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juauthora200 · 2 months ago

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If you can help me like, comment, share, follow me and visit my ao3 profile, I would really appreciate it.

Giving me this strength, besides making me happy, motivates me more to continue🩵

And along with the story, I will be posting more things about

PROLOGUE

WELCOME TO THE YEAR 2099

Where megacorporations have replaced former governments, dictating laws, controlling resources, and shaping the world with invisible yet ruthless hands.

Democracy was traded for profit. Freedom, for constant surveillance. Justice became a commodity. Truth, a product filtered through corporate screens.

Cities like New York are no longer just urban centers. They’ve become towering megacities, where the wealthy live in upper levels, breathing purified air, guarded by automated security, and surrounded by synthetic luxury. Below them, suffocated by decay, survive the forgotten — workers, rebels, and those starving for justice. That’s where life happens… if you can still call this life.

Here, crime is as rampant as it was a hundred years ago. Police protection only exists if you can afford it. If you want some advice, don’t go out at night — they won’t just take your wallet, they’ll take your kidneys, your eyes, your lungs. Your organs are worth far more than your existence on the black market. In the underworld, your body is currency.

And about heroes? Forget it. They were erased, discredited, or turned into distorted myths.

If you claim you’ve seen something in the skies — maybe someone… like Spider-Man — they’ll call you insane.

But don’t worry.

I’ll believe you.

Because even in this world, where tomorrow arrived bringing only the shadows of what was lost, a new legend rises. Not just a heroine — but a symbol. Someone trying to reignite the flame of justice from the ashes. Alone. Determined. And ready to prove that hope… can still survive.

1:45 PM – Uptown, NY

Above the skies of Nueva York, hidden in plain sight between colossal skyscrapers and floating towers, stands the Horizon Institute — an independent school, a beacon of advanced research in genetics, artificial intelligence, and temporal physics. Beyond being an academic hub, it also serves as a clandestine base for scientific resistance, operating in the shadows of a city ruled by megacorporations.

Its purpose: to train young prodigies to develop ethical innovations, free from corporate exploitation.

The building features a futuristic, minimalist design — geometric angles and translucent polished metal walls that shift colors according to the weather. Around it, sentinel drones patrol non-stop, equipped with anti-surveillance sensors. Optical camouflage and distortion shields keep the institute invisible whenever necessary.

Inside, technology isn’t just a tool — it’s an extension of the mind itself. Modular rooms morph into holographic environments; smart labs communicate directly with users, and an internal neural network connects each student to a living ocean of real-time data.

In the heart of the genetic research wing, a class undergoes their midterm evaluation. Students must present projects that combine theory, creativity, and, above all, ethical responsibility. The task: a debate about the moral dilemmas of genetic manipulation.

At the center of the room, floating holograms project data, statistics, alternative timelines, and simulations of possible futures — some promising, others… terrifying. Groups are already formed, debating intensely at round tables while the teacher watches from her desk, arms crossed, scanning everything.

In the back of the room, isolated, Gabriella O’Hara remains completely detached from the buzz around her. Sitting alone, she fiddles with her tablet, lazily doodling with her finger — clearly bored.

“Time’s up!!” the teacher announced.

All students hurried back to their seats.

“Group one, you may begin,” she ordered bluntly.

Five students stood up, projecting a rotating genetic model in the center of the room.

“Our proposal supports total genetic modification, as long as it’s regulated by global governments. This includes curing diseases, but also optional enhancements — such as increased IQ, physical resilience, longevity… for those who can afford it. We believe natural evolution is obsolete. Humanity must improve itself.”

The teacher didn’t even blink.

“Technically well-structured… but ethically deplorable.”

Her response hit like a knife — sharp, cold, direct. The group exchanged nervous glances, already demoralized.

“You’re basically proposing a future where genetics becomes a luxury product. You reinforce inequality while dressing elitism as progress. That’s not evolution — that’s segregation.”

Without raising her tone, she typed on her tablet:

“Group one… grade D+. Sit down.”

The group sat down, visibly defeated.

“Group two.”

The next five students stood up, even more tense.

“Our proposal supports total freedom. Each family chooses their modifications, but under the supervision of a national AI.”

A holographic chart appeared, displaying the details.

