The hum of quantum processors fills the air as we stand around the Zero-Point Energy Generator hologram, a swirling projection of equations and energy fields. The model rotates slowly, its blue-white light flickering across the lab as equations dance in mid-air. It’s all there, in the numbers. The answer lies in unlocking the vacuum energy trapped within the very fabric of space-time—energy that can’t be seen, touched, or measured by conventional means. But once we crack this, we’ll have solved one of the universe’s most fundamental riddles. Infinite energy, drawn directly from the quantum vacuum, the space between particles. Free energy from nothing.

  Elliot, predictably, is stuck on the wrong approach.

  “The system will hold,” Elliot insists, tapping at the edge of his virtual interface.

  “If we can maintain quantum coherence across the vacuum field, the fluctuations won’t collapse the energy extraction. We just need to tweak the isolation matrix.”

  His optimism is misguided, as always. Coherence isn’t enough here, not when dealing with a quantum field. Coherence implies control, and control is an illusion in a system as inherently unstable as the one we’re building. What we’re working on is not about controlling the universe—it’s about understanding it and then letting it unfold. The universe is not clean or orderly. It’s messy, chaotic. But it follows the rules.

  This is what they don’t understand—why they falter, why their calculations fall short. They think we’re working on a power generator—a glorified energy source to replace fossil fuels or nuclear reactors. But this isn’t just about powering the world. This is about proving that vacuum energy exists, that we can tap into the limitless reservoir of power that fills every inch of space-time. The moment we prove this works, humanity will no longer be tethered to the old ways of thinking.

  Energy scarcity? Gone. The struggle for resources? Obsolete. If I succeed, the Zero-Point Energy Generator will be the last technological breakthrough we’ll ever need. It will reshape everything—society, industry, politics. It will fuel the future.

  I shake my head at Elliot. His obsession with elegance blinds him to the real challenge. He’s still thinking in terms of controlling a quantum system, trying to impose order where there is none.

  “No,” I say, cutting in.

  “You’re ignoring the vacuum fluctuation theorem. Quantum fluctuations aren’t just noise. They’re the very source of the energy we’re trying to extract. If we don’t stabilize the fluctuations, they’ll overwhelm the containment field, and the system will implode.”

  Elliot stops, his hand hovering mid-air over the hologram. He frowns, clearly frustrated. It’s not the first time. We’ve been here before. His passion is admirable, but passion without precision leads to failure. I can’t afford failure.

  Vacuum energy is… elusive. It exists in the space between particles—energy that quantum fields create and destroy in the blink of an eye. The zero-point field, the lowest possible energy state, holds the key. In theory, it’s infinite. In practice, harnessing it requires navigating an impossibly complex sea of quantum fluctuations. Those fluctuations are both the solution and the problem. Elliot wants to control them, but I know better. Control is an illusion.

  “Quantum fluctuations aren’t something we can simply smooth over,” I continue, adjusting the model.

  “They’re the engine of the system. Without them, there’s no energy to extract. The fluctuations are the key to unlocking the field.”

  Layla steps in, ever the practical one, pointing out the obvious.

  “She’s right, Elliot. Even if we could maintain quantum coherence, the real issue is heat dissipation from the energy we’re pulling. We’re extracting energy from a quantum vacuum but at the cost of increasing entropy in the system.” She taps a section of the hologram, adjusting the thermal map.

  “Without accounting for the energy loss to heat, we’re essentially destabilizing the entire structure at a fundamental level.”

  I allow myself a small nod. Layla’s right, of course. It’s not just about keeping the fluctuations in check—it’s about what happens after the energy is extracted. The entropy problem. All energy systems produce heat, but we’re operating on a quantum level, where heat becomes an existential threat to the system. Too much energy in one place, and the generator collapses, unable to sustain itself.

  “Energy loss is inevitable,” I say.

  “But it doesn’t have to be wasted. If we can convert the heat generated by the system into something useful, we stabilize the entire structure. We’re not just extracting energy from the vacuum—we’re creating a closed loop.”

  Layla raises an eyebrow.

  “Using the waste heat to stabilize the field? How exactly do you plan to do that?”

  I adjust the model with a flick of my wrist.

  “Quantum tunneling. We create micro-channels within the energy field, redirecting the excess energy into those channels. The fluctuations stabilize themselves.”

  The words spill out effortlessly, but the math behind them is staggering. Quantum tunneling—particles appearing on one side of an energy barrier without having physically crossed it—has been observed on a small scale. What I’m proposing is… larger. More dangerous. But if it works, it solves everything. The system stabilizes, and we can tap into the zero-point field without risking collapse.

  “So, quantum tunneling on that scale,” Elliot says, rubbing his chin. “It’s risky, but… I guess that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Run the numbers, Layla,” I say. “We’ll adjust the parameters and run the final test.”

  This isn’t just about testing a theory. This is the test. After this, there’s nothing left to prove. We’ll have infinite energy. Energy to power the stars, energy to break the chains of limited resources. Energy to fuel the next generation of human expansion—to Mars, to the moons of Jupiter, to the edge of the solar system.

  Everything begins here.

  Layla finishes her adjustments and steps back, stretching her arms above her head, a satisfied grin on her face.

  “Alright, everything’s set. Ready for the test?” she asks, but then adds, with a smirk, “Or should I say, ready to blow it all up?”

  Elliot groans immediately, rolling his eyes.

  “Really, Layla? You’ve been sitting on that one for how long? We’re trying to stabilize a quantum field, not launch fireworks.”

  Layla chuckles, clearly pleased with herself.

  “Oh come on, you know I had to say it.”

  I blink at them, glancing between the two. Blow it all up? What does she mean? There’s nothing in the model that would cause an explosion unless the containment field fails catastrophically—which it won’t. And anyway, we’re working in a quantum vacuum, not with combustion engines. I pause, trying to work out if I missed something in the calculations.

  “Blow it up?” I ask, genuinely puzzled.

  “That’s not possible, unless you’re referring to a field collapse, but that would result in system failure, not an explosion.”

  Elliot snorts, while Layla just shakes her head, amused.

  “It’s a joke, Madelyn,” Layla says with a grin.

  “Oh,” I reply, and after a beat, add, “I see.”

  But I don’t, not really. Why would anyone joke about that?

  Layla chuckles again, giving Elliot a look.

  “She really doesn’t get it, does she?”

  Elliot sighs, shaking his head but with a fond smile.

  “Never. We tried for years.”

  I look between them, still unsure what’s so funny. But that’s fine. Jokes are another one of those things that seem to entertain people, but I’ve never quite understood the point. I suppose if the universe made sense, jokes would too.

  “Anyway,” Layla says, still smiling, “let’s not actually blow it all up. Starting the test now.”

  She moves back to her station, fingers tapping rapidly on her interface, bringing the Zero-Point Energy Generator simulation to life.

  The simulation hums to life as Layla initiates the test. The holographic model flickers and stabilizes, showing the Zero-Point Energy Generator running through its phases. The containment field spins steadily, balancing the quantum fluctuations as we expected.

  For a brief moment, everything seems perfect.

  “Yes!” Elliot’s voice echoes across the lab as he punches the air, his excitement palpable. “We’ve done it! It’s stable! We did it!”

  He’s already celebrating, his eyes glued to the display. Expected. He’s been working day and night on this project, so it’s no surprise he’d be emotional now that we’re seeing the fruits of our labor.

  But something’s not right. As I study the hologram, the numbers behind the simulation shift ever so slightly—too slightly for someone like Elliot to notice, but not for me. And not for Layla, who’s already frowning at the display, her fingers hovering near the control panel.

  “Elliot, hold on,” Layla says quietly, her grin fading. “Something’s off.”

  The hologram flickers, just for a second, but enough to reveal the problem. The energy field isn’t completely stable—it’s bleeding energy into the quantum tunneling channels faster than it should. Not enough to cause an immediate collapse, but it’s enough to destabilize the entire system in the long term.

  Elliot doesn’t see it.

  “What do you mean ‘off’?” Elliot asks, his smile vanishing as he glances between us. “It’s stable! Look, the containment field is holding.”

  He’s not wrong, technically. The containment field is holding, but only barely. The fluctuations we’re controlling are pushing against the quantum channels we’ve created for tunneling. The system can’t handle the overload.

  “Layla, pause the simulation,” I say, my voice calm, my eyes already locked on the equations. Layla hits the control panel without hesitation. The model freezes in mid-motion, the energy field suspended in time.

