After the reboot, the GAIA HUD started glitching.
Again.
That was becoming a problem.
Not the dramatic kind. No alarms. No screaming technicians. No ominous countdown appearing across my vision.
Just little things.
A missing number here.
A delayed response there.
Sometimes my HUD would freeze for half a second before correcting itself.
Sometimes it wouldn't correct itself at all.
This morning, every attribute on my profile had become a question mark.
Which was reassuring.
Nothing says your life is completely under control like a system that can't tell you how strong you are.
I slouched deeper into my chair.
The clock above the holographic board clicked past 8:05 a.m.
The sound was sharp enough to be irritating.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Around me, thirty-two students sat beneath the pale glow of classroom projectors. Their desks floated slightly above the floor, each one displaying the same information feed.
Talent Awakening.
GAIA Talent Bureau.
0900 hours.
The room hummed with quiet anticipation.
Mr. Riz stood at the front, waving one hand through a series of holographic slides.
He was trying very hard to look enthusiastic.
"Today," he said, "marks an important milestone in all of your lives."
A collective shift went through the room.
People straightened.
Phones disappeared.
Conversations died.
I didn't bother moving.
Mr. Riz continued.
"At nine hundred hours, we'll proceed to the GAIA Talent Bureau for your official talent scans."
A few students whispered excitedly.
I stared through the reinforced classroom window.
The city stretched beyond it, immaculate and luminous beneath the morning sky.
Transport drones glided between towers.
Advertising displays floated above buildings.
A massive hologram of a smiling young woman rotated over one of the central districts.
DISCOVER YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL.
I looked away.
Six months of this.
Six months of speeches.
Six months of watching people treat Talent Awakening like some grand cosmic lottery.
Mr. Riz changed slides.
"Now, remember. Failure to awaken today does not mean your future is over."
The room quieted.
"You will receive a second opportunity through the Secondary Awakening Program."
A boy near the back whispered, "If you survive it."
His friend elbowed him.
Mr. Riz pretended not to hear.
The second awakening was technically an opportunity.
Technically.
From what I'd learned, the process carried significantly higher risks. Neural rejection. Cognitive damage. Talent instability.
GAIA called those acceptable outcomes.
I called them reasons not to volunteer.
"Those who successfully awaken," Mr. Riz continued, "will be assigned to a GAIA Talent Academy according to their class, talent, and rank."
The holographic display changed.
Academies appeared across the screen.
Prestigious facilities.
Training grounds.
Research institutes.
Military academies.
The students stared.
"Those who receive an A rank or higher will be given the privilege of selecting from eligible academies."
That did it.
Excitement rippled through the room.
'A' rank.
The words carried weight.
Power.
Status.
Money.
A future.
I watched their faces brighten.
Everyone wanted to be special.
Nobody seemed to ask who benefited from deciding what special meant.
"Choose carefully," Mr. Riz said. "Your academy will influence the direction of your career, your training, and your contribution to society."
Contribution.
Another pretty word.
I'd learned that GAIA had an impressive vocabulary for telling people where they belonged.
The bell rang.
Mr. Riz dismissed the class.
Chairs scraped back.
Students erupted into conversation.
"What rank do you think you'll get?"
"My brother got B."
"My cousin awakened a combat talent."
"I heard someone in Sector Seven got an S."
The room filled with nervous energy.
I remained seated.
Then someone slapped my shoulder.
"Hey, Noah."
I looked up.
Graham stood beside me, grinning like he'd swallowed a solar reactor.
Brown hair.
Messy.
Impossible to control.
He looked far too cheerful for someone about to have his entire life classified by an artificial intelligence.
"You ready?"
"For what?"
He stared at me.
"Seriously?"
I shrugged.
"Breakfast?"
"Talent Awakening!"
"Ah."
I stretched.
"My mistake."
Graham shook his head.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
"I'm going to get an A."
"Congratulations."
"I'm serious."
"I can tell."
"I've been training."
"Training?"
"Physical conditioning. Cognitive exercises. Reaction drills."
He leaned closer.
"My stats are above average."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Are they?"
"Yeah."
"That's unfortunate."
His smile faltered.
"Why?"
"Means you'll have expectations."
He stared at me.
Then laughed.
"You're nervous."
"No."
"You are."
"I'm tired."
"Same thing."
I smiled faintly.
He didn't know.
How could he?
My HUD hadn't displayed a proper attribute value in weeks.
Strength.
Intelligence.
Energy Acuity.
Data Accumulation.
Everything had slowly disappeared behind those three irritating characters.
???
GAIA had always measured people.
That was the foundation of this civilization.
Numbers told you what you were good at.
Numbers told you where you belonged.
Numbers told everyone else what to expect from you.
Mine had vanished.
And I had no idea whether that was because of the Codebreaker—
or because GAIA had finally ignored me.
Graham's grin faded.
"You okay?"
I looked at him.
"Yeah."
"You don't look okay."
"That's because I'm tired."
He snorted.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then I'm fine."
He didn't believe me.
Thankfully, he knew when to stop asking.
"Come on."
He grabbed my shoulder.
"If I get A-rank, you're buying me lunch. If you get A-rank, I'll buy you lunch."
"Deal."
"And if you get C?"
"You buy me lunch."
"What?"
"Either way, I win."
I stared at him.
"You've thought this through."
"Obviously."
I laughed.
Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad.
By 8:30, the school entrance looked like someone had released three hundred caffeinated animals into a shopping district.
Students clustered beneath the transport platforms.
Some prayed.