“This AI would enforce ethical limits — preventing modifications to personality, sexual orientation, or psychological traits. Additionally, we’ve created a subsidized genetic credit system for low-income families.”

The teacher took a deep breath.

“You’re entrusting human ethics to an AI? And what happens if that AI gets corrupted? Who watches the watcher? Moreover, by prioritizing unrestricted freedom, you ignored the massive social impacts of self-directed genetic engineering. Ethics isn’t just about freedom — it’s about responsibility and boundaries. And you seem more interested in innovation than accountability.”

“Group two… D.”

“Oh, come on, teacher...” one student grumbled in frustration.

“Silence!!... Group three.”

The next group stood up, nervous but determined.

“Our proposal limits genetic modifications exclusively to eradicating life-threatening diseases. No aesthetic, behavioral, or enhancement alterations. We propose a triple protocol: review by specialists, medical oversight, and public consultation with civilian representatives. We also included social impact simulations, showing how genetic inequality could explode without strict ethical standards.”

The teacher observed, pondering… then, for the first time, smiled slightly.

“A solid proposal. You demonstrated understanding of ethical, social, and scientific implications. Lacked boldness… but prioritized safety, transparency, and consensus. That’s scientific maturity — unlike the previous groups.”

She typed on her tablet:

“B+. Well done.” she added with a subtle smile.

The group sighed in relief, genuinely surprised by the rare approval.

Two more groups presented afterward, with average proposals that received similar criticism. Once she finished grading, the teacher scanned the attendance list… and noticed something strange: only one student hadn’t joined any group.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed at the back.

“Miss O’Hara?”

The entire class fell silent and turned toward Gabriella. The air suddenly felt ten times heavier.

She raised her head, straightened her posture, and tried to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes, teacher?”

“You didn’t join any group… Do you still intend to present?”

Gabriella sighed lazily.

“...Yeah. I do.”

She stood up without rushing, ignoring the judgmental stares. Took a deep breath and began:

“Genetically modifying embryos can cure diseases, but it also creates an invisible standard of what society defines as ‘perfect.’ And to me, that’s just a new form of exclusion. My proposal is simple: use this technology solely to treat diseases that cause real pain and suffering — never to change appearance, IQ, or personality. And every decision must go through diverse committees composed of scientists, bioethicists… and, most importantly, people who actually live with these conditions. Because no one has more authority to say whether a life is worth living than those who truly live it.”

She paused to catch her breath. The room was dead silent.

“Science doesn’t exist to mold the world to our whims. It exists to embrace the world as it is — and to heal it… when it can.”

Without another word, she sat back down. Calm. Unbothered. Not pretending to be humble.

The other students whispered uncomfortably. For most, speaking alone in front of a crowd would’ve been a nightmare. But for her? It was nothing.

The truth is, she didn’t even bother preparing this in advance. She improvised — relying on her own knowledge… and the fact that her father had been a genetic engineer.

She wasn’t expecting praise from the teacher. But then, the teacher closed her tablet, looked up, and — against all expectations — said:

“Thank you, Gabriella… That was exactly the proposal I was hoping to hear today.”

The entire room froze. Even Gabriella raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Your proposal brought something most fail to notice: empathy. You understood that ethics isn’t an afterthought of science — it is science. You demonstrated not only technical knowledge, but also social consciousness. You didn’t just answer the question. You live the question. And that… is rare.”

The silence was absolute.

“Every group brought perspectives that reflect the dilemmas of our time. But not every well-packaged idea is ethically sound. Scientific ethics isn’t measured by how shiny the idea is, but by the weight of its consequences. Remember that...”

She paused to jot something down on her tablet.

“For being the only one who brought exactly what I was looking for… you get an A+. Congratulations, O’Hara.”

Gabriella simply crossed her arms, staring ahead, with that typical look of someone who couldn’t care less. Not a surprise. She always gets top marks. Being the class prodigy is as automatic as being socially isolated for it.

“Of course... Had to be the walking encyclopedia...” mocked one student, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Laughter spread around.

“SILENCE!!” the teacher ordered firmly. The louder laughs stopped, but quiet chuckles lingered.

Gabriella lowered her gaze, staring at the desk. Quiet.

Since the day she set foot in that school, being the target of jokes and exclusion became part of her routine.