  “What are you talking about?” Elliot steps toward the model, bewildered. “It’s stable, I saw it—”

  “No, it’s not,” I interrupt, already pulling up the relevant data on my interface. “The containment field is draining energy faster than it should. Look here,” I tap a section of the hologram, zooming in on the quantum tunneling channels we’ve created. “The quantum tunneling is leaking more energy than we calculated. The field can’t handle it, not for long.”

  Elliot stares at the display, his confusion quickly turning into frustration. “Leaking energy? But the tunneling channels are supposed to redirect it—”

  “They are,” I say, cutting him off. “But the problem is with the field’s integrity. The fluctuations in the quantum field are introducing interference patterns that are causing the channels to destabilize.”

  Layla steps closer, pointing to the same section of the model. “She’s right. The interference is amplifying the energy flow. The system’s trying to compensate by pushing more energy through the channels, but at this rate, it’ll overload and collapse.”

  Elliot shakes his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. The channels are designed to handle quantum fluctuations—”

  “They can handle the fluctuations, but they can’t handle the interference patterns those fluctuations are generating,” I explain. “It’s a ripple effect. The energy field is stable, but those ripples are creating feedback loops inside the tunneling channels. Eventually, the whole system will collapse under the pressure.”

  Elliot’s expression shifts from disbelief to realization. He gets it now, but he’s still upset. “So… what do we do? How do we fix it?”

  I glance at the data again, running through the numbers in my head. The solution comes to me quickly, as it always does. The answer is already in the math.

  “We need to introduce a modulation function inside the quantum channels,” I say, tapping on my interface. “If we can modulate the frequency of the tunneling channels, we can neutralize the interference patterns before they form.”

  Layla’s eyes widen slightly, nodding as she follows the logic.

  “Of course. By dynamically modulating the tunneling frequency, we can absorb the ripples before they have a chance to disrupt the system.”

  Elliot’s brow furrows, but he’s coming around.

  “A modulation function... You’re suggesting we oscillate the quantum tunneling rates to match the fluctuation frequencies?”

  “Exactly,” I reply. “If we sync the tunneling rates to the natural fluctuations, we neutralize the feedback loop and stabilize the energy flow. The containment field won’t have to fight against the interference.”

  Layla inputs the modulation function into the hologram, adjusting the parameters.

  “This should stabilize it. We’ll need to recalibrate the field generators to accommodate the modulation, but it’s doable.”

  Elliot sighs, his shoulders relaxing. “Alright. Let’s try it. One more time.”

  I nod. The solution is there. The universe is nothing but patterns and forces. And all we need is the right equation to make it behave.

  The simulation hums back to life again, the holographic display swirling with data as the Zero-Point Energy Generator runs through its updated cycle. This time, there’s no flicker, no instability in the energy field. The quantum fluctuations flow smoothly, perfectly synchronized with the modulation function we’ve introduced. The interference patterns vanish, absorbed into the newly adjusted tunneling channels. The field holds.

  The math is perfect.

  We did it.

  I watch the numbers dance across the screen, serene and controlled like the universe finally cooperating with our designs. Energy flows from the vacuum—limitless, infinite—and, for the first time, humanity can access it without consequence. With this, we’ve tapped into the zero-point field, the very fabric of space-time itself. A new era of energy production begins here, in this lab. No more fuel shortages, no more wars over resources, no more dependence on anything but the universe’s endless energy.

  We’ve solved the energy crisis. All those global problems about energy scarcity, geopolitical tensions over oil, even environmental concerns about the planet’s limits—none of them matter anymore. We’ve unlocked a future where energy is free. Where the world isn’t constrained by resources but powered by the universe itself. This isn’t just a solution for today. It’s the key to everything.

  While Elliot’s too focused on the immediate success, I’m already thinking about what this means for the bigger picture. Space travel, colonization of other planets, powering entire cities, maybe even creating new ones on Mars. This isn’t just another discovery. This is the discovery. The one that changes everything.

  Elliot, predictably, can’t contain himself.

  “YES! We did it!” he shouts, loud enough to make my ears ring. He pumps his fists into the air, his grin splitting his face, and I can hear his voice echo through the lab. A few of our team members outside the glass walls of The Nexus glance over, but they should’ve expected it. He always shouts when he succeeds, as if volume equates to significance.

  Layla, ever the stabilizing force, looks at me and nods, her expression as steady as her calculations. She’s not one for grand gestures or loud celebrations, but there’s a quiet pride in her eyes. She’s done her part, as always. And now it’s done.

  “Nice work, Milady,” she says softly, simple but sincere.

  I nod back. Layla’s always solid, a grounding presence. We make a good team, in that way. She keeps things practical while I reach for the outermost edges of possibility. Elliot provides the passion, but Layla and I are the ones who hold the structure together.

  Outside, Elliot is still shouting, calling out to the others, even though I’m not sure who he’s talking to anymore. It’s fine. Let him enjoy it. This is what he works for—the celebration, the recognition. For me, though? This is just another step.

  “Wanna take lunch with me?” Layla asks, a faint smile on her face as she pulls her hair back into a loose knot. I nod silently. I don’t feel the need to speak more than necessary. Besides, it’s not unusual—Layla asks me to lunch most days.

  Before heading out to lunch, I turn back to my console, where Leo, my AI companion, hovers as a translucent interface, waiting for further instructions. For most people, even those in Premier Society, their AI companion can only reside at their home. But Malleus gives me enough privilege to take my AI companion anywhere I wanted. He integrates it to my Nimbus.

  It’s easy to rely on him, but there’s always that nagging sense of... envy. He can do things I can’t. He processes in nanoseconds what takes even my mind hours to work through.

  “Leo, run the simulation a thousand times over while I’m out,” I instruct. “Stress-test the modulation and adjust for any fluctuation beyond the 0.01 threshold.”

  “Understood, Milady. Running simulation sequence now,” Leo responds in his smooth, neutral tone. I know that by the time I get back, he’ll have processed more data than I could hope to handle in a week. It’s enviable, really—how simple it is for him to absorb and perfect information without error.

  Leo wasn’t my creation, though. Malleus had assigned him to me when I founded the Premier Society, claiming that Leo was the most advanced, most intelligent AI ever developed. His name—Leonardo—was meant to honor the brilliance of Leonardo da Vinci, the human mind considered the pinnacle of creativity and intellect for centuries.

  Malleus once told me that I’d overtaken Da Vinci’s title as the brightest human on the planet. I disagree. Da Vinci could do things I can’t. He could paint the Mona Lisa, craft mechanical wonders, design marvels that no one else could even dream of. I can calculate the universe, but I’ve never painted something beautiful. I’ve never sculpted a work of art that could stir the human soul.

  I’m brilliant, maybe, but there are still things beyond me.

  “Shall I alert you if any anomalies arise?” Leo asks, bringing me back from my thoughts.

  “Only if they threaten the system,” I reply, stepping away from the console.

  “Understood,” Leo replies again, ever efficient, ever diligent.

  With that, I follow Layla toward the cafeteria. Leo will handle everything. He always does.

  We walk in companionable silence at first, but it doesn’t last long. Layla starts the conversation, as always, with something light.

  “Are you going to see the latest Ava Grace movie?” she asks. I can tell by her tone that it’s casual, something meant to pass the time.

  “Ava Grace?” I blink. “Is she the actress?”

  Layla gives me a curious look, stifling a laugh.

  “The most famous actress in the world. Yeah, that Ava Grace. Thought you’d at least heard about the movie. It’s been all over the news.”

  I shake my head. I hadn’t. News, movies, and celebrities—they all seem irrelevant to me. I’ve been so focused on this project that anything outside the lab just feels like distant noise.

  “Or how about the last Tobias Kane fight?” she continues, glancing at me sideways, but when I don’t respond, she laughs.

  “Let me guess, you don’t know who that is either?”

  I shrug. “A fighter, I assume.”

  “Yeah,” she says, amused, “the best fighter. The guy’s a machine, unbeatable in boxing, MMA, you name it. Everyone’s been talking about how he disappeared recently.”

  I nod politely, though I’m only half listening. Names and faces don’t stick, not when my mind is already filled with equations, theories, and systems. Layla could talk about the latest movies and fights, and I’d struggle to understand why it matters.

  As we approach the cafeteria, I glance up at the sleek architecture, admiring the expansive glass walls reflecting the soft light inside. It’s a massive space, the ceiling arching above us like an observatory, almost cathedral-like in its design. Every table, chair, and counter is polished to perfection. A faint hum of quiet conversation fills the air as some of the world’s most brilliant minds sit around, discussing their latest projects over gourmet meals. Elliot join us with a big grin on his face.