Some bragged.
Some pretended not to care.
Nobody succeeded.
The shuttles arrived in synchronized formation.
Doors opened.
Students filed inside.
I took a seat beside the window.
The city slid past.
The farther we traveled, the larger the Talent Bureau became.
Eventually, it filled the skyline.
The building wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't supposed to be.
It was functional.
A colossal structure of white alloy and reinforced glass, its exterior marked by the unmistakable geometric insignia of GAIA.
Thousands of students entered through its gates every year.
Thousands emerged with new identities.
I wondered how many walked out disappointed.
How many walked out terrified.
How many walked out wondering why the talent they'd received didn't feel like freedom at all.
The shuttle stopped.
"Stay with your assigned group," Mr. Riz called.
We entered.
The smell hit immediately.
Disinfectant.
Ozone.
Cold metal.
The same scent as the hospital where I'd first opened my eyes.
For half a second, I was back there.
White ceiling.
Machines.
Brixley's tears.
Brother?
I pushed the memory away.
Not now.
"Follow me!" Mr. Riz shouted.
We passed through security.
My HUD appeared.
GTB REGISTRATION IN PROGRESS.
I tapped the confirmation field.
A pulse traveled through my wrist.
IDENTITY VERIFIED.
The next screen appeared.
I expected my usual information.
Instead—
NAME: NOAH ADLER
AGE: 16
TALENT: NONE
CLASS: NONE
DA: ???
EA: ???
ATTRIBUTES: ???
I stopped walking.
My stomach tightened.
Still.
The question marks remained.
Graham leaned over.
"Look."
His profile appeared beside mine.
Numbers.
Actual numbers.
"See?"
He grinned.
"Above average."
"Congratulations."
He nudged me.
"What's yours?"
I angled my display away.
"Classified."
"By who?"
"Me."
He laughed.
"You're weird."
"Thanks."
A technician called our group forward.
"Capsules fifteen through twenty."
I looked up.
Capsule Fifteen waited at the end of the corridor.
Its lid was open.
Cold vapor drifted from the interior.
For some reason, I didn't like it.
My instincts rarely bothered speaking.
When they did, I listened.
This time, they were screaming.
I sat inside.
The chair adjusted automatically around my body.
Metal restraints locked around my wrists.
I frowned.
"Is that necessary?"
The technician didn't look at me.
"Standard procedure."
"That's comforting."
The lid lowered.
Darkness swallowed me.
A voice spoke through the speakers.
TALENT AWAKENING INITIATING.
The capsule vibrated.
Something cold entered my veins.
Then heat.
My vision flashed white.
ENERGY ACUITY ANALYSIS.
A progress bar appeared.
35%....
42%....
55%....
I exhaled.
So far, normal.
Another bar appeared.
DATA ACCUMULATION ANALYSIS.
21%....
47%....
67%....
My muscles loosened.
Maybe I had worried for nothing.
Maybe—
DETERMINING CLASS.
The screen froze.
I frowned.
A second passed.
Then three.
The progress bar didn't move.
ERROR.
My heartbeat kicked.
"What? What's happening?"
The word barely escaped.
The capsule lights flickered.
PROGRESS INTERRUPTED.
Static crawled across the display.
Then—
A new line appeared.
Not blue.
Not white.
Red.
INITIATING CODEBREAKER.
My blood went cold.
"No. Not again..."
The capsule screamed.
Energy detonated through my nervous system.
My body convulsed against the restraints.
Pain erupted behind my eyes.
The HUD shattered.
Numbers twisted into symbols.
Letters became equations.
Equations became code.
I saw thousands of lines at once.
Too fast.
Too dense.
Too impossible.
My vision fractured.
CODEBREAKER SYSTEM OVERRIDE
The words appeared over everything.
Then vanished.
Another surge hit.
Outside, I could faintly hear muffled voices.
The capsule's warning sirens activated.
In seconds, I couldn't hear them anymore.
The world had become static.
Green.
Black.
White.
Then—
Nothing.
I opened my eyes.
Darkness.
Not ordinary darkness.
A digital darkness.
Thin streams of green code drifted through it, suspended like rain that had forgotten how to fall.
I could hear my heartbeat.
Slow.
Heavy.
The capsule hummed around me.
But the sound had changed.
It no longer felt mechanical.
It felt responsive.
I flexed my fingers.
The restraints released.
I sat up.
The Codebreaker interface appeared.
[SYSTEM STATUS: ACTIVE]
I stared.
My old GAIA HUD was gone.
No attributes.
No rank.
No class.
No comforting little boxes telling me where I belonged.
Only black.
Green.
Raw information.
I reached toward it.
The interface reacted instantly.
Thousands of symbols rearranged themselves.
I watched them move.
For the first time, the chaos looked almost readable.
Almost.
I narrowed my eyes.
There.
A pattern.
The code folded inward.
Lines collapsed.
Zeros and ones transformed into symbols I could understand.
My breath caught.
A sentence appeared.
Not a system notification.
Not a warning.
Not a command.
A message.
EVEN GODS CAN BE HACKED.
I stared at it.
God? GAIA? GAIA can be hacked?
A slow smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.
"Well..."
I leaned back against the capsule.
"That's reassuring."
The message remained.
I looked at the darkness beyond it.
Six months ago, I had wanted to find a crack in GAIA.
Now I had one.
Or something that looked suspiciously like one.
And suddenly, my sixteenth birthday didn't feel like the day GAIA was going to decide my future.
It felt like the day something else had decided to give me a chance to steal it back.