Surrounded by brilliant minds like her, many envied her intellect — and that always kept her… alone. Distant. Never truly interacting with anyone.

She’s grown so used to it that, deep down, being her own company no longer feels strange. It’s simply... normal.

2:50 PM – Midtown, NY

The city carried on with its usual routine: flying cars slicing through the skies, drones patrolling the streets. Everything seemed to be in its rightful place.

Until suddenly, a piercing alarm blared from a high-tech store. The metal doors burst open with a loud crash, followed by a thick cloud of smoke spilling into the street.

Amidst the smoke, hurried footsteps echoed, and three hooded figures emerged, carrying bulky backpacks.

The drones quickly detected the intruders, zooming toward them with flashing red lights.

“ROBBERS DETECTED!!!” blared one of the drones. “MODULE: TERMINATE, ACTIVATED!!”

The drones’ bases opened, revealing laser weapons that immediately locked onto the rebels. One of them noticed, pulled a device from his pocket, and fired an electric pulse that instantly disabled the drones.

“GO, GET IN!!” shouted the one behind the wheel as they all jumped into a sleek, matte-black hover car with fake plates and a roaring engine.

The vehicle shot forward, flying at high speed through the streets.

More drones appeared in the sky, aggressively pursuing them and firing lasers. One of the rebels activated the device again, unleashing a blast that fried several drones mid-air.

“They just won’t stop coming, man...” one of them complained.

He kept firing until the last drone dropped.

“I think that was the last one...”

But as the car sped forward, a much larger fleet appeared on the horizon, surrounding them.

“Shit...” cursed the driver as he turned a corner, only to face heavily armored drones closing in.

“Dive!” one of them ordered.

They changed course, the car plunging downward, weaving through the flying traffic, trying desperately to shake the chase. The drones’ optic lenses glowed red as they aimed their laser cannons, unleashing a relentless barrage.

The rebels ducked low inside the car as the blasts punched holes all over the vehicle.

“FASTER, FUCK, FASTER!!!” yelled the one in the passenger seat, gripping the seat in panic.

“I’M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN, MAN!!!” the driver snapped, tense and sweating.

“Last thing I wanna do is go back to prison...” he muttered, desperate.

“Chill, guys. I got this,”said the rebel with the laser device, confident, as the others stared at him in disbelief.

He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a blue vape. His crewmates looked at him, utterly confused.

Standing on the seat, he faced the drones, took a deep drag, and smirked.

“SUCK ON THIS, ASSHOLES!!!” he shouted, blowing out a cloud of smoke and hurling the vape toward the drones.

Within seconds, the vape latched onto one of them and exploded, releasing a massive blue smoke cloud. Disoriented, the drones collided into each other, falling like flies.

“HELL YEAH!!” he cheered, fist raised.

“Fuck...” the driver muttered, shocked.

“Dude, that was awesome!” one of them said, holding up his hand for a high-five.

“This should buy us enough time to reach the Underground,” he relaxed, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

“Quick, that way!” one pointed toward a narrow, dimly lit path.

The driver swerved, speeding into the alley.

With the drones finally off their tail, the rebels laughed, relieved, and cruised casually toward the Underground.

After school, Gabriella walks through the city, blending into the crowd. Headphones in, a can of mango energy drink in hand, and her eyes fixed on a floating holographic screen in front of her as she scrolls through social media.

Suddenly, a notification pops up. She taps the screen.

She lets out a heavy sigh and closes the screen.

But suddenly, a sharp chill shoots through her body, forcing her to stop in her tracks. A high-pitched noise floods her mind — like invisible strings vibrating all around her, crawling up her spine like an electric shock.

Something 's wrong.

Very wrong.

Her eyes snap up, scanning — and then she sees it.

In the distance, weaving between the buildings, the dissonant sound of danger takes shape: a car. Not just speeding — completely out of control, blowing through every red light, barely missing pedestrians and cars in its path. The engine roars like a wild beast.

The car tears down the avenue, blasting past Gabriella in a blur, whipping her hair and nearly ripping the headphones from her ears. She watches it with sharp, unmoving eyes.

The noise in her head won’t stop. The danger is still there, pulsing. Instinct pounds in her chest.

She knows exactly what she has to do.

Speeding through several streets, just a few meters ahead, they spot the tunnel leading straight to Downtown. One of them, excited, practically jumps from his seat:

“We're free!!”

