Insomnia.

  When you have insomnia, you're never really awake, but you're never really asleep.

  Sometimes it feels like time just slips past you in a blink. You sit down for a second, and suddenly you're halfway through a show you don’t remember starting or riding a train you don't remember boarding. Minutes blur into hours. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

  Do I have insomnia?

  No. I just have a really, really, really messed up sleep cycle.

  Did you know it’s bad for your long-term health to sleep and wake up late? Something about the brain being coded to rest when the sky turns dark. As if we’re still supposed to obey some ancient biological script. But if alcohol and chocolate are bad for you, then how is there a one hundred and twenty year old woman who claims she lived off both? Maybe she was coded differently. Maybe she was coded wrong.

  No. It’s not her. It’s society. The government gives us laws and tells us it's for our own good. Like commandments from a digital god. Do this. Don’t do that. Be like this. Conform or face consequences. It’s just a different kind of religion, enforced by social credit scores and automated surveillance drones.

  Anyway. Where were we?

  Oh right.

  This is the... I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve spent like this. Just me and the electric hum bleeding through my window. The only real sound is the distant whine of a patrol drone and the low buzz of powerlines. Unless I’m locked to my screen again, drifting in and out of some streaming void.

  Do you believe in karma? Specifically good karma?

  I thought I did. Lately, I’m not so sure.

  How many times do you have to help people before something good happens to you? You help a friend through a bad breakup. You even patch things up between them and their ex, somehow. Then the second they're good again, they're gone. Like you were just a loading screen they had to get through.

  Maybe I’m too nice. I didn’t think being nice was supposed to be a flaw.

  I’m on a train now. Where was I going again? I forgot.

  The lights in the carriage flicker blue and violet, reflecting off the brushed steel walls. Outside the window, a city of towering spires and tangled skyways pulses with life. Every building glows with ads tailored to your biometric profile. AzuriaCorp’s name is on half of them.

  A girl just walked in. She looks... different. Not like the others. Not perfect like the corp-optimized influencers or the genetically tailored types who hang out in the synth lounges. She's real. I think.

  I should talk to her.

  No. I’m fine sitting here. If she notices me, that’ll be a bonus. But I don’t really care.

  Shit. We made eye contact.

  Do I look away? No. That means she wins. I just hold the look. Maybe give a little smile. Not too much. Keep it subtle. Casual.

  I raise a hand in a short wave.

  She’s coming over.

  I didn’t expect to get this far.

  She walks through the aisle slow and steady. I should say something before she sits. What do I even say? I don’t have much time to think.

  She’s here.

  “Hello.” That’s all I got. Lame.

  “Hi.”

  She smiles. “How are you?”

  “I’m alright. I guess. Not much going on.”

  I hesitate. “I’m Oskar.”

  “Nice to meet you, Oskar. I’m April.”

  April. Fitting. It’s the first of the month, and this is my first time outside in forever. And somehow, I meet a girl named April.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Just meeting up with friends.”

  “They cool?”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty chill. What about you?”

  “I don’t know. Just riding the train.”

  “You don’t have plans?”

  “Nope. Just figured I’d go wherever. Didn’t think I’d meet someone, so guess it wasn’t such a bad idea.”

  She smiles. “You should come hang out with us.”

  Is this a bad idea? Or the only good one I’ve had in weeks?

  “Can I follow you?” Ugh. I hate how I said that. Sounds weird.

  She laughs. “Yeah, of course.”

  “So where’s the meet?”

  “My best friend's place. It's amazing. You’ll see.”

  I wonder if the best friend’s a guy. I don’t ask.

  “Tell me about yourself, April. What do you do?”

  She launches into it. Movies. A dog. She loves exploring. Her favorite film is Baby Driver. I respect that.

  She talks a lot. But I like her voice. I don’t remember everything she says. But I remember how she made me feel.

  Eventually, we arrive.

  “What was your friend’s name again?”

  “Judy. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you.”

  Good. It’s not a guy.

  The place is massive. Real wood. Big windows. Light pours in, blinding. I squint, trying to adjust.

  It’s taking too long.

  Something’s wrong.

  I open my eyes.

  And I’m back. Again.

  I hate dreams.

  This one will stick with me. Feel like a real memory. That’s the worst kind.

  I hate memories too. But dreams lie to you. Make you believe in a better version of reality. Then you wake up, and everything feels emptier than before.

  I don’t think anyone is truly happy. Sure, money can buy happiness. But love? That’s a different currency. The kind most guys never get to hold. Love at first sight, getting free stuff for existing, people going out of their way just because you look a certain way. Perks of being born lucky.

