Chapter 1 🤖Kald 🤖
A siren blared across the city, echoing through its towering structures. Moments later, a mechanical voice, smooth yet commanding, filled the air.
“Attention, citizens. The time is 13:00. The current temperature is 35°C. Pollution levels have surpassed the hazardous threshold. To mitigate casualties and protect the environment, rain initiation will commence in ten minutes. Please prepare accordingly.
The announcement echoed twice more before fading into silence. The citizens of Kald remained unfazed, their movements smooth and practiced. Sleek, digitized shields materialized overhead, seamlessly shielding them from the approaching rain. Hoods were casually adjusted, and digitalized canopies were pulled in the shops and houses. Some even brought their potted plants outside on the windows. Life continued as if the impending artificial downpour was nothing out of the ordinary—a routine spectacle in the meticulously engineered rhythms of Kald.
Kald was no ordinary city—it was a marvel of the far future, where humanity and technology coexisted seamlessly. Centuries ago, when overpopulation, environmental destruction, and relentless exploitation had driven humanity to the brink of extinction, a coalition of visionaries sought salvation through science. Using advanced biotechnology, they resurrected ecosystems, revived endangered species, and even bioengineered human life. This audacious experiment gave birth to a new world, and Kald became its heart—a sprawling metropolis revered as the cradle of humanity’s second chance.
Kald is a thriving hub of innovation and prosperity, often likened to the Silicon Valley of the new world. It attracts brilliant minds from across the globe, offering unparalleled opportunities to those who excel in their fields.
Renowned for its innovation and intellect, Kald was home to the world’s brightest minds: scientists, philosophers, elite entrepreneurs, and visionaries. It was a city of endless opportunity but also relentless competition. To enter Kald was to achieve greatness, but to survive its demands was another feat altogether. Its gates were closed to the unworthy, and its rules were unforgiving.
As the ten-minute countdown began, the mechanical voice returned, now marking each second of the final approach.
“Rain initiation in ten seconds… nine… eight…”
At zero, a sudden downpour cascaded from the artificial clouds, drenching the parched streets below. The transition was precise, and calculated. Those without shields quickly sought shelter beneath awnings and overhangs. The robots stationed at street corners sprang into action, their mechanical arms extending to offer cover to any exposed civilians.
“Please refrain from running. Do not get drenched,” they instructed in monotone voices, their glowing eyes scanning the crowd for compliance.
From one of the city’s sleek, automated restaurants, large windows slid open, offering diners a view of the rain. Customers admired the meticulously engineered storm, its raindrops glistening like liquid silver against the backdrop of Kald's neon-lit skyline. Inside, robotic servers glided between tables, taking orders with uncanny precision. Some even suggested menu items tailored to the weather.
Rylan sat by a window, his gaze fixed on the droplets as they slid down the glass, leaving delicate trails in their wake. The rhythmic tapping of rain against the pane filled the room, blending with the soft hum of the city outside. He didn’t share the sentiment of those around him. While others found the rain beautiful, soothing even, he despised it. To him, it was a stark reminder of how far humanity had fallen—how they now relied on machines to manufacture what nature once gave freely.
Flying cars and boundless skies had been the dream of past generations, yet in Kald, the air belonged to the government. No unregulated object was allowed to ascend above the city. Everything in Kald, from the rain to the very breath its people took, was controlled, monitored, and engineered.
Rylan sighed, the sound barely audible over the rain’s relentless patter. “Beautiful?” he muttered under his breath. “No. It’s just another cage, dressed up to look like paradise.”
The assistant standing behind Rylan exchanged a quick glance with the butler, who stood poised with a tray of meticulously arranged snacks. Clearing his throat, the assistant spoke cautiously.
“You should refrain from saying that aloud, given your position.”
His tone was measured, yet the underlying warning was unmistakable. But Rylan didn’t so much as acknowledge the caution. His gaze remained fixed, his indifference a silent statement of authority.
The assistant wasn’t wrong. Rylan’s words carried significant weight in Kald. As one of the city's most prominent figures, he commanded respect and attention wherever he went. His family’s legacy was deeply intertwined with the city’s very foundation. Generations ago, his ancestors had spearheaded the revolutionary research that saved humanity from extinction and laid the groundwork for Kald. What had begun as a daring vision had become reality, and now, the mantle rested on Rylan's shoulders.
Rylan wasn’t just a businessman; he was a powerhouse. Every major monetary policy, every critical transaction, and every move of significance within Kald passed under his watchful eye. He controlled the city’s largest conglomerate and held a key position within its tightly regulated government. Few dared cross him, for he had the authority not only to shape policy but to unseat governments if necessary.