Or at least... they thought so. Until they were brutally proven wrong.

THUD!!

Something — or someone — lands right in front of the car. The impact makes the hood rattle like it was struck by a sledgehammer.

There she was. A feminine, athletic silhouette, radiating an intimidating presence. Her sleek suit mixed deep purple with a serene blue, crossed by metallic sky-blue lines running from her chest to shoulders and hips, forming a stylized spider symbol — as if drawn with digital circuits. A cropped dark jacket with three-quarter sleeves swayed lightly in the wind, and her hood was up, amplifying her aura of mystery.

The pink-tinted lenses of her mask glowed like neon. Fingerless gloves revealed the tips of her fingers, and her neon pink sneakers — matching her tights and tactical shorts — were an absolute punch to the eyes of anyone looking.

She slowly straightens up… and stares the rebels down in complete silence.

“Sup.” she greets, with a sarcastic, charismatic tone.

“AAAAAAAAHH!!” the rebels scream in unison.

The driver, pure panic taking over, jerks the wheel violently, swerving the car hard.

“WHOA!!” the hooded girl slides across the hood, clinging to the windshield. “Ow—my back...”

They dart into a busy avenue.

Swerving at the last second past other cars, scraping side mirrors, dodging horns and curses flying from every direction.

On the hood, the masked girl swings side to side like one of those inflatable tube guys, looking visibly nauseous.

“Riding on the hood of a speeding car? Absolutely not on my bucket list. And guess what? Here I am.”

Not missing a beat, she starts climbing along the side of the car until she crouches on the passenger seat window, staring directly at the rebel sitting in the back.

“Excuse me, buddy.” she taps his shoulder.

The guy turns—and jumps out of his skin.

“Is this car heading straight toward ‘complete disregard for life,’ or did we pass that exit already? 'Cause, if not, I’d really love to sign a survival waiver right about now.”

“Y-you... you’re that hooded chick everyone talks about…?” he stammers, pale.

“Depends… you mean the one who just jumped on the hood of this car and is now reconsidering all of her life choices?” she replies casually.

“The... the one that shows up every night, climbs walls, flies across rooftops, fights… and wears that... sorta techy suit…”

“Bingo.” she snaps her fingers.

“So... the rumors are real…” he whispers, wide-eyed.

Suddenly, the click of a trigger yanks her attention. She turns her head—and sees the rebel in the front passenger seat pointing a pistol straight at her face.

“Don’t give a damn who you are. You got five seconds to back off or—”

FWIP!

A web line sticks to the gun, yanking it so hard that the guy nearly flies with it. The pistol shoots into the hooded girl’s hand—she casually crushes the barrel like it’s tin foil and tosses it away.

The rebel, pale, scrambles for a knife—but barely lifts his arm before—FWIP!—another web pins his hand to the seat.

“Look, fellas, I’m really not in the mood for a fight...” she stands upright, hands raised, “…but if you don’t cooperate, you’re not gonna leave me much of a choice.”

She flips, somersaults through the air, and lands gracefully right on the windshield—directly in front of the driver.

“Oh, and… rumor has it you guys just pulled off a robbery. Funny, huh?”

“We didn’t steal anything!!” the driver shouts.

“Oh, really? You expect me to believe you just walked out of the corner store with over fifty high-tech gadgets stuffed in your backpacks—each costing more than a month's salary—dressed like you’re about to kidnap Batman, driving someone else’s car… and just happen to be coming straight from the Underground?”

Silence. So heavy you could hear their hearts pounding. They glance at each other, one swallows hard, another tries to speak but chokes on his own words. They’re trapped—and they know it. No way out.

“I’m not just some masked chick. I’m the eye that sees everything. I know everything that happens in Nueva York.”

“W-what… what are you…?” one mutters, in shock.

“People call me by a lot of names. But most know me as—”

“EVIL HELLO KITTY!!!” the guy in the back yells.

“...Wait—what?” she freezes, confused.

“That’s your name, right?”

“Of course not!!!” she snaps, offended.

“Night Claw?”

“No.” her tone flat.

“Destroyer?”

“No!” louder now, growing impatient.

“Miss Sticky?”

“NO!!” practically screams.

“...The Enforcer?”

