Sebastian woke to the sound of someone humming off-key to a pop song that definitely hadn’t existed before the apocalypse.
His eyes opened slow.
The ceiling above him was soft-lit and seamless, like it was carved from clouded glass. The walls were a smooth off-white, curved at the corners like the room had been molded from a single drop of tech. Minimal furniture—embedded bed, hovering end-table, a single long window that showed a cityscape stretched so high it cut into the clouds.
It was clean. Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
‘Why does this feel like a hotel room designed by someone who’s never slept?’
Then the humming stopped.
“Yooou’re awake~!” sang a high-pitched, bubbly voice from somewhere behind him.
Sebastian sat up.
The woman standing near the window looked like a nurse, technically. She wore something that might have been a uniform if you squinted—a short white coat, a matching crop top underneath, and smooth, skin-tight leggings that shimmered like synth-silk. Her long, bleach-blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her nails sparkled with tiny embedded lights. A heart-shaped choker blinked gently on her neck.
If this was a cosplay, it was way too committed.
But then he saw it.
The cracks.
Just barely—faint lines in her skin where soft blue light pulsed, especially around her jaw, fingertips, and collarbone. Energy flowed through her like a circuit board made flesh.
‘Okay. Not a nurse. Not a person. That’s a robot pretending to be a person pretending to be a nurse.’
She bounced on her heels. “You gave us suuuch a scare, babe! Like, full knockout. Zoned out of your mind~!”
‘Do androids usually talk like mall girls?’
Sebastian blinked slowly. “You… You work here?”
“Duh!” she said, twirling a clipboard that materialized midair like a hologram ad. “I’m your assigned recovery companion-slash-nurse! Call me Mii~!”
‘Mii. With two i’s. Of course.’
He glanced around the room again. “So… am I in a hospital or a very aggressive influencer’s apartment?”
She giggled. “Oh my gosh, stop. You’re at Saint Atlas Recovery, hun. You were brought in unconscious, and like, suuuper unregistered.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She leaned closer—way too close.
“You’re not a criminal or like, an Exile, right?” she whispered, smiling way too wide.
‘She smells like synthetic peach. Why does she smell like anything.’
He leaned back. “Nope. Just woke up two hundred years late, I guess.”
Mii clapped her hands—little pulses of light flicking down her fingers like glowstick veins. “Ugh, so vintage. I love that. You’re, like, a walking antique!”
‘…I’m going to punch a robot in the throat before this week ends.’
The window tint shifted behind her, revealing the city in full detail. Tall towers stacked like shoeboxes, neon threads weaving between platforms, a pale fog settling over the lowest layers. It was dense. Vertical. Alive.
“So,” he muttered, “what’s the damage?”
“Vitals? Perfect. Internal scans? No weird data tags, no corruption, no parasiteware! You’re like, freakishly clean. Not even a memory leak.”
She popped a digital lollipop into her mouth—it glitched slightly before solidifying.
‘Did she just generate that? Why do they give her snacks? She doesn’t have a stomach.’
He scratched the back of his head. “So what now? You gonna run more tests? Drug me again? Probe my spleen?”
Mii gave a mock gasp. “Sebby! Don’t be gross! Ew~!”
He winced. “Do not call me Sebby.”
“Seb-senpai~?”
“Absolutely not.”
She leaned back, grinning as she tapped the side of her head. “Jk jk. You’re cleared for release! You’ll be assigned a pod in Citizen Block Delta—basic housing, three floors up, no infestations, and suuuper low ambient screaming.”
‘That last part better have been a joke.’
“Oh!” she added. “And they’re calling you ‘Relic.’ Cool, right?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Codename! For paperwork! Relic’s a suuuper rare classification. Means you’re legit pre-core! Like, before the Great Net Purge and everything.”
‘Ah. So I went from “human” to “museum exhibit.” Awesome.’
She stepped toward the wall and tapped a glowing panel. It opened with a soft hiss, revealing neatly folded black clothes—tight-fit, hex-fabric, low profile. “Get dressed, cutie. And then we’ll get you outta here before someone tries to steal your organs~!”
He gave her a long look.
Then looked at the glowing lollipop in her hand.
Then back at her.
“…You’re not real,” he said.
She winked. “Neither is half this city, babe.”
‘Yeah. I’m definitely losing my mind.’
Mii chattered the whole way down the corridor like a walking info pamphlet powered by girlboss energy and peach-scented algorithms.
“—and this hallway was remodeled after the great drip collapse—don’t worry, no more acid leaks, teehee! Oh, and here—hold still~!”
Before Sebastian could react, she pressed something cold against his wrist. A soft click followed by a gentle zap and suddenly a sleek, black band sealed onto his forearm. Thin, curved screen, holographic rim.
“There we go! Your official BrimLink! It’s like—okay, this is gonna sound super old—but people used to call these phones? Can you believe that? Ugh, ancient.”
‘Please shut up. Please shut up. Please shut up.’
“Anyway!” she chirped, not picking up the vibe at all, “You’ll get notifications, pings, status updates, distress calls—oh! And coupons if you subscribe to the Saint Atlas newsletter~!”
‘Nope. Lost me.’
He stopped listening somewhere around the phrase “hyper-personalized auto-body integration.” The second it started sounding like an ad, his brain filed it under “Ignore Until Threatening.”
She tapped the screen once and a map projection flared to life above the watch, spinning in slow orbit around his wrist like a sci-fi GPS.
“I’ve marked your place! It’s suuuper close! Just follow the little glowy line, kay? Mii out~!”
She threw him a peace sign, turned on her heel, and glided away like she was on rollerblades made of glitter and caffeine.
‘Thank. God.’
He stared at the map, squinting. One blinking dot. Three blocks east. Unit: Delta-42G.
“Sounds fancy,” he muttered, starting the walk. “Probably isn’t.”
The buildings here were stacked like someone had tried to make a city out of old filing cabinets and forgotten Ikea parts. Everything loomed—metal, rusted, flickering lights, some covered in moss or wires that definitely didn’t meet code.
Eventually, he reached the one marked on his map. It was… definitely three stories tall. Technically.
Looked more like a garage with abandonment issues.
Big metal shutters half-bent. Paint peeling. One of the support beams had vines wrapped around it like they were trying to strangle it out of pity.
He stepped through the front.
And stopped.
‘What the hell…’
The inside was massive. Open. Echoing.
But it looked like someone had thrown a rave, never cleaned up, and then bulldozed the crowd through a pile of e-waste.
Scrap parts littered every corner—twisted fans, broken screens, empty data cores. Neon graffiti covered the walls in half-finished tags and glitch art. Some of the lights flickered. Others didn’t turn on at all.
And then, way in the back left corner, like it was actively trying to not exist, was a single sad little mat. No blanket. No pillow. Just a mat. Sitting there like it was being punished.
‘Luxury micro-suite, they said. Community-living minimalism, they said.’
He took a slow walk through the space, stepping over a cracked helmet and what might’ve been a robotic limb.
“…This is a trash pit.”
A hiss of air somewhere above made him look up. A vent coughed out steam. Something skittered across one of the overhead pipes.
He didn’t flinch.
‘Of course there’s a rat. Why wouldn’t there be a rat?’
He finally reached the mat and stared down at it.
“…Guess this is home.”
He flopped onto it, arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling where exposed wire hung like dying vines.
And for a moment, despite the chaos, the trash, and the sheer insult of it all—
He smiled.
‘Could be worse. At least no one’s trying to dissect me today.’