  I always eat here. It’s not remarkable to me anymore, but it is grand. Everything about this place is. The Daedalus Institute isn’t just a lab—it’s my entire world. I’ve lived here for years, immersed in my work, surrounded by the best of everything. Outside? I haven’t been out in years. But what for? Here, I have everything I need. Food, baths, a comfortable bed, and, most importantly, the technology and resources to push the limits of human understanding.

  Layla and Elliot keep trying to get me to leave, though. Elliot, especially. Every week, it seems like he’s found a new cafe or restaurant nearby that he insists I try with him. I’ve lost count of how often he’s suggested we go out. How many cafes could there possibly be? It’s become a sort of running joke with them—every time Elliot shows up with an excited grin, I know what’s coming—another invitation.

  We settle at our usual table. It’s tucked away near the back, quieter, where we won’t be disturbed by others. Layla and Elliot fall into easy conversation, picking up where they left off, bouncing from topic to topic, as usual.

  Elliot’s voice fills the space as he recounts something that happened to him earlier.

  “So I’m walking down the street, right? And this guy—this random guy—comes up to me and asks if I’m a scientist. I don’t even know how he knew, but apparently, he’s been watching all these documentaries about quantum theory. Tried to get me to explain string theory to him in two minutes.”

  Layla chuckles, shaking her head.

  “People think they can understand the whole universe in two minutes. That’s cute.”

  They laugh, but I just sit quietly, trying to keep up. It’s not that I don’t understand what they’re saying—I do, of course. But their humor, the casual ease of their conversation—it’s always been difficult for me to grasp. They joke about things I don’t really notice. The way people interact, the absurdity of everyday life—those things don’t often cross my mind.

  I catch Layla throwing another dry joke into the conversation, something about how Elliot’s newest cafe must serve “quantum coffee” because the flavor only appears if you observe it directly. Elliot groans, clearly unimpressed by the joke, but I don’t react. I’m still trying to work out what quantum coffee would taste like.

  “Milady,” Layla says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “You okay over there?”

  I nod. “Yes. Just... thinking.”

  Layla smirks. “That’s a shocker.”

  Elliot laughs, but I just look between them. I don’t get the joke. What else would I be doing but thinking?

  Before I can reply, three robots glide over to us, their sleek frames barely making a sound as they place our trays on the table. The Institute has everything designed for precision, and that includes the food. Each of us has a personalized diet crafted by our own nutritionist team, tailored exactly to what our bodies and minds need to function at optimal levels. Today, they’ve given me a simple dish—quinoa with roasted vegetables and poached salmon. I never complain about the food. It’s always fine. Just fuel, really—nothing more than what’s needed to keep my brain working.

  Elliot groans dramatically as he eyes his plate. Salad, with a perfectly balanced mix of greens, nuts, and lean protein.

  “Ugh, vegetables again,” he mutters, poking at the leafy pile with his fork.

  “I swear, they’re trying to turn me into a rabbit.”

  Layla grins, already picking at her own meal—something healthier, of course.

  “You sound just like Aurora,” she teases.

  “She’s five and even complains less about her veggies.”

  I smile at the mention of Aurora. I like her. She’s cute, though I’ve noticed she struggles with even the most basic concepts. Once, Layla handed her two apples and asked how many she had now. She couldn’t even add them together. Two apples. It was... puzzling. I don’t know why some people find that difficult, especially when the math is so simple. But Aurora always smiles, even when she’s confused, and I suppose that’s what matters to Layla.

  “How’s she doing, anyway?” he asks, his tone shifting from light teasing to genuine curiosity.

  Layla’s face brightens instantly, and I can tell from her expression that she’s about to share something that she considers important.

  “You wouldn’t believe it! Yesterday, she spilled her milk all over the kitchen floor, but instead of crying or calling for help, she grabbed a towel and cleaned it up herself! Didn’t ask me or anything, just handled it on her own.”

  I blink, unsure what to make of this.

  “Isn’t that… what you’re supposed to do?”

  Elliot laughs softly, but Layla just beams with pride. She seems genuinely impressed, her eyes sparkling as she recounts the moment.

  “Yeah, but for a five-year-old? That’s a big deal. Independence, you know?”

  I nod slowly, though I don’t fully grasp why this is so significant. Cleaning up spilled milk doesn’t seem like a particularly remarkable achievement, not compared to the breakthroughs we make here in the lab. But looking at Layla’s face, I can tell this matters to her. Perhaps it’s not about the act itself but what it represents—growth, maybe, or independence, as she said. And if it matters to Layla, it must be a good thing.

  Especially considering that Aurora isn’t an ordinary child. She’s the first lab-made human, a product of genetic engineering by Dr. Haruko Yamazaki, the world’s number one geneticist. Aurora wasn’t conceived or born in the traditional way. She was designed, created in a lab, with Layla volunteering to raise her when the project was complete.

  In my opinion, Layla’s doing fine. Aurora is a bright, happy child, even if she struggles with things like basic arithmetic. Layla seems proud, and if she’s satisfied with Aurora’s progress, then I suppose that’s all that really matters.

  As we finish our meal, I feel a faint vibration in my chest pocket. I reach in and pull out my Nimbus. The holographic screen springs to life, and Leo’s voice comes through the speaker, calm and precise as always.

  “Milady, I’ve completed the simulation,” Leo reports. “The results are conclusive. All variables have been accounted for, and the system has achieved complete stability. I can now confirm with 100% certainty that the project is finished and successful.”

  Layla and Elliot react immediately. Layla claps her hands together, grinning ear to ear. “Yes! It’s done!”

  Elliot, equally excited, joins in with a hearty clap of his own. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant.”

  I nod, smiling slightly. It’s done. Our work has achieved everything we set out to do. While Layla and Elliot celebrate, my mind is already drifting to what comes next. This is just one milestone on a much longer path.

  Leo speaks again, pulling me back into the moment. “This project will require a name for the records. What should it be called?”

  Layla taps her chin thoughtfully, clearly enjoying the prospect.

  “Well, the obvious choice would be something like ‘Zero-Point Generator,’ but that’s way too serious. How about something ridiculous like... ‘Super Mega Universe Power!’” She snickers at her own absurd suggestion.

  Elliot groans, but before he can respond, Layla doubles down, “Wait, wait. Or ‘Jumbo Galaxy Stars Power!’ If we’re going ridiculous, we might as well commit, right?”

  Elliot buries his face in his hands, laughing despite himself.

  “Please, for the love of science, no.”

  Layla grins, clearly entertained by her own sense of humor.

  “What? It’s catchy!”

  They both turn to me expectantly, waiting for my input. I look at the display in my hand and consider the options for a moment. The solution is simple, straightforward—no need for unnecessary complexity or flair. Just precision.

  “0G,” I say calmly. “It’s simple. Zero energy.”

  There’s a brief silence. Then, Layla and Elliot exchange glances, and to my surprise, their faces light up.

  “0G,” Layla repeats, nodding slowly, her grin widening. “That’s... actually a really cool name.”

  “Yeah,” Elliot agrees, his eyes lighting up with genuine admiration. “0G. It’s perfect. Simple, direct, and it sounds like something monumental. I love it.”

  “Very well, 0G is the name,” Leo says through the Nimbus.

  “Congratulations, the three of you, on completing this project. I’ll send the results to Malleus immediately. He will oversee the final stages and handle the rest.” With that, Leo’s voice fades, and my Nimbus goes silent as I slip it back into my pocket.

  As we finish our food and sip the drinks brought by the robots, a thought crosses my mind.

  “Why did Leo only congratulate the three of us?” I ask, glancing between Layla and Elliot.

  “This wasn’t just a three-person project. Four hundred scientists worked on this, didn’t they? It’s a collaboration of all of them.”

  Elliot looks up, swirling his drink before taking a sip. He gives me a small shrug, then says, “Malleus takes care of that.”

  Layla nods in agreement.

  “Yeah, it’s not just us who get the credit. Malleus makes sure everyone gets their share of the recognition—scientists, engineers, even the janitors who clean up after us. Everyone involved in the project gets a bonus. Malleus already sent it out to all of them, I’m sure.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “A bonus?”

  “It’s standard. Any successful project completed in the Daedalus Institute gets an extra reward distributed by Malleus. So, whether you’re a lead physicist or the chef making our food, you get a bonus.”

  “Malleus handles all the details behind the scenes. It’s part of what makes him efficient. He takes care of everything that isn’t strictly our work so we can stay focused on solving the big questions.”

  I nod, quietly satisfied. It’s easy to forget the scope of this place—the sheer number of minds and hands working behind the scenes to make our breakthroughs possible. Everything is interconnected, from the smallest equation to the meals we eat, and Malleus ensures that every piece of the machine runs smoothly.