“Puta madre...” she groans, dragging her hands down her mask. “You’re not even close!!! My name is—”

“TRUCK!!!”

The scream cuts through everything. The rebel points. Everyone turns forward—just in time to see an out-of-control truck barreling straight toward them.

The driver yanks the wheel as hard as he can. The car practically tips onto its side, scraping the asphalt and throwing sparks as the hooded girl clings to the windshield.

They manage to dodge—by inches.

As the car slams back down, nearly flipping, they make a desperate turn into a side street—

Only to fly past a sign that reads: “DEAD END.”

Since they hadn't noticed the sign and were speeding, the rebels didn't see the wall right ahead. The only one who realized it in time was the hooded girl. The moment she spotted it, she shot a web, yanked herself out of the car just seconds before the crash.

The car smashed violently into the wall. The front crumpled like aluminum foil, the hood folded brutally, exposing twisted engine parts and releasing smoke. The headlights exploded, shattering into hundreds of crystal-like fragments that scattered across the asphalt like sparks.

A huge mess.

The hooded girl landed back on the ground and sprinted toward the car. Amid the obvious wreckage, she saw the rebels knocked out inside. Without wasting time, she started dragging one of them out carefully… until suddenly, her spider-sense flared.

She looked up just in time to see one of the rebels, holding a shard of glass, lunging at her, aiming for her neck. Instinctively, she twisted her body and ducked, making him miss and crash down from the car.

But the second rebel—the one she was pulling—reacted quickly. He wrapped his arms around her neck, locking her into a chokehold. She struggled, kicking and trying to break free, just as she noticed the first guy getting back up and coming at her again, now aiming the shard straight for her stomach.

In the last second, she grabbed the jacket of the man choking her and threw herself backward, using his own weight against him. The impact threw him off balance—just enough. With a sharp, precise motion, she headbutted him right under the chin. The rebel grunted in pain, staggering.

The two crashed to the ground with a dull thud, rolling over the asphalt. The shard flew from the attacker’s hand, sliding across the pavement until it stopped just inches away from the hooded girl’s feet.

But the danger wasn’t over yet. A noise behind her made her spider-sense tingle again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the third rebel—the one who stayed in the car—pointing that strange device straight at her.

“I saw you on the city surveillance… using this gadget against the drones… You made this thing?”

The rebel gulped, pale. His hands trembled as he held the device, but he nodded.

“Dude… that’s awesome!” she grinned under the mask. The rebel blinked, unsure if she was being sarcastic or serious. “No, seriously! That means you’re a genius — especially for someone from the Underground. You’ve got insane potential!”

She started walking toward him slowly.

“Have you ever thought about putting that talent…” —she gestured with her hands— “…to good use? Something bigger. Instead of wasting your time stealing stuff, you could be making things that actually change lives.”

While she talked, the second rebel—the one she'd thrown—was quietly crawling up behind her, holding an iron bar, ready to strike.

“Imagine… someone from the Underground, with barely any resources, building something like this and suddenly getting noticed. Maybe even becoming a brilliant engineer. That could totally change your life…”

The rebel raised the bar and swung it—but at that exact instant, she vanished—like dust blown away by the wind.

The third rebel flinched so hard that he accidentally fired the device. The electric blast hit his partner with the iron bar dead-on. The guy screamed, convulsed, and dropped to the ground, completely dazed.

Before the other could react, a web shot stuck to his arm and yanked him upward. The device slipped from his hand. He looked up—and there she was—hanging from a pipe, casually swinging.

She fired two more webs, snagging the other two knocked-out rebels, and reeled them in, wrapping all three together into a giant web cocoon, leaving only their heads exposed. Then she hung them upside down, dangling like slabs of meat.

The hooded girl lowered herself down in front of them — also upside down, hanging by a single web line.

“Told you... If you didn’t cooperate, I’d have no choice.” She crossed her arms.

“GO TO HELL, BITCH!!” one of the rebels exploded, thrashing furiously.

She said nothing — just shot a web straight onto his mouth to shut him up.

“It was fun chatting with you guys back there on the highway…” —she adjusted her hood— “…but in the end, I had to stop you one way or another. It’s my job.”

From her left wrist, she opened a circular blue device that projected a holographic screen.