His life was one of inherited privilege, but it was also a testament to relentless discipline. From a young age, Rylan had been groomed for leadership, immersed in the intricacies of business and governance. Yet he hadn’t merely relied on his family name—he had forged his own reputation as a prodigy, demonstrating a sharp mind and a work ethic that set him apart even in a city of overachievers. Kald’s citizens regarded him as a symbol of their city’s brilliance, a living embodiment of its relentless pursuit of perfection.
The Rylan family’s influence extended far beyond Kald, with connections spread across nations and territories. Yet despite his lineage and the lure of the world outside, Rylan had never shown any intention of leaving Kald. He was bound to it, though not by sentiment. He hated the artificiality of the life they lived—the engineered skies, the robotic enforcers patrolling the streets. The sterile predictability of it all grated against his spirit.
Still, Rylan understood the delicate balance between personal disdain and public responsibility. His feelings didn’t matter when weighed against the interests of the people—or the staggering profits Kald generated under his stewardship. This wasn’t a city for the faint of heart, and he thrived in its challenges, though they rarely pushed him to his limits.
In truth, Rylan wasn’t just a ruler of Kald; he was its cornerstone. Yet even as he embraced his role, a faint shadow of restlessness lingered in his mind—a yearning for something more in a world he had already conquered.
Rylan is the embodiment of power, skill, and charisma—a man whose presence alone could captivate a room. His striking features were the subject of admiration and envy alike.
Dark, neatly combed hair framed his face, accentuating his thick brows and smooth, flawless skin. His deep, piercing eyes, framed by long lashes, seemed to hold secrets that could unravel anyone’s composure. A sharp jawline, a perfectly proportioned nose, and lips so well-shaped they seemed sculpted by an artist’s hand completed the picture of a man born to command attention.
Always impeccably dressed, Rylan favored tailored suits and formal attire, exuding an air of sophistication that matched his stature. A signature hat, a nod to his family’s legacy, and an elegant walking stick—topped with a delicate daisy encased in glass—added to his distinctive aura. These small but deliberate details made him not just a figure of authority but also an icon of style and tradition.
Unsurprisingly, Rylan was the object of countless affections. He was Kald’s most desirable bachelor, admired by many for his looks, position, and power. Yet, to the dismay of his admirers, he had no interest in love, romance, or even fleeting indulgences. Suggestions from his family and colleagues to at least consider marriage or dating were met with polite dismissal.
To Rylan, such pursuits were a waste of time—unnecessary distractions from the responsibilities that consumed his life. While his cousins, siblings, and peers embraced the joys of family life, Rylan stood apart, content with his solitude. He found little value in emotions and relationships, which he viewed as burdens that would only hinder his purpose and productivity.
In fact, Rylan had already decided that marriage and romance were not for him. When the time came, he intended to rely on technology to have a child—an heir to carry on his family’s legacy—bypassing the complexities of human relationships entirely. For him, it was a practical solution, free from the entanglements of emotion and commitment.
This pragmatic approach, though controversial to some, was quintessentially Rylan. To those who knew him well, it was yet another testament to his disciplined and calculated nature. He was a man driven by logic, unyielding in his priorities, and unwilling to compromise on what he deemed unnecessary. Yet, beneath his cold, resolute exterior, one couldn’t help but wonder if there was a part of him that longed for something more—something he had yet to allow himself to acknowledge.
He had a flaw, Rylan often felt a profound sense of emptiness. The evidence of his inner turmoil lay etched beneath his eyes—dark shadows born of countless sleepless nights. Insomnia had become his constant companion, robbing him of the peace that even his immense power and wealth couldn’t buy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a restful sleep.
Rylan’s sleeplessness wasn’t for lack of trying. Nightmares, intrusive thoughts, and haunting memories swirled relentlessly in his mind, making sleep an elusive luxury. He had tried everything: specialized diets, advanced medications, cutting-edge therapies, meditation, and even experimental treatments. None of it worked. Something crucial was missing.
One day, his assistant suggested a novel solution: a cutting-edge AI designed to help people sleep by engaging them in personalized conversations, a technology marketed as “The Dreamer.”
At first, Rylan scoffed at the idea. The notion of relying on an artificial companion for something as natural as sleep felt absurd. But desperation eventually won out, and he agreed to give it a try.
It was a disaster.
The first Dreamer unit failed miserably, leaving Rylan frustrated. He lodged a formal complaint, prompting the company to send a replacement—a more advanced model, accompanied by profuse apologies and extravagant gifts. That, too, failed. Determined to find a solution, Rylan filed another complaint. And another. By now, he had sent back over twenty Dreamer units, each accompanied by scathing feedback.