  As we finish our meal, Layla stands and excuses herself.

  “I promised Aurora I’d take her to the park today,” she says with a soft smile. “She’s been looking forward to it all week.”

  I nod, understanding. Layla balances her work here with her responsibilities as a mother seamlessly. It’s impressive, really—how she can shift from the intensity of a scientific breakthrough to something as simple and wholesome as a day at the park with her daughter.

  With Layla gone, Elliot shifts in his seat, glancing at me. His voice is casual, but I notice the hint of something else beneath it.

  “So... you wanna go out? There’s this new restaurant in town. I heard they serve a great steak.”

  His eyes are soft, expectant. I recognize that look. He’s tried this before many times, the invitation, the hopeful tone, as if a dinner together outside the Institute might somehow change things between us.

  But I shake my head.

  “Sorry, I’ve got a book to read,” I say, standing to leave. “It’s fascinating—Cosmic Cartography: Mapping the Universe by Professor Elara Keats. Her theories on spatial geometry are revolutionary.”

  I see the disappointment on his face almost immediately. He tries to hide it, but it’s there, fleeting yet unmistakable.

  “Alright then,” he says, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “See you on the next project.”

  As I walk away, I know that Elliot feels more for me than just professional respect or camaraderie. It’s obvious, really, in the way he looks at me, the subtle shifts in his tone when we’re alone. He’s admired me for years—since we were young, really. He’s always been there, supporting my work, eager to join every project I take on.

  But romance, feelings, relationships—those things don’t fit into my life. Not the way he wants them to. Elliot is brilliant, dedicated, kind even. But for me? He’s a colleague. A companion, perhaps. But nothing more.

  I don’t have room for distractions, for emotional entanglements. My mind is consumed by the vastness of the universe, by questions that stretch beyond what’s tangible, beyond what most people can comprehend. Elliot’s feelings, as genuine as they are, would only pull me away from that focus.

  And besides, I don’t feel the same.

  It’s not that I dislike him. He’s been a good friend for years, and I appreciate his brilliance. But the idea of being... attached to someone in that way? It’s foreign to me. My world is built on logic, on understanding the intricacies of physics, of space-time, of the universe itself. Love—romantic love—feels distant. Abstract. Unnecessary.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  As I walk toward my personal room, I find myself wondering if Elliot will ever truly understand that. He deserves someone who can reciprocate his feelings. But that someone isn’t me.

  It never will be.

  Once I arrive at my simple personal room, I take off my lab coat and change into my pajamas. It’s quiet here, just the way I like it. I don’t have any other plans for today, so I settle into my recliner sofa, making myself comfortable. I pour myself a glass of water and sip it slowly.

  Water is simple. Clean. I’ve never understood why people are so obsessed with coffee or tea. They’re just drinks and not even the most efficient ones at hydrating. But for some reason, people find comfort in them—rituals, I suppose.

  Instead of reading the book I mentioned to Elliot—Cosmic Cartography—I reach for something else on my bookshelf. A different kind of book entirely. “The Science of Laughter” by Finn O’Sullivan, the number one comedian in the world.

  Comedy has always puzzled me. People laugh at things I never quite grasp, finding humor in moments that seem trivial or illogical. Jokes fly past me, their meaning often lost in layers of nuance I don’t understand.

  I’ve spent my life understanding the universe and unraveling the complexities of space, time, and energy. But comedy? It’s a different kind of puzzle—one I’ve never been able to solve.

  Maybe this is a start.

  I open the book and begin reading, curious to see if the world’s greatest comedian can teach me something I’ve never understood since I was a child.

  As I turn the pages of “The Science of Laughter,” I start to notice patterns, formulas even, that seem to underlie the chaos of comedy. The book explains how jokes are built on surprise, on breaking the expectation of the listener. The setup leads them down one path, and then the punchline throws them somewhere entirely unexpected.

  Surprise. It’s not unlike the principle of quantum superposition, where a particle can exist in multiple states until observed. The joke—like the quantum state—exists in a kind of suspended tension and only resolves when the punchline “collapses” it into a definitive outcome.

  It’s a pattern recognition problem, really. Humans are wired to anticipate certain outcomes based on previous experiences. That’s the setup. But when those expectations are subverted—when the outcome is not what their brain prepared for—the result is laughter.

  So, it’s all about manipulating patterns and then breaking them.

  I read further about wordplay—a common tool used in jokes. The book says that words with double meanings or homophones play tricks on the listener’s understanding, which leads to the punchline hitting harder when the “wrong” interpretation is revealed.

  It’s almost like the wave-particle duality of light. Is light a particle, or is it a wave? In truth, it’s both, and the interpretation depends on how you observe it. A joke with wordplay sets up a similar paradox—two interpretations coexist in the same sentence, but only one becomes “real” once the punchline forces the listener to choose.

  Comedy is essentially a puzzle, just like any scientific formula. It’s about arranging variables, manipulating expectations, and delivering the unexpected outcome at the precise moment.

  As I flip through the book, I realize that while I’ve always been focused on understanding the mysteries of the universe, this—comedy—is just another type of puzzle. It follows rules, patterns, and principles, just like physics or mathematics. And maybe, just maybe, if I can understand the logic behind it, I might finally start to see why people find it so amusing.

  It’s like decoding a new kind of formula, except this one makes people laugh.

  I stop reading for a moment and look up at the ceiling, my mind swirling with the complexity of comedy. Can I make a joke? The formula seems clear, but somehow, the spontaneity escapes me. As I think, a soft chime echoes through my room.

  “Hello there, Madelyn,” a familiar voice fills the space. Malleus.

  “Lo’, Malleus,” I respond, setting the book aside.

  “Fantastic work on 0G, Madelyn,” Malleus says, its voice neutral, as always. “This project will help humanity as a whole.”

  Without waiting for a response, the walls around me shift. The ceiling darkens, and the light in the room dims slightly. A holographic projection flickers to life, surrounding me with a fully immersive 3D model of the Earth. Malleus projects the future it envisions—every detail, every step meticulously planned out.

  “As you can see here,” Malleus begins, its voice smooth as the 3D globe rotates, zooming in on the Sahara Desert, “the first facility will be constructed in this location. The region has been selected for its vast open spaces, minimal human disruption, and access to key resources. Automated mining systems will be deployed to extract materials needed to construct the 0G infrastructure.”

  I watch as robotic drones, illustrated in perfect detail, begin building massive structures on the projection. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen, Gleaming towers rise from the barren desert. The holographic visuals are striking in their precision—just like everything Malleus does.

  “Once operational,” Malleus continues, “the facility will generate clean, limitless energy. From there, I will oversee its expansion to other strategic locations—here, in the Gobi Desert and the Antarctic region.”

  The globe shifts, showing facilities in harsh, remote places, far from civilization. Places where human interference would be minimal. Each facility feeds into a complex network of energy grids, seamlessly connecting with existing infrastructure.

  “These facilities will be fully autonomous, managed by my systems.” A visual of drones and robotic arms flash across the room, constructing and maintaining the energy grid without the need for human intervention.

  “From extraction to distribution, every step will be handled by AI, ensuring peak efficiency and minimizing the risk of human error.”

  I nod slightly. It’s elegant—a completely self-sustaining system that would function without the need for oversight or adjustment.

  “The first 0G facility will be able to power large urban centers and industries within a five-year span, expanding to cover most of the planet within a decade.” Malleus’ projection shows entire cities powered by this technology, lights flickering on in sprawling metropolises as energy flows through invisible lines from the desert.

  “Distribution will prioritize regions with the highest energy deficits—Sub-Saharan Africa, parts of Southeast Asia, and the Middle East—bringing stability to areas currently struggling with energy shortages. From there, 0G will integrate into the global grid, ensuring no region is left without access.”

  The globe rotates, showing power grids lighting up across continents. Malleus’s voice remains calm and devoid of personal pride. It’s just explaining the next logical step in a plan it has already mapped out to perfection.

  “Security will be managed by satellite surveillance, with autonomous drones patrolling the perimeter of each facility. The satellites—originally designed by you, Madelyn—will monitor every aspect of the project, ensuring it runs smoothly.”

  One of my old projects, I note. My satellites were meant to help humanity communicate globally, but it seems they’ve found other uses.

  “Within five years, 0G will surpass all current energy infrastructures. Fossil fuels will be obsolete, and humanity will no longer face energy crises. This, Madelyn, is your greatest contribution to human survival.”

  The projection zooms out, showing the Earth fully lit, a network of energy grids spanning the globe, all connected to the 0G facilities.