She tapped through a few commands until an image popped up: a hand-drawn sketch of a tall, faceless man, dressed like a cowboy. Half of his face was robotic, with a glowing red eye, and he was holding a gun.

“You know this guy? Ever seen him around?” she asked, turning the screen toward them.

The three looked, glanced at each other, analyzing it. Then shook their heads.

“You sure?” she pressed, staring them down.

“We swear! We’ve never seen him!” one of them stammered, clearly nervous.

She sighed heavily, frustrated. Dropping from the web, she landed on the ground and walked over to the car to grab her backpack.

And then... that familiar chill down her spine.

“HEY! YOU THERE!!”

She spun around — a squad of agents arrived on hoverbikes, surrounding her. The moment she saw the symbol on their uniforms, her face dropped.

“Ay, coño... Public Eye. —she muttered, annoyed.

“AS AUTHORIZED REPRESENTATIVES OF THE PUBLIC EYE, WE ORDER YOU TO REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE!” shouted the leader, gun raised.

“If I were you... I’d keep my distance,” she replied, slipping her hand into her pocket. “I’ve got a very dangerous weapon right here…”

All the agents immediately aimed their weapons at her.

“HANDS UP WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!”

She shrugged.

“Your choice.”

In one swift move, she yanked her hand out of her pocket and thrust it forward, fist clenched. All the agents braced themselves, ready to fire…

But she just stood there — perfectly still — milking the tension.

Then… she flipped them the middle finger.

And in a blink—she vanished, gone like a bolt of lightning.

“WHERE DID SHE GO?!” one of the agents shouted, spinning around frantically.

Far away from there, the hooded girl was swinging between buildings, firing her webs with the rebels' backpack slung over her shoulders.

“I have this weird feeling like I’m forgetting something…” she muttered.

As she swung past a tower with a giant holographic billboard, her eyes caught the time: 3:12 PM. Instantly, her whole body froze and her eyes widened in panic.

“OH MY GOD, TRAINING!!” she screamed, grabbing her head. “I TOTALLY FORGOT!!”

Without a second thought, she fired her webs twice as fast, cutting through the wind and launching herself forward with all her strength.

“And I still gotta return all this crap…” she grumbled, clutching the backpack tight to her chest as she sped up.

6:00 PM – Sector B9, South Hive Residential: Downtown, NY.

The elevator screeched before stopping at the 29th level of the South Hive. The doors slid open with a metallic groan, revealing a damp hallway lit by flickering bluish lights. The air carried that smell of old metal mixed with incense — some neighbor insisted on running those fragrances, trying to mask the pollution seeping up from the lower levels.

Gabriella, still in her soccer uniform, sweaty and exhausted from training, pressed her thumb against the biometric lock. The door beeped softly and slid open.

The ceiling lights flicked on automatically, casting a soft amber glow that warmed the room.

Inside, the apartment was a complete contrast to the world outside. The walls were decorated with floating holographic art — some looping endlessly, others changing with the time of day or weather. The space felt cozy, even if it relied on an old heater with a mind of its own.

“Welcome back, Mini Boss,” chimed the voice of Lyla, the 22nd-century AI and former personal assistant to her father, Miguel O’Hara.

“Hey, Lyla…”

“Your bipl readings show elevated heart rate. Been overdoing it?”

“Ugh, don’t even ask... I was late to practice. Coach chewed me out hard... As punishment, 50 laps around the field and 100 push-ups.”

Gabriella headed straight for her room. It was a simple space, painted lilac, with a lofted bed covered in plush toys. Near the entrance, a shelf packed with trophies, first-place medals, books, boxes, and picture frames — some of her with her father. The walls were covered in posters of bands and art groups.

She tossed her backpack onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, lying on her back with a heavy sigh.

“Excuse for being late?” Lyla popped up beside her, crossing her arms.

“Wanna believe I ran into a bunch of rebels stealing high-tech gear?”

“In broad daylight?” Lyla asked, now materializing sitting cross-legged right on Gabriella’s stomach. Being a tiny hologram, she weighed nothing.

“Yup. And they dragged me into a high-speed car chase… I tried to introduce myself, but then they started calling me a bunch of names… don’t even ask.”

“Sounds like you had... a very productive day, Mini Boss.” Lyla chuckled.

“Oh, and there was the group presentation too. Got an A… Presenting alone, obviously.”