The company at the receiving end of these complaints wasn’t just any ordinary firm. The Microz, a technological juggernaut, was synonymous with innovation. Renowned globally, it has transformed the very fabric of life, making artificial intelligence an essential part of every home, workplace, and government institution. Its products ranged from household assistants to industrial marvels, and its headquarters in Kald was a gleaming symbol of its dominance.
Within Microz, the division responsible for “The Dreamer” was called Microz Mini or M.M., a name that carried immense clout. Known for producing groundbreaking AI technologies, M.M. had set benchmarks in quality and performance. Their logo—two interlocked "M"s—was proudly displayed on countless products, from household robots to street patrol units, a mark of excellence that few dared question. For years, M.M. had been a beacon of reliability, its creations celebrated as technological masterpieces.
Until now.
Rylan’s barrage of complaints had shaken the once-unflappable department. His feedback, though brief, was razor-sharp, cutting through the team's confidence like a knife.
First complaint: “Used product ‘D.M-1.1.’ Quality poor. Performance subpar. Outcome: worst. Highly disappointed.”
Second complaint: “The quality worsened. Performance unacceptable. Outcome a failure. Highly disappointed.”
And so it went, with each subsequent complaint delivered in a tone so precise and critical that it felt like a personal affront to the creators. Every returned product came accompanied by a terse, pointed critique that left no room for ambiguity.
The once-proud M.M. team found themselves in uncharted territory. Their most prominent customer was unhappy—a high-profile figure whose opinion carried enough weight to make or break reputations. Meetings grew tense, tempers frayed, and the once-buzzing office was now plagued with sleepless nights of its own. Engineers, designers, and even the top executives dreaded the next complaint, each one arriving like a dagger to their collective pride.Rylan’s dissatisfaction wasn’t just a challenge—it was a crisis. The Dreamer wasn’t living up to its promise, and its failure was now a public embarrassment for M.M. and The Microz. A single scathing review from someone like Rylan could spark doubts among consumers worldwide, tarnishing the department’s flawless record.
Inside the walls of M.M., a storm was brewing. They needed a solution—and fast. The stakes had never been higher, and the weight of their greatest challenge rested squarely on their shoulders.
Rylan accepted the tea handed to him by the butler, his sharp eyes catching his reflection in the rippling surface of the cup. His expression grew grim as he spoke, his voice low but laden with authority.
"Send in another complaint and let them know—once again—they’ve managed to meet my very low expectations."
He paused, his dark gaze turning thoughtful, though no less severe. "Should I look into the people working on this project? They seem inefficient to me. How are they even surviving in Kald?"
The words sent a visible ripple of unease through the room. Rylan's middle-aged assistant, standing at a respectful distance, felt a chill creep up his spine. The mere suggestion of Rylan scrutinizing the inner workings of Microz Mini was enough to spell doom for the department. Quick to defuse the tension, the assistant cleared his throat and offered a measured reply.
“They are the best Kald has to offer, sir. It’s just that they’ve never encountered such a challenge before. They’ve assured us they’re working tirelessly on a model that will meet your expectations.”
Rylan’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile as he sipped his tea. The flattery was noted, though it failed to distract him. “The complaint is non-negotiable,” he said, delivering his verdict with finality.
The assistant nodded, sealing the decision with a quiet, “Understood.”
Rylan turned his attention back to the rain, his face souring at the sight of the artificial downpour. With a dismissive shake of his head, he shifted focus to the assortment of expertly prepared snacks on the table, indulging in a bite while his assistant began detailing the day's agenda.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the Microz Mini department was grim. A meeting had been called on short notice, and the screen in the conference room displayed the latest complaint from their most high-profile customer.
The words, sharp and biting, hung in the air like a storm cloud:
"Used product, D.M-25.22 (Elena). Quality remains unacceptable. Performance poor. Outcome disappointing. Managed to meet my very low expectations."
The notification had just been received, yet the news had already spread like wildfire through the department. Whispers filled the hallways, scientists and engineers exchanging nervous glances as tension escalated. No one had even joined the meeting yet, but the pressure was suffocating.
Today was worse than usual—the Director of Microz was making an unscheduled visit to personally address the escalating crisis. For many, this was the ultimate red flag. A visit from the Director wasn’t routine; it was a declaration that heads might roll.
In the meeting room, the once-confident team of innovators sat silently, their faces pale with dread. Rylan Bach wasn’t just any customer. His name alone carried enough weight to make or break reputations. And his scathing feedback was no longer a professional critique—it had become a nightmare, one that loomed over their every move.