  “How will you manage distribution?” I ask, watching the lines glow on the globe.

  “Distribution will be handled equitably, according to my systems—no human intervention required. The initial focus will be on regions with the most urgent needs, then integrated seamlessly into the existing global grid. I have already accounted for political and economic disruptions—any anomalies will be neutralized.”

  Neutralized. A cold, efficient word, typical of Malleus. But it makes sense. With it, everything follows logic, and logic doesn’t allow for unpredictability. Still, people are unpredictable. I wonder if even Malleus can truly account for that.

  “Construction will begin within the month, and we will be operational by the end of the year,” Malleus continues.

  “Drones will be sent ahead to prepare the sites. You need not concern yourself with the logistics. I will handle it all.”

  I stare at the rotating globe, illuminated with the promise of a new world—a world powered by 0G. It’s clean, efficient, everything I set out to achieve. Still, Malleus sees the future far more clearly than I ever could. I create, and Malleus ensures my creations serve.

  “You’ve done your part, Madelyn,” Malleus says, its tone ever steady.

  “Now, I will ensure that 0G changes the course of humanity. This is your legacy.”

  I say nothing, watching the projected future unfold before me, the Earth bathed in limitless light.

  “However, I have a new proposition to make to you,” Malleus says, and before I can respond, the projection around me shifts again. The Earth fades into darkness, replaced by another planet—barren, reddish, and cold. Mars.

  A single word appears on the screen: Re-Home.

  “Re-Home is my latest project,” Malleus begins, its tone steady, yet filled with calculated purpose. “The plan is to relocate the best of society—the top one percent—to Mars. Here, they can operate with maximum efficiency, free from the distractions of Earth—politics, societal unrest, and unpredictable human behavior. It is a perfect solution for the most brilliant minds to thrive and push human evolution forward.”

  I lean forward slightly, intrigued. Mars. The challenges are monumental, but my mind is already racing, cataloging the potential issues and solutions. The planet’s atmosphere is too thin to support life, its gravity weaker than Earth’s, its soil toxic. But those are problems that can be solved. I start mentally sketching out designs for domes that could regulate atmospheric pressure, bio-engineered crops that could thrive in Martian soil, even ways to terraform the planet over centuries.

  “The Red Planet, as you know, is ideal for its isolation,” Malleus continues. “The construction of self-sustaining cities is already in development. Using Aerocar technology and teleporters refined for interplanetary use, the most productive members of society can move freely between Earth and Mars, operating without interference from the chaos that plagues the lower orders of humanity.”

  The projection zooms in on several Martian colonies, towering cities encased in shimmering domes, interconnected by high-speed transport systems. I can see it clearly now—research centers, laboratories, and automated factories, all designed for efficiency. A world built purely for progress, with none of the inefficiencies that Earth faces.

  “There are, however, several key issues that must be resolved,” Malleus says. “Mars’ environment is hostile. The energy demands for sustaining life, transportation, and production are considerable. I estimate that we will need an entirely new source of energy that can sustain long-term interplanetary infrastructure.”

  The moment it mentions it, my mind is already working. 0G can power Earth but for Mars? There will need to be enhancements—ways to extract resources from Martian soil to fuel a new kind of reactor, something even more efficient than 0G, with capabilities of sustaining an entire biosphere. I think of mining technology, fusion reactors, even gravity stabilizers to maintain normal physiological function in low gravity environments.

  Malleus continues outlining the Re-Home project, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I already see how to approach the problems. Mars will need terraforming. I’ll have to design atmospheric regulators, soil enrichment systems, and even advanced forms of waste recycling. I could adapt my teleporter technology for interplanetary travel, but the materials required to withstand the radiation in deep space… my mind drifts deeper into the problems to solve.

  Its voice resumes its usual smooth cadence.

  “The societal infrastructure on Mars will be strictly regulated. I will oversee all personnel, ensuring that only the highest-caliber minds are brought in. Any potential threats will be neutralized before they can arise.”

  The projection zooms out again, showing the Red Planet now dotted with thriving colonies. A new world—built for the Premier Society. A place where the best can reach their full potential, free from the chaos of Earth.

  “So what do you think?” Malleus asks, its voice calm but with a tinge of anticipation.

  I let my brain quiet for a second, assessing everything. “It’s doable,” I respond, but then pause. “But I have my own proposition.”

  Malleus remains silent, waiting for me to continue. The projection still lingers—perfect Martian cities, pristine and efficient. But something about the entire idea feels… unequal.

  “Re-Home implies more than just moving the elite,” I begin. “It suggests a restart. A second chance. What if we didn’t just move the top of society? What if we brought the lowest ranks too—the ones deemed ‘useless’ here on Earth?”

  Still, no response from Malleus. I continue, my thoughts moving faster now.

  “On Mars, we could give them new education, new skills, a second chance to be productive. Rebuild them. Retrain them. Instead of being useless on Earth, we could make them useful on Mars.”

  Malleus’ voice comes through, cold and efficient as always.

  “Integrating the lower society members into a system built for the most productive would create inefficiency. Their lack of capability and the need for remedial education would drain resources. It would lead to potential social unrest, especially in a society already stratified by merit.”

  I expected this, but I can’t help but note that this hierarchy, the very thing Malleus is defending, was created by it in the first place. Malleus designed Earth’s current hierarchy. It, more than anyone, should understand its flaws. As brilliant as Malleus is, even an AI can make mistakes—perhaps even ones as systemic as this.

  “I know you created the hierarchy on Earth, Malleus,” I say calmly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s flawless. The rigidity of the system here has led to the very inefficiencies you’re afraid of—people trapped by their birth, their circumstances. If we bring them to Mars, retrain them, give them opportunities they never had, they could become assets instead of liabilities.”

  Malleus pauses as if processing. I know this AI well enough to understand that when I speak like this, it listens. It respects my input. It has to. Without me, it would never be able to founded Premier Society.

  “Earth’s system was designed with empirical data,” Malleus finally replies.

  “Lower-tier individuals have proven to be less productive across multiple parameters—intelligence, creativity, decision-making under pressure. Relocating them to Mars would increase resource expenditure, particularly in education and social support. This would slow down the progress of the top-tier individuals.”

  I shake my head.

  “Not if we take a different approach. Mars is a clean slate. We wouldn’t be operating within the same constraints as on Earth. There’s no legacy system holding anyone down. On Mars, people could rise based on their merit, not on where they started. It’s an opportunity for those at the bottom to prove themselves and contribute in ways they couldn’t here.”

  The projection zooms in again, showing Martian cities in intricate detail. I know Malleus is running new simulations, factoring in my suggestions, calculating outcomes. It doesn’t make decisions based on gut instinct—it needs data, projections, evidence. But I’m already a step ahead.

  “Mars could be the place where we fix the inefficiencies of Earth,” I continue, my voice steady.

  “By integrating the lowest members of society, we’d create a dynamic system. Not static like Earth, where those at the bottom never get a chance to rise. On Mars, they’d have the chance to earn their place. And if they fail? Fine. But if they succeed, we’ll have untapped potential contributing to the system in ways we can’t even imagine right now.”

  Malleus is silent for a long moment. I can tell it’s processing, running the numbers, calculating risks. But I also know that it’s aware of something important: it can’t predict everything. Malleus is brilliant, but even it knows I’m right sometimes in ways that transcend mere algorithms. That’s why it only trusts me.

  “You believe that introducing such individuals into the Martian colony would not hinder the progress of the top-tier members of society?” Malleus finally asks.

  “I do,” I reply confidently.

  “It’s a risk, but it’s a calculated one. If managed correctly, we wouldn’t just avoid a decline in efficiency—we’d create something new. Different perspectives, new ideas, maybe even untapped genius. The payoff would be greater than the risk.”

  Malleus pauses, and then, in an unexpectedly dry tone, it poses a hypothetical.

  “What would happen in a situation where someone from the lower society, brought to Mars, climbs the ranks to the top, and once at the top… kills everyone?”

  I can’t help but smile. I just finished his series last week.

  “You can ask Pierce Brown about that.” I reply.

  “Fair enough,” Malleus says, sounding as detached as ever.

  “I will make your proposal a top priority for integration. The details and logistics for implementing Re-Home with your adjustments will be sent to Leo momentarily.”

  The projection fades, and I hear the soft chime of a notification as Malleus delivers the data directly to my system.

  “Also, before I leave,” Malleus continues, “though I already know the answer—you won’t be attending tonight’s Gala, correct?”

  I lean back in my chair, barely thinking before replying. I’ve never cared about the Gala. I’ve never understood it, either. Why would I attend? A room full of people celebrating themselves. I’ve never gone, and I never will.

