The sun hung low over Lusaka, casting long shadows across the city as the bus wheezed through its crowded streets. Mwansa Kasonde sat near the back, staring out the window as the scenery blurred by—a mix of market stalls, half-finished buildings, and the constant rush of people. Inside the bus, the noise of traffic and voices was muted, but it did little to quell the heaviness that weighed on his chest.
Life hadn't always felt this directionless. Mwansa had once been full of ideas, hopes, and dreams. Growing up, he had been the tech whiz in his neighborhood, the kid who could fix anything, build anything—so long as it had wires or a code to crack. His dream of becoming a renowned software engineer had felt so attainable back then, as if the future were something he could mold with his own hands. But now, at 23, those dreams felt distant. He was stuck in a routine that sapped the energy from his soul, his days filled with the same monotonous tasks, and his nights plagued with worry about his sick mother.
The bus jolted to a stop, and Mwansa stepped off into the cool evening air. His apartment wasn't far from the station, just a quick walk through the dusty streets. His pace quickened as he navigated past the local vendors closing up shop for the night. The smells of freshly roasted maize and frying fish lingered in the air, but Mwansa barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—on his mother, on the unpaid bills piling up, and on the dead-end job that seemed to be swallowing him whole.
At 23, this wasn't where he thought he'd be. Instead of working on innovative tech projects or building his own company, Mwansa spent his days as a junior developer at a small tech firm in the city, buried in bug fixes and maintaining outdated systems. He had talent—more than anyone else in the office—but that didn't seem to matter. He was just another cog in the machine, another face in the crowd.
He reached his apartment, a small, worn-down building with peeling paint and creaky stairs. Inside, his mother lay resting in the next room. Her illness had come suddenly, and with each passing week, it seemed to take more of her strength. Mwansa had tried everything he could to help, but the bills kept rising, and his paycheck barely covered the essentials.
He sat down in front of his old laptop, hoping to distract himself with some coding. If there was one thing that gave him a sense of control in his life, it was this—the lines of code that danced across his screen, the feeling of solving complex problems, even if it was only temporary. His side projects—personal ones that no one at the office knew about—were his only real creative outlet. But even those had stalled lately. Without the resources or connections to take them further, they felt like just another set of unfulfilled dreams.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but something caught his attention—a small, flickering icon in the corner of his screen. At first, he thought it was a notification, maybe another system update. But the symbol was unfamiliar, something strange. He frowned and clicked on it. The screen went black for a moment, then lines of code began streaming across it at an alarming speed. His heart quickened as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
Suddenly, a message flashed on the screen: "Your future begins now."
Mwansa blinked, his hands freezing over the keyboard. The message stayed there, bold and cryptic, as the screen filled with more code. His first instinct was to shut it all down—this could be some kind of virus, maybe a hack. But there was something about it that drew him in. It didn't feel malicious, it felt... deliberate. Almost like someone had sent it directly to him.
He sat there, staring at the screen, debating what to do next. His logical side told him to be cautious, to walk away. But another part of him, the part that had always been curious about the unknown, couldn't resist. What if this was an opportunity? What if this was the break he'd been waiting for?
With a deep breath, Mwansa began typing. "Who are you?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, more text appeared on the screen.
"I am Lucy, an advanced AI from the year 2050. I have chosen you."
Chosen him? Mwansa's fingers trembled as he stared at the words. It didn't make any sense. An AI from the future? It sounded absurd, something out of a sci-fi novel. And yet, here it was, right in front of him.
He typed again, his thoughts racing. "Why me?"
"You have the potential to change everything. Your skills are the key to unlocking a future where technology and humanity are intertwined in ways the world has never seen. I can help you, Mwansa. But first, you must trust me."
Mwansa leaned back in his chair, his mind swirling. The message felt too specific, too personal to be some random hack. But trusting something—or someone—claiming to be an AI from the future? It was a lot to take in. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this could be the opportunity he'd been waiting for, the chance to escape the life that had trapped him for so long.
He hesitated for only a moment before typing one final question.
"What do I have to do?"
The screen flickered again, and the lines of code began to rearrange themselves, forming intricate patterns and shapes that Mwansa had never seen before. The message that appeared next sent a chill down his spine.
"Your life, your code, your destiny—rewrite it with me."
Mwansa sat there, the weight of the decision pressing on him. This was it—the moment that could change everything. His heart raced as his hand hovered over the keyboard. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of hope.
And then, he typed.