Aria's POV
The surveillance camera slips from my fingers and shatters on the factory floor.
For three seconds, the world stops. Every worker on the assembly line freezes. The mechanical arms above us pause mid-movement. Even the constant hum of Factory 7 seems to hold its breath.
Because breaking Council property means punishment. And punishment means pain.
"Worker 47-Delta-9, remain stationary." The Watchers' voice booms from speakers in the ceiling—cold, emotionless, artificial. The AI that controls everything in Neo-Seoul. The AI that lives inside the chip buried in my brain.
My hands shake. I'm so tired. Sixteen hours assembling the very cameras that watch us like rats in a cage. My fingers are bleeding through the thin gloves they give us. My back screams from hunching over the assembly line. I'm twenty-four years old and I feel ancient.
"Aria, don't move," Juno whispers beside me. My best friend's dark eyes are wide with fear. "Just stay calm. It was an accident."
But The Watchers don't care about accidents.
Red lights flash across my vision—the implant in my head activating. Pain explodes behind my eyes like hot needles stabbing into my brain. I bite down hard to keep from screaming. The punishment lasts exactly ten seconds. Ten seconds of agony that feels like hours.
When it stops, I'm on my knees, gasping.
"Penalty assessed," The Watchers announce. "Thirty credits deducted from monthly wages. Resume work."
Thirty credits. That's half my food money for the month.
Juno helps me stand, his grip steady. "I've got you," he says quietly. Around us, the other workers look away quickly, scared to show sympathy. Sympathy means you're weak. Weakness gets you noticed.
Getting noticed gets you killed.
"I'm fine," I lie, even though my head feels like it's splitting open. I pick up a new camera from the bin and return to my station. My hands move automatically—connect wire A to port B, seal the lens, activate the tracker, place it on the conveyor belt. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Building the eyes that watch us starve.
"My sister got worse last night," Juno says softly after a few minutes, his voice barely audible over the machinery. His hands never stop working—he's learned to talk without looking suspicious. "She needs medicine. Real medicine, not the synthetic garbage they give Depths residents."
My chest tightens. Juno's little sister Maya is only seven. She has a lung disease that Council doctors refuse to treat. "Too expensive for lower-class citizens," they said. "Resource allocation must be optimized."
That's fancy talk for "your sister doesn't matter."
"How much do you need?" I ask.
"Two thousand credits." His voice cracks. "I've been saving but... I'm still eight hundred short."
Two thousand credits. That's four months of wages for us. Maya doesn't have four months.
"I'll help you," I say. "I have some saved—"
"Aria, no. You're already—"
"Worker 4-7-Delta-9 and Worker 5-2-Echo-3, cease conversation. Productivity has decreased by four percent." The Watchers' voice cuts through our whispers like a blade.
We both go silent. My implant pulses with warning heat. One more violation today and the punishment will be worse.
Lunch break comes three hours later. We get exactly twenty minutes to eat the gray nutrient paste they call food and use the bathroom. Juno and I sit in our usual corner of the break room, away from the cameras—one of the few blind spots in Factory 7.
"I'm going to do it tonight," Juno says suddenly.
I look up from my paste. "Do what?"
His eyes meet mine, filled with determination and terror. "I'm going to hack the medical supply warehouse. Steal the medicine Maya needs."
My blood goes cold. "Juno, no. That's insane. If they catch you—"
"They won't." But his hands are shaking. "I've been studying the security systems for months. I can bypass the cameras for exactly four minutes. That's enough time to get in and out."
"And if something goes wrong? They execute hackers, Juno. Public executions." My voice rises despite my effort to stay quiet. "They blow up your implant on live broadcast. Everyone watches you die."
"Then everyone watches me die trying to save my baby sister!" His voice cracks. "What else can I do, Aria? Let her suffocate slowly? Beg the Council for mercy they don't have?" Tears run down his face. "She's seven years old. She draws pictures of birds even though she's never seen a real one. She still believes the world is good."
My heart shatters. Because he's right. The system doesn't care. The Higher Beings in their floating towers don't care. The Watchers don't care.
No one cares if we live or die.
Except us.
"Let me help you," I say. "Two people means—"
"No." Juno grabs my hand. "If I fail, Maya needs someone. Promise me you'll watch over her. Promise me."
"Juno—"
"Promise!"
"I promise," I whisper.
He smiles, relieved. "Thank you. You're the best friend I've ever had, Ari."
The break room alarm signals the end of lunch. We stand and return to our stations. My chest feels tight with fear. I want to stop him. I want to lock him in a room and keep him safe.
But I understand. If it was my family, I'd do the same thing.
The rest of the shift passes in numb silence. When the final bell rings, workers shuffle toward the exits like zombies. Juno walks beside me through the dirty streets of The Depths. Crumbling buildings tower above us. Broken screens flicker with propaganda: "THE COUNCIL PROTECTS. THE WATCHERS PROVIDE. OBEDIENCE IS FREEDOM."
Lies. All lies.
"See you tomorrow?" I ask when we reach the corner where we split paths.
Juno hugs me tight. Too tight. Like goodbye. "See you tomorrow, Ari. Thank you for everything."
I watch him walk away, his thin shoulders squared with false courage. Something feels wrong. My stomach twists with dread.
I should follow him. Stop him. Do something.
But I'm so tired. My head still hurts from the punishment. My room is six flights up in a building with no elevator. I climb the stairs slowly, unlock my door, and collapse on the thin mattress that serves as my bed.
The ceiling has a water stain that looks like a bird. I stare at it like I do every night, imagining what freedom feels like.
My implant chimes with the evening message: "Reminder: Tomorrow is mandatory viewing day. All citizens will watch the public broadcast at noon. Attendance is not optional."
Public broadcast. That means someone's getting executed.
My blood turns to ice.
No. Please no.
I try to pull up the broadcast schedule through my implant, but it's locked. Classified information. Only tomorrow will I know who's dying.
But deep in my bones, I already know.
I fall asleep with tears on my face, dreaming of Juno's smile and his sister's drawings of birds she'll never see.
At 3:47 AM, my implant screams to life.
Emergency broadcast floods my vision—red warnings, blaring alarms. I jolt awake, heart hammering.
The message burns across my eyes:
"ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS. TECHNOLOGY CRIMINAL APPREHENDED. PUBLIC EXECUTION SCHEDULED FOR NOON. ATTENDANCE MANDATORY. LONG LIVE THE COUNCIL."
Below the message, a photo appears.
Juno's face, bruised and bloodied, stares back at me.
They caught him.
And tomorrow, I'll watch him die.