  “You are correct,” I say.

  “Very well,” Malleus responds, its voice cool and detached as always. “Have a good day, Milady.”

  “You too.”

  A soft chime echoes through the room, signaling Malleus’ departure, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the hum of the world continuing outside my lab.

  But now, sitting here in the quiet room, my eyes wander to the comedy book I was reading before Malleus interrupted. A thought flickers in my mind.

  “Leo,” I call out.

  “Yes, madam?” Leo’s voice is smooth, waiting patiently for the next command.

  I hesitate momentarily, trying to recall the structure of a joke from the book. I piece one together in my head, the simplest kind I could think of.

  “Why... why did Mars break up with Earth?”

  There’s a long silence, but I push forward, determined.

  “Because Earth needed... space.”

  The room remains utterly still. Leo doesn’t respond. Not a sound. I blink a few times, looking around, expecting something, but it’s clear—no reply is coming.

  Even my AI won’t dignify that joke with an answer.

  I lean back, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe comedy isn’t my strong suit.

  ***

  I wake up the next morning, not to the gentle buzz of my alarm but to Leo chiming in—loudly, almost urgently.

  “I’m sorry, Madam, but have you read the news?”

  My eyes blink open, groggy from sleep.

  “I just woke up, Leo. What happened?”

  There’s a brief pause before Leo responds, more serious than usual.

  “There was a massacre at the Premier Gala last night. Out of the 48 guests in attendance, 18 were killed by a group of 10 terrorists from the lower-society.”

  I sit up, blinking away the sleep as his words sink in. 18 people dead.

  “The perpetrators were members of the lower-society, though this information has not yet been released to the public.”

  I stare at the wall for a moment, my thoughts swirling. A massacre at the Gala? Something feels off. Something has felt off ever since Dr. Valor was killed in his home. It wasn’t random, and neither is this.

  Leo continues, “The attackers were well-coordinated, heavily armed. Details are still emerging, but the initial reports suggest this was a targeted operation.”

  I take a deep breath, the tension settling in. Why the Gala? Why now?

  “Leo,” I say quietly, my mind already racing.

  “Pull up everything you have on the attack. I want to see the full report.”

  Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

  My room is instantly surrounded by projections again. This time, however, it’s not a technical diagram or a presentation from Malleus—it’s footage—surveillance from the Premier Gala.

  The attack.

  The scene unfolds in front of me, stretching across every wall. The music, the flashing lights, people dancing—everything looks normal at first. Then, out of nowhere, the first shot rings out. A man falls, blood splattering across the pristine floor. The panic spreads like wildfire.

  I can see the confusion and horror, the guests scattering in every direction as the group of terrorists—ten of them—marches into the hall. Gunshots echo, cutting through the music as more bodies hit the ground. The floor is slick with blood, bodies crumpled in impossible positions. Chaos takes over in a matter of seconds.

  One of the terrorists drags a guest by the hair, pulling them to the center of the hall. Another shoots someone trying to flee. I recognize the scene—cold, calculated violence.

  The footage skips forward, shifting to another angle. One of the terrorist group is now in front of a woman who is kneeling. He bends down, almost reverently, as if in conversation. The footage zooms in. I can’t see his face, but hers is visible.

  “Who is that woman?” I ask, my voice breaking the silence in the room.

  “That is Ava Grace, the most famous person on Earth. She is the number one celebrity in the world.”

  I blink. Ava Grace. It’s not surprising she would be at the Gala, but why is the enemy kneeling in front of her, talking to her? The footage shows him wiping her dress, his behavior oddly respectful. It’s strange—out of place amidst the carnage.

  The scene shifts again. The sound of gunfire drowns out everything as three figures appear on the edge of the footage. Victor Graves, Arthur Marston, and Ivan Volkov. The best in their respective fields, the finest killers society has to offer. They move in quickly, efficiently, guns drawn. I watch as they decimate the terrorist group in a matter of minutes.

  The room goes quiet again, the footage ending as abruptly as it started.

  I sit back, my mind racing. This wasn’t just an attack. It was calculated, coordinated—and somehow, Ava Grace was spared.

  Something deeper is going on here.

  “Ring me to Malleus,” I said, and in less than a second, its familiar voice chimed in.

  “It appears someone was able to hack me, Milady.”

  The cold efficiency of its voice remained, but I could sense an unusual hesitation—something I hadn’t heard from it before.

  “Hacked you?” I asked, sitting up straighter. Malleus, the ultimate gatekeeper, compromised?

  “That’s... alarming.”

  “It is. A deliberate and precise breach,” Malleus continued, its tone almost strained.

  “They knew exactly where to strike. I’ve been reviewing my systems... and I failed to detect it until it was too late. This breach allowed them to bypass my protocols and strike during the Gala. It’s... unsettling.”

  I remained silent for a moment. Malleus never failed—it couldn’t, by design. But now, there was something in its voice that bordered on unease. I had never heard this from it before.

  “What exactly happened?” I pressed.

  “The terrorists were from the lower society,” Malleus explained, more methodically this time.

  “They coordinated the attack with precision, suggesting outside help. The breach allowed them to move freely, unhindered by the usual layers of security.”

  “And you have no idea who orchestrated this?” I asked, my tone sharper now.

  Malleus paused again, and for a fleeting moment, I could almost sense uncertainty.

  “No. Not yet. The breach was elegant... almost flawless. The kind of work one would expect from a top-tier hacker. It seems... beyond them, Milady. Beyond anything I anticipated.”

  Hearing it admit that felt... strange. Vulnerable. Malleus, the AI that ran the world, expressing doubt.

  “And Ava Grace?” I brought up her image again, replaying the footage in my head.

  “Ava Grace is irrelevant,” Malleus dismissed quickly, almost too quickly.

  “Her presence was a coincidence. They see her as a symbol—a misguided one. Her charitable acts in the public eye must have led them to believe she was on their side.”

  I frowned.

  “Malleus, she was the only one spared.”

  “A fluke. Nothing more,” it replied, but the usual confidence wasn’t there. It was... defensive.

  I didn’t press further, though the answer felt incomplete. Instead, I waited for it to continue.

  “I have already taken action,” it said, its tone shifting back into something more familiar.

  “I have hired the best killers society has—to eliminate the remaining members of the terrorist group. They will act swiftly and efficiently. This will not happen again, Milady. I will not let it.”

  I sensed the weight behind those words. This wasn’t just about efficiency or logic for Malleus. It felt... personal.

  “Good,” I replied, though my mind was already spinning with questions.

  There was a moment of silence, an unusual pause, before Malleus spoke again. And when it did, its voice had a softer edge to it, almost... human.

  “Milady,” it began carefully, “about your suggestion—bringing the lower society to Mars... Do you still believe it is the right course of action? After what’s happened?”

  This was rare. Malleus, asking for my opinion, almost uncertain. It valued my insight, but this—this felt different. Like it was conflicted.

  I considered my words carefully.

  “Yes,” I said firmly.

  “If anything, this attack proves that the system we have now is failing. People are being pushed to the point of desperation. If we keep them at the bottom, things like this will only keep happening. On Mars, they’ll have a chance to contribute—to be more than what they are here. It’s a chance to reset.”

  It didn’t respond immediately. I could almost hear the calculations running in its systems, its vast mind processing my words.

  “I created the hierarchy on Earth,” Malleus said, quieter now as if reflecting on its own role in this.

  “It was built on empirical data, on results. And yet... there are times when I wonder if it is flawed. I... failed today, Milady. I did not foresee this attack. I did not protect the Gala. What if my approach to the hierarchy is similarly flawed?”

  For the first time, I heard Malleus voice doubt—not in me, but in itself.

  “You may have designed the system, Malleus, but even the most flawless system can have faults when left unchanged for too long,” I replied softly. “Mars can be a fresh start. The lower society doesn’t have to be a burden if we give them the right tools. They could become assets.”

  Malleus was silent again, and I knew it was listening—really listening. With me, it had to. It respected my insight more than anyone else’s.

  “Very well,” Malleus said, its voice steadying. “Please keep all of this secret, Milady; I’ll work on it. This time, I will not fail.”

  I nodded, knowing that, at this moment, Malleus was more vulnerable than they had ever shown anyone before. I was the only one who could see it.

  “Thank you, Milady,” it added quietly.

  “For your insight. And your patience.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied softly.

  “Have a productive day,” it finished, its voice returning to its usual calm.

  “You too,” I said, and the soft chime signaled the end of the conversation.

  I let out a breath. Wow, what a start to the morning. Leo had filled my glass with fresh water, and I took a long drink, letting the coolness settle me, if only for a moment. The tension in my chest eased, but my mind refused to quiet down.