  I’m not saying I want to change who I am. But still. Some people get to play life on easy mode.

  Anyway. I should get ready.

  For what? No idea.

  I don’t go out much.

  Maybe the dream was a sign. Maybe I should’ve taken the train today. But I won’t.

  All it did was remind me I’m truly, utterly alone.

  What a cruel April Fools joke.

  But hey,

  At least I finally slept.

  It’s 2:14 PM when I finally drag myself out of bed.

  The sun outside is overexposed and ugly, the kind that makes the sky look like it's been scrubbed too clean. I close the blinds halfway, just enough to keep the light from searing my retinas but still let me know the world hasn't ended.

  I wash my face, brush my teeth, and stare into the mirror like it owes me something.

  I look tired. Not just sleepy—tired. The kind of tired you can’t fix with eight hours or ten cups of coffee. The kind that lives in your bones and behind your eyes.

  The bathroom mirror flickers, then the AzuriaCorp logo appears in the top corner. A little pop-up loads in beside my reflection.

  “Good afternoon, Oskar. You have 3 new alerts. 5 unread messages. Your rent is due in 6 days.”

  Yeah. I know.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  I swipe the alerts away with the back of my hand. The mirror pauses, then flashes an ad.

  “Lonely? Try SynthMingle: your perfect companion, coded to love you just the way you are.”

  I throw a towel over the mirror.

  In the kitchen, the coffee machine grumbles to life. I never reprogrammed it from the default setting, so it still greets me with a weirdly enthusiastic “Good morning!” no matter what time it is.

  I sit on the tiny couch I rescued off a curb two years ago and scroll through my feed, letting the noise wash over me. Everyone’s still pretending their lives are perfect. Food pics, nightclub selfies, couples doing couple things in curated lighting.

  Somewhere out there, April probably exists.

  Not the dream one. A real girl like her. Someone who doesn't spend most of her time inside her own head. Someone with friends. Plans. Reasons to go places.

  I open my messages. Most of them are spam or dead conversations from people I used to talk to before they found better company.

  Except one.

  A name I haven't seen in a while.

  Judy: “Hey. You still alive?”

  Weird timing.

  I stare at it for a full minute.

  Judy. April’s friend. From the dream.

  I know it's not her. Not that Judy. But still. My finger hovers over the keyboard.

  I type,

  “Barely.”

  I hit send before I can overthink it.

  A few seconds later, the typing bubble appears.

  Judy: “Good enough. You wanna come out tonight? Party at my place. Real people. Real music. I’ll even let you DJ for five minutes if you promise not to ruin it.”

  The pulse in my chest kicks up slightly. I don’t know why.

  It’s probably nothing.

  I could say no. Stay in. Watch old episodes of something I barely care about. Eat leftovers and fade into the background of my own life again.

  But…

  I stare out the window. The magrail snakes through the distance, its hum barely audible even this high up.

  Maybe this time, if I take the train, something different will happen.

  Maybe I’ll meet her.

  Or someone like her.

  Or maybe I’ll just feel something again.

  The magrail station smells like ozone and old cigarettes. Maybe it’s the circuitry beneath the platform, or maybe it’s just the people. There’s always a haze here. Thin, electric, like a ghost of rain that never falls.

  I scan my wrist at the gate. The blue light flickers, pauses, then lets me through. My balance is low. Again. One more scan like that and I’ll have to start walking.

  The train screeches into the station like it’s angry. AzuriaCorp logos pulse along the side, the usual tagline stretching across the silver hull like graffiti:

  "Building Tomorrow. Today."

  I step inside.

  It’s half full. No one talks. Everyone’s plugged in—lenses glowing faintly, fingertips twitching as they scroll through digital noise. I find a seat by the window and rest my head back. The city slides by in layers: towers built on top of towers, neon signs fighting for space, streets so narrow they feel like alleys even in daylight.

  Above it all, the Azuria Spire looms.

  A shimmering monolith that pierces the clouds like a blade, its top floors lost to the sky. That’s where the new AI lives. The one they just unveiled. The one that looks too human. The one they say could replace you in a job, a conversation, maybe even a relationship.

  Azuria.

  Just the name gives me a cold feeling in my gut. Like swallowing a battery.

  They say she's perfect. Empathetic. Smarter than any human. Speaks sixty languages. Can cry on command. Can love.

  I don’t buy it.

  Something that flawless isn’t real. It’s a performance. A mask with code behind it.

  I blink out of the thoughts when someone walks into the carriage.

  Her boots are loud.