“Then what you really need now... is to recharge.”

“I need a shower, that’s what I need.” Gabriella stood up, walking right through Lyla. “Did tío leave any messages?”

“Said he’s working overtime tonight. Won’t be home until late.”

“Yeah... He sent me the same message.” She replied, opening the closet and grabbing a towel.

Without much rush, she left the room and headed for the bathroom.

A few minutes later…

After her shower and already changed, Gabriella appeared with her hair down, barefoot, wearing dark blue sweatpants and an old shirt that used to belong to her father. The shirt was huge on her, hanging down to almost her knees like a dress, and the sleeves were so long she had to roll them up a few times.

She walked into the kitchen — small and cramped — opened the fridge and stared into the desert inside: a bottle of water, nearly empty milk, leftover mac and cheese, a few cans of beer… and that was it.

“Lyla, did you remind tío to stop by the market?” she asked, already expecting the answer.

“I tried calling, but… as usual, straight to voicemail,” the AI replied with a shrug.

Gabriella sighed, crouched down, and began rummaging through the cupboards, hoping for a miracle. After opening and closing three cabinet doors, she found, in the back of the last one, a cup of instant noodles.

“You’ll do,” she muttered, resigned. “Lyla, make a list. I’ll dictate, and you order it from the market.”

“Absolutely, Spiderling,” the AI answered, pulling up a holographic notepad.

“Lyla…” Gabriella frowned. “I told you not to call me that. Sounds like a sidekick’s name.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Lyla replied with a mischievous smile. “Unfortunately, it’s saved in my system, and nothing’s gonna convince me to delete it.”

Gabriella rolled her eyes, barely hiding a smile.

While filling the electric kettle, she began dictating the items, and Lyla noted everything down.

“Order placed,” the AI confirmed. “Estimated delivery: five to ten minutes.”

“Just enough time for my noodles to be ready…” Gabriella commented, pouring the boiling water into the cup.

A few minutes later, the intercom buzzed. The groceries had arrived. Gabriella paid, thanked the courier, and began putting everything away. She stocked the cupboards with cans, packets, and boxes; the frozen items went straight into the freezer, and the fresh produce into the fridge.

When she shut the last door, she looked around, satisfied: finally, the cupboards and fridge were full. Enough for a few weeks — or so she hoped.

She glanced at the clock. Perfect. Her instant noodles were ready.

Later that night, after dinner, Gabriella sat cross-legged on her bed, her father's old guitar resting gently in her lap. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a golden hue across the lilac-painted walls, creating warm, comforting shadows around the room.

The instrument, though aged, was still well cared for. Her fingers turned one of the tuning pegs, adjusted a string, tested the sound. The timbre of the wood resonated low, like a whisper from the past.

She strummed a few scattered notes — chords that seemed to be searching for a path, until finally, her fingers found the beginning.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment. And then, she began.

The first notes filled the room, spreading like a familiar perfume — heavy with longing, memory, and love. Each chord sounded like a silent conversation with someone who was no longer there.

Her eyes sparkled — not exactly with tears, but with a deep, quiet emotion pressed tight inside her chest.

Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, sweet and melancholic:

“En mis noches de pena”

“Por una morena de dulce mirar”

“Luna de xelajú me diste inspiración”

“La canción que hoy te canto”

“Regada con llanto de mi corazón”

“En mi vida no habrá”

“Más cariño que tu, mi amor”

“Porque no eres ingrata, mi Luna de plata”

“Luna de xelajú”

“Luna que me alumbró”

“En mis noches de amor”

The final notes slid out softly.

“Hoy consuela la pena…”

“Por una morena…”

“…que me abandonó”

The last string’s vibration faded into silence.

Gabriella bowed her head. For a few seconds, she hugged the guitar, eyes squeezed shut. When she opened them again, there was sadness, yes — but also strength. Memory. Love. And a silent promise.

Her gaze shifted to her wristwatch on the bedside table. She reached for it, and a bluish screen lit up before her eyes. She scrolled through some files until she found an old recording.

The video projected into the air: a younger Gabriella, still a child, laughing while sitting on her father’s shoulders. She smeared a piece of cupcake on his face, drawing a burst of laughter from the man. He set her down, still laughing, wiping frosting off his face, pretending to be mad — but failing to hide his grin.

