Novacore was a city devoid of emotion, a metropolis where the remnants of human sentiment had been methodically erased.
A labyrinth of steel and neon stretched towards the sky, its towering skyscrapers connected by a vast network of artificial intelligence and cybernetic control. The air vibrated with the hum of surveillance drones, their infrared eyes scanning the streets below with unrelenting precision. Every wall, every digital screen displayed government-mandated propaganda, reinforcing a singular truth; emotion was the enemy of order.
No one smiled. No one laughed. No one cried.
Project Zero had ensured that.
Initially designed as a psychological stabilizer, Project Zero was meant to eliminate the volatility of human emotions. Love, rage, grief, passion - all elements of unpredictability, all considered threats to a perfectly ordered society. With a single injection, the government "corrected" its citizens, rendering them obedient, efficient, and incapable of rebellion.
For decades, the system held firm.
In the Upper districts, the transformation was absolute. The citizens there functioned with machine-like precision, their lives dictated by logic and necessity. Families existed, but as institutional structures, devoid of warmth. Conversations were perfunctory, interactions mechanical.
But in the Lower Districts, where the underbelly of Novacore festered, the cracks in the system were impossible to ignore.
Among the forgotten and the defiant, fragments of emotions persisted. Some individuals, either anomaly or by sheer resistance vestiges of feeling. They hid in the shadows, operating on the fringes on society, challenging the government's control.
Nikk was one of them.
Sat on the rusted ledge of an abandoned rooftop, he surveyed the neon-drenched streets below. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, its ember casting a weak glow against the night. He didn't smoke - not really. It was an old-world habit, a relic of time when people found comfort in meaningless rituals.
Below, the city pulsed with lifeless rhythm, its streets a circuit board of mechanical movements. A patrol drone passed through an alleyway, its red sensors scanning the ground like a predator searching for prey.
"You keep looking at the city like something's going to change", Ace's voice cut through the silence.
Nikk didn't turn. "Maybe it already is".
Ace scoffed and dropped beside him, his sharp gaze reflecting the neon glow of the skyline. As Nikk's second-in-command, Ace was the voice of pragmatism - cynical, sharp-witted, and unwilling to entertain idealism.
"You say that every time we pull a job. And yet here we are, dodging the same drones, living in the same decay"
"We got close last time", Nikk muttered.
"Close isn't enough"
Their crew was small but efficient, a group of insurgents who specialized in infiltrating government facilities, stealing classified data, and sabotaging the tools of control. They weren't heroes, nor were they revolutionaries. They were simply trying to reclaim what had been stolen from them.
Below, their allies moved through the market district, gathering supplies. Others scouted the streets, ensuring their exit routes remained uncompromised. One monitored encrypted frequencies, listening for changes in patrol movements.
Tonight, they were planning something different. Something bigger.
And for the first time in his life, Nikk felt something stir inside him - something that had no place in Novacore.
Hope.