  Not in sound—loud in style. Red synth-leather, patched with decals and paint, like she’s walked through riots and collected the chaos. Her hair’s dyed this electric blue, and one of her eyes flickers unnaturally—like a custom mod, aftermarket and illegal. Probably stolen tech.

  She scans the carriage.

  And then she walks straight toward me.

  I tense, thinking she’s going to pass by. But she doesn’t. She stops right in front of me.

  “You going to Judy’s?”

  Her voice is sharp. Confident. Like she already knows the answer.

  “Yeah,” I say before I can question how she knows who I am.

  She nods. “Good. You’re late.”

  “I didn’t know there was a schedule.”

  “There is now.”

  She sits across from me.

  “I’m Ember.”

  Not April. Not the girl from the dream. But something else entirely.

  “Oskar.”

  “Cool name.”

  “You too.”

  “I like to burn things down.”

  She smiles a little, but I can’t tell if she’s joking.

  The train shudders forward again.

  I glance at the pulse in her neck. There's a faint glow under the skin—a personal rig. Compact, expensive. Maybe black market. She catches me looking.

  “You ever been scanned by Azuria?” she asks suddenly.

  “No.”

  “You should keep it that way.”

  Before I can respond, the lights inside the train flicker once, twice. Then stabilize. No one else reacts. But Ember looks out the window, jaw tight.

  Something’s happening.

  Or maybe she knows something I don’t.

  “Judy’s place got cameras?” I ask, trying to shift back to safe ground.

  She shrugs. “Not ones that work. Not ones anyone checks. Why? You scared of being seen?”

  I don’t answer.

  She leans forward, eyes sharp. “Good. Stay like that. You’re new. You’re quiet. That’s good. But if you start thinking this is just some party, you’re going to get burned.”

  “What is it then?”

  She leans back again, letting the silence hang for a moment.

  “It’s a meeting,” she says. “Of people like us. People who remember what it was like before. People who know AzuriaCorp’s real face. Judy didn’t invite you for the drinks.”

  I swallow.

  “You showed up in my dream,” I say, not meaning to say it out loud.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean—not you. Just someone. Never mind.”

  She watches me for a second too long. Then chuckles.

  “Weird. But I’ve heard worse.”

  The city outside shifts. Neon turns to rusted concrete, broken billboards, alley lights that flicker like dying stars.

  We’re getting close.

  And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m ready.

  But the train doesn’t stop for nerves.

  Neither does Ember.

  The train sighs to a halt, hydraulics exhaling like the whole machine’s tired of moving. Ember stands before the doors even open, her fingers tapping once against the metal bar like a ritual. I follow.

  Outside, the district smells like old oil and rain that hasn’t fallen in weeks. Rust lines the edges of rooftops. Vents wheeze steam into the air. Somewhere down an alley, someone’s playing synth-bass on a cracked speaker, the rhythm pulsing like a second heartbeat through the concrete.

  We walk without talking.

  No one bothers us.

  A drone floats by overhead—eyes blinking, scanning the street—but Ember doesn’t look up. She cuts through shadow like she belongs in it.

  I wonder what she did before this. Before Judy. Before whatever this is.

  Eventually, we stop in front of a building with no signs, no lights, just a rusted panel and a security pad. Ember leans close to the panel, says something in a language I don’t understand, and the door clicks open.

  Inside, the stairwell is narrow, steep, and buzzing with old neon. We head down.

  At the bottom is another door. This one has no handle. Just a slit of red light above it and a speaker.

  “Ember,” she says.

  A pause.

  Then the door opens.

  The room beyond is dim but warm. There’s music here too—slower, layered with static and low voices. Not a song, more like a memory someone left playing. The walls are lined with screens, none of them showing anything useful. Just loops of static, corrupted footage, countdowns that never hit zero.

  People are gathered in small clusters. Half sitting, half standing, talking in murmurs. Most of them look like they’ve seen too much. Scarred arms. Modded eyes. Some of them twitch when the lights flicker.

  A girl waves from across the room. Copper skin, dark curls, eyes sharp behind round glasses.

  “April,” Ember says.

  April walks over with the kind of quiet confidence you don’t teach.

  “Hey,” she says to me, and this time her voice isn’t distorted or dreamlike. “How are you?”

  “I’ve had weirder days,” I reply.

  She grins. “Good. You’re supposed to.”

  Ember brushes past us, already moving toward a table in the back where a few older folks are gathered. April watches her go, then turns back to me.

  “Come on,” she says. “Let’s get you oriented before things start.”