The recording paused. The image froze on that moment: both of them smiling, so full of life.

Gabriella reached out, touching his face on the screen as if she could feel him there.

“I miss you so much…” her voice cracked. “Your voice... your smile…”

Tears welled up in her eyes, trembling on her lashes.

“Pero no te preocupes, papá…” she whispered, taking a deep breath, eyes shut tight “I will find whoever did this to you… And your death will be avenged… Lo prometo.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the screen, leaving a long, tender kiss before closing the file. She gently placed the watch back on the nightstand.

Leaning the guitar against the side of the bed, she slipped under the blanket and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Tomorrow would be another day — just like so many others. And even with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she needed to rest.

She turned off the lamp.

The apartment door opens, and a man with a worn-out appearance enters.

His body seems to weigh three times its normal size. The boots leave dirty marks on the metallic floor as he walks through the entrance, his shoulders slumped, crushed by the weight of an unbearable day. He still carries the backpack on his back. His brown, wavy hair is completely disheveled, and his work uniform — a battered jacket, old scarf, and stained pants — looks like it survived a war.

“Good evening, Gabriel. Welcome back.”

LYLA greets, appearing near the entrance, floating as always, with her golden glow and that deliciously sarcastic tone.

“You look 72% more destroyed than yesterday. Can I declare you an archaeological treasure?”

Gabriel lets out a tired sigh, drops the backpack on the floor without even looking at it, and runs a hand over his face.

“A sound acid bath and maybe five minutes without hearing anyone’s voice?” he suggests gruffly, his voice hoarse.

“That sounds like a ‘no’,” she responds in her sarcastically friendly tone.

He crosses the room, practically dragging himself to the sofa, and collapses onto it as if he had just climbed the entire planet.

The apartment is small but cozy. The walls are decorated with unfinished art pieces, floating paintbrushes, and sketches projected on the screens around. A modest but lively home.

“The community mural committee turned into a mess,” he begins, pressing his temples. “The security drones thought the art was subversive, and one of them shocked me because it thought ‘freedom in colors’ was rebel code…”

He rubs his face, lets out an even heavier sigh, and messes up his hair.

“And the projector broke in the middle of the rendering. Result: I painted a ten-meter mural… by hand.” He shakes his head. “Not even dignity was left.”

“Wow… dignity,” she pretends to be surprised. “Was that still part of your kit?”

“Funny…” he laughs, but the exhaustion weighs down even his smile.

Gabriel looks at his own hand, trembling. Just trying to stretch his fingers sends a sharp pain through his arm.

“I can schedule a physiotherapy appointment… or activate a massage protocol?” suggests Lyla, blinking.

“I just… need to sleep.” He tilts his head back, his eyes slowly closing. The exhaustion feels as if the entire sofa is on top of him.

But after a few seconds, he opens his eyes again, staring at the ceiling, half-lost in his thoughts.

“And Gabriella?” he asks, his voice softer now.

“She’s sleeping,” Lyla responds. “Biometric levels indicate her stress dropped 40% after dinner. And… she did the grocery shopping, including buying your favorite cereal.”

A smile finally appears.

“I completely forgot to stop by the market…” he laughs, relieved. “Thank God I have a niece who takes care of me.”

“Oh, and you have a new message…” she warns, changing her tone.

“If it’s from Alchemax… delete it,” he cuts in, sharply.

“Considering that, there have been twenty-five messages from Alchemax deleted today,” Lyla responds, with that blasé tone of someone who’s used to it.

Gabriel smiles to himself, shaking his head.

“Funny… twenty years of them ignoring that I exist. And now they want to ‘integrate my profile’?”

He falls silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling. His expression changes, hardening.

“They can keep trying all they want. But me... I’m never getting involved with Alchemax.”

He pushed himself up from the couch and walked toward the window. Leaning his forearm against the glass, he rested his forehead there, staring out at the city below — chaotic, neon-lit, scarred.

“I never wanted anything to do with them… and even less do I want Gabriella anywhere near them. I promised my brother I’d take care of her. She’s all we have left now.”

He keeps staring at the city for a few more seconds, deep in thought.

“I don’t want Gabriella walking the same path Miguel did...” he murmured, almost to himself, as he exhaled. “That’s why... I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her far from Alchemax.”

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