.The wind cut across the rooftop. Sharp. Biting.
Veer pulled his jacket tighter. The canvas was rough against his skin, a sandpaper reminder that he was still real in a world that felt like a cheap hologram. Two hundred floors down, the city was just a mechanical ocean. Lights glided. Vehicles moved in that sickeningly smooth silence. It was like a play that had been rehearsed a billion times until the soul had leaked out of it. Nothing moved too fast. Nothing lagged. Every damn movement was a lie.
The alloy tiles under his boots were flawless. No cracks. No dirt. Not a single footprint to show that a human had ever dared to stand there. Even the wind felt fake—filtered and scrubbed by some machine that didn't know what a real storm felt like. Veer took a breath and frowned. It was too clean. Too sterile. No dust, no smell, nothing alive enough to leave a mark.
He leaned over the edge. Aero-Chairs drifted by like oval pods carrying mannequins on display. Bodies reclined too perfectly. Limbs loose. Eyes hidden behind lenses glowing with artificial colors. "Peaceful?" Veer muttered, spitting into the abyss. "No. Just empty."
He flexed his fingers inside his worn gloves. The seams scraped his skin—rough, imperfect, real. His jacket snapped loudly, fighting every gust of wind as if it remembered the real storms this city had erased. People passed him in "smart-skin" clothes that adjusted to temperature and cleaned themselves.
His didn't. It was stiff. It was worn. And he preferred it that way.
The watch on his wrist ticked. Tick. Tick.. It was too loud in this mechanical grave. Too human. But it steadied him. A habit. Proof that time was still moving forward, even if the world was standing still.
The air rippled. A lift arrived, silent as a ghost. Veer stepped in. The floor turned to glass, and the city surged upward—synthetic forests and programmed skies. He saw his reflection: sharp eyes, a jaw set like concrete, shoulders braced for impact. He didn't look like a citizen. He looked like a soldier waiting for the first shot.
The Fortress.
The walls groaned as he entered, alloy plates shifting to welcome him. An energy barrier flared, the air smelling of heated ions. "Welcome back, Veer," a calm voice echoed.
He didn't answer. He never did. He ignored the holographic displays and the silent service units. He walked straight to the corner, to the only thing in this high-tech cage that wasn't a lie: a frayed cardboard box.
Veer knelt and lifted the lid slowly. Inside were yellowed pages. Manga. Faces frozen in ink—anger, hope, fear. Real emotions. Then his fingers hit something hard. Plastic. Sharp edges. A relic.
THE LEGEND OF GOD.
"Ancient trash," he whispered, but his thumb lingered on the cracked casing. He slammed it into the reader.
The room erupted. Violet light spilled across the walls like a stain. Speakers shrieked as ancient code slammed into modern systems.
DO YOU WISH TO ENTER A WORLD THAT SCIENCE FORGOT?
Veer leaned back, arms crossed. "You people really loved drama, didn't you?"
Then the floor pulsed. Not a tremor. A heartbeat. Low. Heavy. The walls groaned as if the metal was in pain. Shadows twisted. Veer's smile died as the pulse slid under his skin, behind his eyes.
His watch went dead. Tick—nothing.
"System?" Veer called out. Silence. The air turned heavy, thick, like the room had suddenly gained a thousand pounds.
"Master."
He spun around. Maria stood there, blue pixels knitting her into a shape that was almost human.
"You should sleep," she said. Her voice was flat. Cold.
Veer narrowed his eyes. "Since when do you creep up on me without an invite?"
"There was an anomaly. Sleep is recommended."
Her face twisted—just a glitch, but enough. Veer leaned in, his breath hitting the cold hologram. "You felt it too, didn't you? The pulse. Don't lie to me, machine."
"Sleep," she repeated. Her eyes locked onto his like a predator.
The air grew heavy. Commanded. Veer fell back, his limbs turning to lead. As the darkness took him, he saw Maria standing over him. Perfectly still. And just before his eyes closed, he saw it—her lips curved up into a smile that no machine should have.
Morning Master
"Master. Wake up."
The words hit his skull like a hammer. Again. Again. Veer forced his eyes open. Everything was ready—clothes, water, food. All without his permission.
"You are behind schedule," Maria said.
Veer chewed his food, his mouth feeling disconnected. "Since when did you become my alarm clock?"
"Since patterns began deviating."
Later, on the train, a holographic ad flared up. LEGEND OF GOD. A kid named Roy Shanu was on the screen, eyes burning with a desperate kind of effort. "I'll fight them. Even Rank 10."
Someone nearby scoffed. "That game's dead."
Veer didn't laugh. He felt a memory knocking on a door he had kept locked for years.
"Still refusing to evolve, Veer?" Miss Izumi hovered beside him in her Aero-Chair. "Doesn't it hurt? All that walking?"
Veer didn't even look at her. "Doesn't it bother you," he said, his voice cold as ice, "that you've forgotten what it feels like to stand on your own two feet?"
Her porcelain face cracked. Her smile died.
Evening came too quickly. The fortress was silent. No hum. No barrier. Veer pushed the door open. Darkness spilled out. Not empty. Occupied.
A voice spoke from the corner. A human voice. Close. Real.
"You really should have listened to the machine, Veer. You should have stayed asleep."