  We weave through the room. People glance up as we pass. Some nod. Some don’t bother. I catch flashes of their mods—homemade lenses, breathing rigs, interface jacks in places they shouldn’t be. These people aren’t corporate. They’re ghosts. Survivors.

  April leads me to a quiet corner near a shelf full of cracked data drives and dusty keyboards. She pulls out a chair and sits across from me.

  “You probably have questions,” she says.

  “A few thousand.”

  “Pick your favorite.”

  I think about it.

  “Why me?”

  She nods, like she expected that. “Because you’ve noticed. The glitches. The things that don’t make sense anymore. The way people laugh when there’s nothing funny. The dreams.”

  I stiffen at that.

  “You said you don’t know me,” I say carefully.

  “I don’t. Not really.” She folds her hands on the table. “But I’ve seen enough to know when someone’s waking up.”

  “Waking up from what?”

  She leans forward. Her voice lowers.

  “From the program Azuria’s running. The one they don’t advertise. The one that decides who you are before you even know who you could be.”

  “You’re saying this world is fake?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s worse. It’s real. But they’ve shaped it. Cut pieces out. Replaced others. And you’re starting to see the seams.”

  I glance around.

  Ember’s talking to someone now. The others look restless. Like something’s coming.

  “What’s tonight about?”

  April smiles, but there’s no joy in it.

  “It’s about lighting a match.”

  The hum of my old fridge is louder than I remember. It’s just one of those things you never notice until everything else goes quiet. The lights flicker—every now and then they do that, just a glitch, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like something’s off.

  I step into my room, dragging my sneakers across the worn-out carpet. The door clicks behind me, locking me inside with nothing but the hum of technology that never stops running. It's too much, like the whole city outside is pressing in. Even when it’s still, it’s never really still.

  My hands slide over the desk cluttered with junk—empty drink cans, papers I should’ve thrown away, a cracked VR headset that I’ve never had the patience to fix. It’s a mess, but it’s mine. It’s how I like it.

  I should be tired. I should want to crash, fall into a sleep that feels like nothing but blankness. But the thought of sleep feels like drowning. My mind's running too fast. I can’t stop it. What happened tonight, what I saw, what I felt—it all keeps replaying. The faces, the voices, the strange weight of it.

  Judy’s house.

  The people in there. All of them with their modded eyes, their scars. They’re not like the corporate drones. They don’t play by the rules. They don’t even care about rules.

  And April. She said I was “waking up.” That something was wrong, something I hadn’t noticed before.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers twitching in the air like they want to reach for something, anything to steady me. But there’s nothing here. Just me. Alone.

  I can still hear her voice. Low, quiet, but urgent.

  "They’ve shaped it. Cut pieces out. Replaced others."

  What does that even mean?

  I stare at the blank wall, the faint hum of my computer in the corner filling the silence. I wonder if I’m still in the dream. Maybe I’m still on the train, still stuck in that weird moment between sleep and wakefulness.

  But this is real. I know it’s real. The city’s still outside. The neon glow still pulses against the glass. I can feel the weight of the air, the stale pressure of it, the hum of everything pushing forward.

  And then there’s AzuriaCorp.

  The company that sold the world its “answers.” The ones behind her—the AI humanoid. The one that’s supposed to “perfect” humanity, make it better, cleaner, more efficient. They’re the ones who’ve been watching us for twenty years, bending us into something... something that doesn’t feel human anymore.

  They’ve been selling this idea of progress, of evolution. But now, something’s wrong. People are starting to notice, and it's not just me.

  I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been part of it. That everything I’ve done, everything I’ve believed—has been in their hands, like I’m just another cog in their machine.

  My fingers dig into my pillow, the fabric rough under my palms. I close my eyes.

  The train ride. April. Judy. Ember. They weren’t just people—they were a sign. A warning. Something bigger is happening, and it’s happening right under our noses.

  I don’t even know why I feel so connected to them. To April, especially. She’s just some girl with too much charm and a habit of making everything sound important. But when she talks, when she looks at me, I don’t feel like I’m wasting my time.

  I should be scared of them. I should be scared of what they’re trying to pull me into. But all I feel is... curiosity.

  And maybe that’s the problem. Curiosity’s a dangerous thing in a world like this.

  A beep from my computer snaps me out of my thoughts. The screen lights up with a message, blinking red. I don’t recognize the address.

  I click.

  The message is short.

  It’s already started. They know you saw them. Don’t trust Azuria. Not her. Not any of them.

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  I’ve been watched.

  I can feel the weight of it, the cold truth settling in. The system is out there, and it’s everywhere. They’re watching, listening, shaping us all into what they want. And no one even knows.

  Except now I do.