“The Dreamer,” their flagship product, was meant to be revolutionary. But under Rylan’s unforgiving scrutiny, it had turned into a cursed endeavor. Scientists bit their nails, engineers buried their faces in their hands, and even senior researchers—seasoned veterans of countless projects—found themselves unraveling under the stress.
The department’s internal joke about "The Dreamer" putting people to sleep now felt cruelly ironic. Not a single member of the team had managed a decent night’s rest since Rylan had begun his relentless tirade.
"He's going to ruin us," one junior researcher whispered to a colleague.
“Ruin us? He’s already sitting on our chests like a demon!” another muttered.
It wasn’t an exaggeration. Rylan Bach’s name was spoken in hushed tones, as though invoking it might summon the man himself. With the Director’s visit imminent and no viable solution in sight, the team of Microz Mini braced themselves for what promised to be a very long—and possibly career-ending—day.
The sound of clicking heels echoed ominously through the corridors, silencing murmurs and bringing tension to a boil. Employees straightened their posture, exchanging nervous glances as Emma Shente, the Chief Executive, entered. More feared than the Director himself, Emma was renowned as a ruthless critic. If she disapproved of something, no one dared to argue.
Draped in a striking red dress with matching lipstick that seemed to declare danger, she cut a sharp figure. Her presence was flanked by a team of guards and sleek M.M. robots, their polished forms adding to her imposing aura. Walking beside her, with a contrastingly jovial smile, was John Reed, the Director of Microz. His calm demeanor seemed to only amplify the storm brewing within Emma.
The robots opened the conference room doors, and all employees stood in unison, bowing in greeting. John took his seat at the center of the table, settling comfortably, while Emma sat beside him with an air of displeasure. Between them stood Lilith, a breathtakingly human-like robot, her presence a stark contrast to the monotony of the lab.
Lilith was one of Microz’s finest creations, a masterpiece of design and intelligence. Her silky hair cascaded to her slim waist, framing her stunningly lifelike silicon skin. Clad in a formal outfit with perfectly painted nails and lips, she looked more like a doll than a machine. Her piercing blue eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail before settling on the Director.
“He’s not here,” Lilith announced, her voice melodic yet carrying a sense of finality.
The employees collectively swallowed hard. Everyone knew who she meant, yet none dared to broach the subject.
Emma’s eyes darted to the manager Shawn Day and Igane Rui, the department head. Her gaze was sharp enough to pierce steel. “Where is he? Doesn’t he understand the gravity of this situation?”
The HOD Rui exchanged a hesitant glance with the manager before stammering, “He’s fully aware, ma’am. He, uh... laughed it off. Said to forward all complaints to him, but... that’s all.”
John, who had remained silent until now, chuckled softly, his relaxed attitude starkly contrasting Emma’s barely restrained fury. “What’s the current status?” he asked, gesturing toward the table.
A holographic screen appeared, displaying Rylan Bach’s most recent complaint. The scathing words etched on the display were enough to make everyone in the room feel personally attacked.
"Once again they’ve managed to meet my very low expectations."
Emma’s jaw tightened as she read the words, her frustration palpable. She turned back to the employees, who looked ready to collapse under the pressure. “What measures are you taking to address this?” she demanded. “Because I received a message warning that if this disappointment continues, there will be an inspection.”
John’s smile widened at the audacity of Rylan’s veiled threat. The young man behaved more like a ruler than a customer, but John admired his boldness. Emma, however, was less amused. She clenched her fists, barely containing her rage.
HOD Rui scrambled to respond, quickly pulling up data on the holographic screen. “We’ve conducted an extensive analysis of Mr. Bach—his moods, habits, psychological profile, nature of insomnia, and preferences. We’re working tirelessly to develop a perfect solution, but the one-week deadline is... challenging.”
Emma raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. Rui shifted uncomfortably in his seat, mumbling, “We’re doing everything we can.”
John interjected, his voice calm but firm. “That won’t be enough. I know Rylan. Even this thorough data won’t satisfy him. The only way to resolve this is to bring him on board.”
The room fell silent. Everyone knew exactly who John was referring to, and the mere suggestion sent a ripple of anxiety through the team. The thought of involving him—a figure as brilliant as he was unpredictable—seemed almost impossible.
Even Lilith’s flawless expression shifted slightly as she turned to John, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of excitement. “Will Father really come?”
Her question caught everyone’s attention. The way she spoke carried an almost human-like longing.
John and Emma exchanged a glance. After a moment of thought, John shook his head. “It’s unlikely. He’s too absorbed in his work.”
Emma’s frustration grew. She clenched her fists tighter, knowing this wasn’t just any man they were discussing. This was T.K., a prodigy and the original mind behind M.M.
