? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  I’ve lost track of the days since this dream began to hunt me. It came almost every night, always unchanged—like a record stuck on the same track.

  Darkness. Thick, all-consuming, almost tactile to the taste. There are no sounds, no air, not even the light of distant stars. Only a glacial gloom that slowly leeches the life from my very bones. My eyes are wide open, but the only thing I see is the flicker of an auxiliary interface across my retinas.

  Alien symbols in an unknown tongue flash at the periphery—meaningless subtitles to my own demise.

  I used to dismiss it as exhaustion. But now, I wake with a persistent hollow inside. A bitter sensation, as if something vast were swallowing reality, slowly dragging me into the maw of something older than this world.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  “A-a-a-ah!!”

  The youth bolted upright, clutching his chest.

  “That damn dream again…”

  Breathless, with cold sweat slicking his forehead, he sat staring into the dark. A blue notification pulsed in the gloom: [HEART RATE: 152 BPM. HYPERVENTILATION DETECTED. STABILIZATION MODE ACTIVE.]

  Sometimes he thought it was just the fallout of late-night stress. But lately—every night, the same thing. The same darkness. The same solitude. And the same moment where everything ends.

  The home’s automated system, detecting its master’s distress, chimed in with a pleasant, artificial voice:

  “Good morning. You have four missed calls. Weather: Sunny, temperature +37°C. Precipitation probability for this evening: 86%. Top news: Conflict continues to escalate. The President expressed concern regarding a cyberattack by the West Asian Alliance on European Charter data centers. Experts suggest the Alliance, lagging in ASI development, struck first to level the playing field…”

  “Enough!” he snapped. “How much longer do I have to listen to these idiots measuring whose AGI is better or whose missile is longer?”

  The screen flickered. A line of system code blinked. For a split second, a green wireframe grid flashed across the room. The boy frowned, but the display self-corrected instantly, as if nothing had happened.

  A glitch? Again… or is someone trying to crack the system? On this scale?

  Missed messages from his supervisor blinked on his neuro-phone. After reading them, he sighed heavily and headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, amidst floating ads for antidepressants, was a familiar face. A tired gaze, dark hollows beneath his eyes—the shadow of a past he couldn’t outrun.

  Mom… Dad… the thought surfaced unbidden.

  The war had already been raging for years back then. He remembered only the explosion outside the window, a scream, a stranger’s hand grabbing him—and then, nothing but smoke, the wail of sirens, and the cold voice of a rescue worker: “Alive. Just one.”

  After his parents died, his grandmother raised him. She often stashed food for a "rainy day," repeating: “Those who have survived war do not believe in peace.”

  Then she was gone too. The State didn’t abandon him. They provided an android.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  They even made a PR campaign out of it. Slogans screamed from the screens: “Caring for the Future! Children of War receive free guardians!” Politicians smiled for the cameras, hugging artificial caretakers, waxing poetic about compassion.

  “Vote for us—we don’t leave children to fate!”

  The TV showed children solemnly being handed their androids—under the lights, the applause, and the patriotic anthems. And then—silence. The database reported: Task complete. Metric achieved.

  The boy had received a guardian model with basic care algorithms. She was a bit strange, but she tried, in her own mechanical way.

  “Breakfast is ready,” the house AI announced.

  “Thanks.”

  “Reminder: Every ‘thank you’ and other displays of politeness increase computational resource expenditure. Over a year…”

  “And yet, I’ll keep saying it. Because I’m a human. And you’re a bore.”

  “As you wish.”

  In the kitchen, the android maid was waiting. Her archaic lace dress was perfectly pressed. She bowed respectfully.

  “Good morning, Master. I hope you were able to sleep.”

  “I hope so too,” he replied, absentmindedly touching his cheek, still flushed from sleep.

  “You were screaming in your sleep,” she said softly. “I left the hall light on. If you don't mind.”

  “Yeah… thanks. What’s for breakfast?”

  “Mashed potatoes and Chicken Kiev. As per your request yesterday.” She pulled out a chair, inviting him to the table.

  “Perfect.”

  While he ate, she silently gathered his things for the lab, packed his bag, and checked his headset charge. She always did everything before he even remembered it needed doing.

  “I’ve packed an umbrella. It may rain today.”

  “Thanks, Mo—” he caught himself. “Uh… thanks.”

  The android merely tilted her head, watching him with a flicker in her eyes as if analyzing the emotional glitch in his voice.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  The youth climbed into the car. The engine was already humming. Archaic, real—not a drone. He loved it for the sound and the weight. For the feeling that he was commanding something tangible, not virtual.

  “Alright, monster. Let's go.”

  The garage doors slid open. Autopilot engaged.

  Jerk! The car lurched violently to the side before correcting its course.

  “What the hell..?”

  Signal jamming? Or some idiot’s drone?

  The highway was nearly empty. Only drones. Empty cars. Too quiet. Too still.

  “Strange. Not even a traffic jam.”

  The radio began bleeding news again: “…our journalists are already at the scene. The cause of the explosion at the major computing hub is still being determined, but experts express concern over the deepening conflict between…”

  “I’m so sick of this… can’t they just live in peace without trying to erase each other?” The youth exhaled, stifling his irritation, and killed the radio.

  He looked toward the horizon. To the right—the river. Greenery. His old neighborhood. A box of photos sat at home—of his grandmother, and of those who could never come back. Light. Silence. Almost happiness.

  “Such beautiful weather… why can’t those bastards just let it be?”

  To the left—the city. Glass and concrete. Drones and roads like pulsating veins. His university, his future—they were there.

  The world around him shuddered.

  The horizon tore open with a white, unbearable radiance that seared his very retinas. The interior panels crackled, spitting sparks directly into his face.

  Impact. The shriek of tearing metal. The car ground to a halt, leaning helplessly over the bridge’s railing.

  And then he saw it: the fire-cloud. The unmistakable mushroom. A pillar of orange hell rising into the sky.

  His ears rang with the silence that preceded the blast wave. The acrid stench of scorched metal and paint hit his nose. Then came the approach of the merciless wave, flying forward, erasing everything in its path.

  His heart hammered against his ribs.

  Is this… the end?.. Grandma always said: “If life is sinking—climb the sky.”

  A moment later, the shockwave reached the bridge and struck with full force. The car’s metallic shell buckled. With a piercing scream of steel, the vehicle was torn from the road—plunging down into the dark, icy water.