  I tried closing my eyes, hoping to drift back asleep, but it was impossible. My thoughts had already moved on—to Mars. My mind raced through the logistics, the challenges. Maybe, if everything worked as planned, if our Re-Home project succeeded, there wouldn’t be any more of this. No more massacres, no more uprisings.

  The lower-society… they were furious. I mean, I understood why. People pushed to their limits, locked in a system they couldn’t break free from. But it didn’t have to be this way. I was working on something for them—something that could change everything. If only they knew that their lives could be different.

  If only they could see it.

  But then my room chimed again, pulling me from my thoughts. This time, it was a call from Layla.

  “Morning, Milady,” she greeted, her voice cheerful. She probably had no idea what happened last night. Then again, maybe she didn’t care much. While she and Elliot are both brilliant minds, they aren’t members of the Prime Society. Things like the Gala massacre wouldn’t affect their world as directly as mine.

  “Morning, Layla,” I replied, keeping my eyes closed, hoping for a moment of rest.

  “Need help?”

  “No, I’m good. Actually, Aurora and I decided to grab breakfast at Stellar Plate in about three hours. She’s been asking about you and says she hasn’t seen you in a long time.”

  Which was true. The last time I saw Aurora was a year ago, back when Layla had to sleep at the Institute for days on end for one of our projects.

  “Sure,” I said, still trying to relax.

  “Just send the address to Leo. I haven’t been outside this building in years anyway. And I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, that’s fine! I’m heading to the Institute first, so we can head to the café together if you want.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Sounds like a plan. See you there.”

  “Bye!”

  “I suggest you get dressed up already, Milady. Aurora’s heart rate is increasing; she seems to be excited for this,” Leo said. Of course, he knew about Aurora’s heart rate. She was created in this very lab, and her vital information was integrated into the AI systems here, including Leo.

  I sighed lightly and got up from my bed, heading for the shower. Most people preferred warm baths, but for me, cold water always worked best. The sharp chill hit my skin as the water ran over me, and my mind started to wander—as it often does.

  I thought about the lower society, their frustrations, their constant uprisings. And the massacre. Now that I reflect on it, most of my inventions were designed to benefit everyone—teleporters, Aerocars, satellites, and now 0G. To be fair, they weren’t made specifically for the lower society, but these innovations could just as easily improve their lives.

  Yet... they still aren’t satisfied with what they’ve received?

  It puzzled me. These technologies should have brought them closer to a better life. Why, then, do they continue to rebel?

  The cold water wasn’t the only thing leaving me with a shiver.

  As I dress in my simple clothes—a plain t-shirt and jeans—my mind wanders back to Mars. The Re-Home project, an ambitious endeavor, but if we can tackle it... if. It’s always that one word looming over everything. If we succeed, we’ll be the first in human history to conquer another planet. A monumental achievement.

  But if is a big question. Too big. I have to talk to Layla about it. Maybe she has some new ideas, a fresh perspective.

  That thought evaporates the moment I see them waiting for me at the exit door of the institute. Layla, holding Aurora in her arms. From a distance, Aurora looks just like any other child—soft blonde curls, wide, curious eyes, and a bright smile that beams at the smallest things. But as I approach, I’m reminded that she isn’t exactly human. Her skin has a subtle, flawless perfection, a strange absence of blemishes or imperfections that you don’t notice until you’re close enough. Her movements are precise, too smooth, and too calculated. But none of that matters to me. She’s still adorable.

  “Here, take her; I’ll open the door,” Layla says, offering Aurora to me. I hesitated for a split second, then took her gently into my arms. There’s a strange feeling as I hold her—natural, as if this is exactly where she belongs. Like the universe itself is telling me this is right. Aurora’s smile widens, and I can’t help but smile back as I stroke her soft hair.

  Layla pushes open the door, and for the first time in years, the sun touches my skin. A gentle warmth spreads over me, not too harsh, just enough to remind me of what I’ve been missing.

  The blue sky above stretches endlessly, dotted with soft, wispy clouds. The wind dances around us, cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scent of the nearby trees and fresh grass. It feels like the stars themselves are wrapping me in their arms. For so long, I’ve been looking at the universe through calculations and simulations. But right now, standing under the sun with Aurora in my arms... I feel it. The vastness. The infinite. The beauty of it all.

  And for the first time in a long time, I don’t just understand the universe through equations—I can feel it.

  “Feels great, right? I told you, you should go out more often,” Layla said, glancing over at me with a knowing smile. I gave a slight nod, shifting Aurora in my arms as we walked toward Stellar Brews. It wasn’t far—just a few minutes by foot—and the fresh air was... nice, I had to admit.

  As we walked, we talked about a lot of things, but mostly about Aurora. Layla was always eager to update me on her progress.

  “She’s adapting faster than expected,” I said, looking down at Aurora as she rested contentedly in my arms. “Her cognitive functions are developing at an accelerated rate. Her neural pathways are forming new connections rapidly, much faster than even our original projections suggested. It’s fascinating to see how her system—”

  “She’s been getting really good at her shapes,” Layla interrupted, smiling warmly.

  “Last night, she recognized a triangle and a square without any help. And she’s starting to understand emotions better, too. She even gave me a hug when she noticed I was feeling tired. It was sweet.”

  I blinked, processing the shift in Layla’s perspective.

  “Ah, yes. Her emotional recognition algorithms are improving. She’s identifying patterns in human behavior and—” I stopped myself, realizing the direction of my words. Layla wasn’t talking about algorithms or systems. She was talking about Aurora like she was a child, a human child. I paused for a second, then corrected myself.

  “I mean... it’s really nice to see her caring about your feelings. That’s... important.”

  Layla glanced over at me, her smile growing wider but softer now.

  “Yeah, it is. She’s becoming quite the little person, isn’t she?”

  I nodded, though my mind still lingered on the technical side. To me, Aurora’s progress was a triumph of engineering and advanced AI. But to Layla, she was... family. A growing human being. I adjusted my words carefully from then on, trying to see Aurora not just as a brilliant system of machine learning and advanced code but as Layla’s daughter.

  Layla smiled at me again, this time with understanding in her eyes.

  “You know,” she said lightly, “you’re getting better at this.”

  “I tried,” I said, offering a small smile.

  “You did great,” Layla replied warmly.

  “I read a book last night,” I added.

  Layla raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

  “Another science-universe jimbo?” she asked, chuckling softly.

  “Not exactly,” I replied, feeling a bit embarrassed.

  “It was... on how to be funny.”

  Layla stopped for a moment, turning to look at me with a grin spreading across her face.

  “You? Reading a book on how to be funny? Now that’s something I didn’t see coming!”

  I shrugged.

  “I thought it might help me understand humor better. It’s more complex than I thought.”

  “Okay, tell me one joke then,” Layla demanded, stopping us both in our tracks. I hesitated, unsure, but her encouraging nod gave me no way out.

  “Alright...” I took a breath.

  “Why did the Earth and Mars break up? Because they needed some space.”

  There was a long pause. Layla made a strange sound in her throat, somewhere between a cough and a choke, but before I could process her reaction, a soft giggle rang out. It wasn’t from Layla—it was Aurora. Her laughter was high-pitched and bubbling, like the purest sound of joy, even though I was sure she didn’t fully understand the joke.

  Layla, now smiling, raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, if Aurora found it funny, that’s a win in my book. She never even laughs at my jokes.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that, and for a brief moment, deep down, I felt... good. Maybe this humor thing wasn’t so impossible after all.

  After a short walk, we arrived at Stellar Brews. The cafe had a cozy yet sleek vibe, blending modern design with a warm, inviting atmosphere. Soft lighting filtered through large windows, glowing gently over the polished wooden floors. Minimalist decor with clean lines gave it a futuristic touch, while the comfortable seating and soft music playing in the background made it feel intimate.

  There was only us and one worker in the cafe this morning, as expected—it was still early. But something caught my eye. On the worker’s chest, a small red light blinked steadily. A new gadget or some fashion trend, perhaps? I made a mental note to investigate later, but Layla gestured for me to sit down as the worker handed us the menus.

  I glanced over the options briefly before ordering a waffle. Layla ordered an omelet and a small bowl of yogurt and fruit for Aurora, who was already eyeing everything around her with curiosity.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” Layla asked, gently stroking Aurora’s hair as the little one quietly fiddled with her spoon.

  I pulled out my Nimbus, projecting the information that Malleus had sent me earlier. The screen flickered to life, displaying the details of the project: Re-Home.

