization Initiative had achieved its true purpose: not just resource allocation, but complete social control. Five distinct csses, physically separated, technologically differentiated, and resourced precisely according to their value to the corporate system.

  Terminus was no longer a colony of refugees searching for a better future. It had become a machine, with each component carefully calibrated for maximum efficiency and minimum waste.

  And like all machines, it would require constant maintenance, upgrading, and the occasional repcement of defective parts.