AP(EX) Technomancer

I'll be exactly sixteen tomorrow…again.

Truthfully, it's the second time I've hit this milestone, but in this world? It's the first. And tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow's important. More than I care to admit.

But not for the reasons most people think.

I'm not talking about birthday cake or fake pleasantries. Not about some half-hearted "Happy Birthday" from people who wouldn't notice if I dropped off the map.

Tomorrow's the Talent Awakening—the day GAIA, our all-seeing guide, "unlocks our true potential." 

That's how the billboards phrase it, anyway. Kids at school won't shut up about it, giddy over which talents they might receive, like they're opening mystery loot boxes. 

It's exciting. It's perfect. It's everything we could ever want.

Except it isn't.

They like to tell us we have a choice. That we carve our own paths, shape our own futures. But I know that's a load of crap.

We're just cogs. Parts in a machine, ticking to the rhythm of an algorithm that's already decided our fates before we take our first breath.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow's the day I find out exactly where I stand in that machine.

I glance at the tablet on my desk, its holographic interface lighting up the room with its sterile blue glow. GAIA's platform is slick, efficient, and—most frustrating of all—predictive. It knows what I'll do before I even do it.

Another notification pops up.

>>REMINDER: Talent Awakening. Report tomorrow at 0900 hours.

I swipe it away with a flick of my wrist. Seventh reminder today. Guess GAIA really doesn't trust people to show up, huh?

Skipping this isn't an option.

Failing to show up isn't just "missing the appointment."

It's erasure.

They call it a "reset." No one's ever actually come back from it, so no one really knows what it means. But I'd prefer to never find out.

No one talks about them, but we all remember.

I lean back in my chair, fingers brushing through the short pink hair I've kept since the day I woke up here. The room's quiet—aside from the distant hum of the city, its neon lights flashing against the skyline. GAIA's towers. Monuments to their so-called "utopia."

But I see the cracks.

I know what's lurking beneath the surface of this gilded cage.

Because before I was Noah Adler… I was someone else.

A hacker. A damn good one.

And if there's one thing I know, it's that every system—no matter how tight—has a vulnerability.

Even GAIA.

Dinner Time…

The smell of cheap pasta lingers in the air as I sit across from Damian, my older brother. He's buried in mission reports on his tablet, kicking back with his boots off. His face is tired—life's worn him down, but he still cracks that half-assed smirk when he sees me.

"So, tomorrow's the big day," he mutters, twirling his fork.

"Yeah." I shove a forkful of pasta into my mouth. "Not that it really matters. GAIA already has everything mapped out."

Damian leans back, stretching his arms. "You're overthinking it, Noah. GAIA's never wrong."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, twirling my fork. "That's what they all say."

"Because it's true," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Look at me—I got Tactical Augment. Perfect for my role. You'll get something just as fitting. Just trust GAIA."

Trust GAIA. 

The phrase everyone repeats, like breathing. I bite back a response. No point arguing with a wall.

My little sister, Brixley, bursts into the kitchen, practically bouncing off the walls. "Noah, what if you get something awesome? Like teleportation! Or—dragon summoning!"

I can't help but laugh, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, Brix. Maybe I'll wake up with a dragon sidekick. But, knowing my luck, I'll probably end up with 'Data Entry Specialist.'"

Damian snorts, rolling his eyes. "Well, whatever it is, we'll still celebrate. Even if it's 'Professional Stapler Operator.'"

I chuckle, shaking my head. For a moment, the tension fades, and the weight of tomorrow's looming decisions feels a little lighter.

But deep down, I know it's just a temporary distraction.

Midnight…

A digital ping breaks through the quiet.

Another system notification.

Groggy, I glance at my HUD, half-expecting another meaningless birthday greeting.

>>"Happy Birthday, Noah Adler."

I snort. "Thanks, Big Brother GAIA."

More notifications flood in—generic greetings, automated well-wishes from people I couldn't care less about. I ignore them all. But then, one catches my eye.

>>[Codebreaker]

>>[Incoming System Override.]

My heart skips. A cold prickle climbs my spine. What the hell is this?

I reach for the notification—

Static erupts in my skull.

A thousand needles stab through my brain, white-hot and electric. My vision fractures, the room around me ripping at the seams like corrupted code struggling to recompile.

I hear GAIA's voice—except it's wrong. Stretched. Dissonant.

>> SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.

>> SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED.

>> SYSTEM ERROR—

My heart skips. A cold prickle climbs my spine. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

GAIA doesn't make mistakes. GAIA doesn't glitch. GAIA is perfect. 

Everyone says so.

Yet when I reach for the notification—

ERROR.

>> UNDEFINED.

>> ATTEMPTING SYSTEM RECALIBRATION.

A thousand needles stab through my brain, white-hot and electric. My vision fractures, reality tearing apart like corrupted code.

My hands claw at the air, but I can't move. Can't breathe.

The world collapses inward—

I stagger back, clutching my head, vision warping. Glitching. Like my body's just become corrupted data. Numbers, symbols, chaos—everything goes haywire.

Darkness fills my vision, pulling me into the void.

And then—

Everything changes.

Then, silence.

A cold mechanical voice pulses through my ears.

>>[CODEBREAKER SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]

>>[SYSTEM REBOOTING.]

A new interface emerges. Black. Green. Raw code bleeding across the screen.

The font is crude—like something from an old-school analog terminal. The text scrolls across the screen in a maddening jumble of ones and zeroes, unreadable. 

Each line is more chaotic than the last, expanding, contracting, glitching like corrupted data trying to force itself into some kind of order.

I lean forward, my eyes burning through the mess, trying to make sense of it.

Then, just as fast as it appeared, the chaos starts to make sense. The text sharpens. The interface solidifies. A title slides smoothly into place: Codebreaker.

The sterile GAIA interface? 

Gone. Replaced with something sleek, dark, and far too real.

What the hell just happened?

I swipe at the air, desperate to return to GAIA. But nothing. My fingers cut through the air again, faster this time, but the screen stays frozen on Codebreaker.

This… This isn't GAIA.