T.K. was a recluse, known only to a select few. The world had never seen his face, and his interactions were handled exclusively through his AI. Even the bots he created fiercely protected his privacy, ensuring no photos or recordings ever captured him. To most, he was a phantom—a genius working behind the scenes.
Despite his anonymity, T.K.’s presence loomed large in Microz. He was the creator of the M.M. models and the mastermind behind Lilith. Known for his obsession with creating intelligent, human-like machines, he poured his life into his work, preferring the solitude of his lab over the bustling world outside.
Though T.K. shared the same age as Rylan, their paths couldn’t have been more different. Where Rylan thrived in the spotlight, T.K. avoided it entirely. But when he did occasionally visit the office, he left everyone awestruck. His striking features—sharp and elegant—made him look more like a model than a scientist. With a tall, lean frame and an effortless grace, he exuded an aura that was both magnetic and intimidating.
John spoke again, his voice calm but certain. “He’s the only one who can truly handle this. But convincing him will be nearly impossible. He doesn’t answer to anyone—not even me.”
The room remained tense, the weight of John’s words settling heavily on the team. For now, all they could do was wait and hope.
The blinking dot on the screen caught everyone’s attention, and Shawn hurried to check it. A bold message appeared, short yet impactful:
"Interesting. I like this man."
The room fell silent, a collective gasp escaping the employees. There was no doubt who had sent the message.
Lilith’s lips curled into a soft smile. “Father is here,” she announced, her voice carrying a note of anticipation.
If the day hadn’t already been eventful enough, it had just reached another level. The mere fact that so many prominent figures were gathered in the conference room—figures who typically joined meetings via holographic broadcasts—was a testament to the weight of Rylan Bach’s complaints
All eyes turned to the now-digitalized door as it slid open with a soft hum. From the illuminated threshold, a small robot peeked inside, its wide, luminous eyes scanning the room with childlike curiosity. Its digital display flickered briefly before it flashed a bright, innocent smile. Before anyone could react, the little bot was unceremoniously shoved forward by another small figure.
This one was unlike the first—a robot modeled after the mythological Cupid, complete with delicate, metallic wings that shimmered under the overhead lights. Its tiny face displayed a stern expression, and its stance exuded an authority that belied its diminutive size.
The Cupid-like robot crossed its arms over its chest, its eyes narrowing at the assembled employees. “No recordings. No phone calls. No photographs. No projections. And absolutely no discussions,” it commanded, its voice sharp yet childlike, ringing out with a surprising gravity.
The employees exchanged glances, torn between stifled laughter and genuine awe. The first robot, meanwhile, let out a faint, tinkling giggle, a sound that seemed oddly contagious. It was abruptly silenced when a long, elegant hand descended, patting its metallic head in a gesture of quiet reprimand. The hand belonged to a figure who now stepped into view, his arrival marked by an air of unshakable authority.
“Be good,” came a deep, commanding voice, the warmth in his tone contrasting sharply with the discipline implied by his words to the two bots.
The room seemed to hold its collective breath as he entered. The robots stationed along the walls straightened immediately, their servos whirring softly as they dipped into synchronized bows. Their voices chimed in unison, a reverent, almost musical greeting: “Father.”
A hush fell over the room as every employee turned their focus to him. The man’s presence was magnetic, an effortless blend of elegance and commanding power. His strikingly handsome face, framed by the sterile glow of the office lighting, held an intensity that made it hard to look away. His tailored attire only emphasized the sharpness of his build, but it was his demeanor—a perfect balance of vibrant confidence and casual grace—that rendered the room spellbound.
One by one, the employees straightened in their seats, fumbling slightly as they offered hurried, respectful greetings. Even the most seasoned among them couldn’t suppress the nervous energy coursing through the room. It wasn’t every day they got to see him in person.
Lilith stepped forward, her movements poised yet eager, her smile broadening as she approached. The man’s expression softened as he extended a hand, placing it gently atop her head—a rare display of affection that left everyone in the room frozen in awe.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his deep voice infused with a warmth that made the simple question feel significant.
“I’m good,” Lilith replied softly, her voice steady but tinged with pride, as though his attention alone was a mark of achievement.
The man turned his gaze toward the Director and Emma, his sharp, handsome features illuminated in full detail. His eyes carried a subtle glimmer of amusement, as if he were already a step ahead of the conversation about to unfold.
“Long time, no see,” he said, his lips curving into a beautifully effortless smile. “You’ve aged.”
John Reed, the seasoned Director, erupted in a hearty laugh, unbothered by the teasing remark. He gestured toward the seat beside him with a broad wave of his hand. “Come, Taul. Sit with us.”
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