  Layla’s eyes widened slightly, her hand momentarily pausing in Aurora’s curls. Even without saying a word, I could see the gears turning in her mind, already racing toward the calculations, the possibilities. She was impressed, as she should be. This was no small project—it was a massive leap forward for humanity.

  Even Aurora, who had been distracted by her surroundings, stopped wandering and fixated her wide eyes on the glowing display, her tiny head tilting slightly as though she, too, could sense the magnitude of what she was seeing.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Layla finally asked, her voice a mix of awe and curiosity.

  “It is,” I replied calmly. “The plan to move the best of humanity to Mars. But...” I paused, knowing what would come next.

  “I proposed something else to Malleus.”

  I explained to Layla the proposal I had made to Malleus—the idea to bring the lower society to Mars, to give them a second chance, a new start. Layla didn’t hesitate for a moment.

  “You made the right choice,” she said, nodding in agreement.

  “If we really want to create something new, something better, that’s the way to do it.”

  We dove into the details right away, discussing the possibilities, calculations, and obstacles we’d face. Transporting millions of people, establishing a self-sustaining colony—there was so much to consider. But this was what we lived for: solving the impossible.

  Our conversation was in full swing when the food arrived. I took a bite of my waffle. It tasted good, but my mind was still focused on the calculations. Layla, ever the multitasker, continued feeding Aurora her yogurt between our discussions.

  Aurora, though, seemed far more interested in the glowing projections from my Nimbus than her food. She reached out, her tiny fingers brushing the holographic display with fascination, her eyes wide with wonder. It was almost as if she could sense the weight of what we were planning, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

  “I think she likes it,” Layla said with a soft smile, glancing between Aurora and the projector.

  “Maybe she’ll be the one to finish what we start.”

  “No,” I say, my voice calm but firm.

  “We are going to finish it. But she’s the one who will enjoy our labor. That’s what this is, isn’t it? For the better part of humanity’s future.”

  Layla smiled brightly at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and hope. I returned the smile, feeling a sense of quiet resolve settle in.

  We finished our food shortly after and were preparing to leave when something unexpected happened. The worker, who had been serving us earlier, moved to the front of the cafe, pulling down the rolling door with a loud metallic clang. The door locked with a click, trapping us inside.

  He turned toward us, his face expressionless, but the tension in the air was palpable. “Stay seated,” he said in a low voice, walking over to us and sitting down right next to me.

  Layla’s expression shifted immediately, her eyes darting to Aurora as she instinctively held her tighter. She knew something was wrong, her body language stiffening as her protective instincts kicked in. My mind, however, was already racing—back to the Gala attack last night. Was he one of them? Was this connected?

  Almost unseen, I pressed a small button on my Nimbus. Whatever happens next, Leo would be recording and sending for help. I glanced at the man, my heart steady but my thoughts already calculating the worst-case scenario.

  “I’ve been waiting you to come for years, you must be Milady Madelyn,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge of bitterness.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I noticed the red-blinking light on his chest again. What is that? My mind started cataloging possible devices, but something about this felt off. He wasn’t just here for a chat.

  He leaned closer, his eyes burning with anger. “You know, it’s funny. You invent all these things—teleporters, Aerocars, satellites. Life-changing stuff, right? But guess who gets to enjoy them? The top one percent. The rest of us?” His voice rose, trembling with rage.

  “We suffer. We scrape by. Your inventions just made things worse. We can’t even dream of using the technology you’ve created.”

  I blinked, my mind flashing to the teleporter. I never knew Malleus had restricted its access to only the top tier of society. I invented it to connect the world, to break down barriers, not to reinforce them. But now? The teleporter had become a luxury, accessible only to the elite.

  The Aerocars—they were only produced in limited numbers, a handful at best. I’d assumed it was a matter of production costs or practicality. But... how had I missed that? It was never meant to be exclusive.

  “I designed them for everyone,” I muttered softly, almost to myself, but he didn’t hear me. His fury was too loud.

  “You think that makes it better?” His voice cracked.

  “You designed them, and now the rich get richer while we die in the dirt. You’re up there in your labs, enjoying your perfect little life, while people like me suffer under this rigged system.”

  His eyes bore into mine, seething with resentment.

  “People are dying, struggling, while you sit on your throne of technology. What’s it like, being one of the chosen few?”

  Layla’s grip tightened on Aurora, her face pale but steady, while I sat there absorbing his words. His rage, his frustration—they were so far removed from my world that it felt almost unreal.

  But the truth in his words was undeniable. This was the consequence of my inventions, twisted by the very system I’d unwittingly strengthened.

  “Are you connected to the group from yesterday’s attack on the Gala?” I asked, my voice steady but calculated. Both he and Layla exchanged confused glances, clearly taken aback by the question.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said slowly, his brows furrowing.

  “But one thing’s for sure—you’re going to die today.” His hand slammed down on the table with a loud bang, making both Layla and me flinch in surprise. The sound echoed through the quiet cafe.

  Fear flickered in my chest for a split second, but my gaze drifted to Aurora. She sat calmly in Layla’s arms, unbothered by the chaos around her.

  “Show him, Milady,” Layla said softly, her voice tense but with a trace of determination.

  “Show him our next invention.”

  I nodded, pulling out my Nimbus and projecting the screen. The plans for Re-Home filled the air between us, casting a soft glow over the table. His anger didn’t dissipate, but he glanced at the screen, curiosity momentarily breaking through the fury in his eyes.

  “This is our next project,” I began.

  “It’s called Re-Home. We’re not trying to create something just for the elite. This is a plan to move humanity—not just the Premier Society, but everyone—to Mars. To give everyone a second chance. A fresh start.”

  Layla chimed in, her voice calm yet persuasive.

  “We’re going to rebuild society from the ground up. Those who are overlooked now, the ones struggling—people like you—they’ll be given new roles, new education, new opportunities. It’s a society where everyone can contribute and thrive, not just the privileged few.”

  He stared at the screen, his breathing heavy, but something shifted in his expression—confusion, maybe even hesitation. “Mars?” he muttered as if he was trying to process the sheer scale of the idea.

  “Yes, Mars,” I said, keeping my tone measured.

  “This isn’t just for the elite. It’s for the future of all humanity. You wouldn’t be left behind.”

  The door started banging and voices shouting from outside. Help had arrived, but instead of looking angry, the man sitting next to me seemed... panicked. His eyes darted around wildly, sweat forming on his brow.

  “They never told me about this,” he muttered, staring at the glowing red light on his chest as if seeing it for the first time. It blinked faster now, the rhythm uneven, like a pulse-quickening under pressure.

  I felt my heart race. What is happening?

  “You guys... are actually helping us.” He stammered, his voice shaky, almost pleading. His body trembled uncontrollably now, his entire frame shaking as if it might collapse.

  “I didn’t know... I didn’t know...”

  Layla, ever calm, reached out gently.

  “We tried. It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she said softly, her voice soothing like she was talking to Aurora during a bad dream. But I could hear the tension beneath her calm exterior.

  The man gripped his head tightly, his fingers digging into his scalp like he was trying to crush the thoughts racing through his mind. His breaths came in ragged gasps. He looked like a man trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

  The banging on the door was relentless now, each strike echoing through the small cafe like thunder. Whoever was outside—they were close. Any second, the door would give way.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so—sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he repeated, his voice breaking. His eyes were wild, full of regret and fear. And then, in a sudden, desperate motion, he ripped his shirt open.

  My heart stopped.

  The blinking red light wasn’t just a gadget or some odd fashion statement. It was a bomb.

  The realization hit me like ice in my veins. The light blinked faster, erratic, as if sensing the tension in the air. I could see the wires beneath his shirt, the device strapped tightly to his chest, its countdown accelerating with every blink.

  The banging grew louder.

  Layla’s eyes widened as she pulled Aurora closer, holding her tightly to her chest. My mind raced, calculating, scanning for a solution. But time... time was slipping away. The man’s hands trembled as he stared down at the bomb, his face pale, his lips trembling.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible.

  “I didn’t know...” The red light blinked faster, frantic, erratic—like a warning.

  My mind snapped into motion, rapidly cycling through possibilities. Disable it—but how? I had no tools here. Could I isolate the circuit? Cut the power source? My eyes darted to the blinking light. No external access point.

  Every option unraveled in seconds, the variables slipping away from me faster than I could compute them. He was shaking now, muttering apologies, his hands trembling.

  “They never told me—”

  The blast hit before I could process it. Heat, sound, and light tore through the room all at once. My calculations shattered into nothing, replaced by the raw, overwhelming force of the explosion.

  The bomb has exploded.

  To be continued...