Like most Americans, I, Zach Civilcent, led an ordinary life. A nine-to-five desk job. Easy, mindless work where I never had to break a sweat while others raked in more money than I ever could.
It was the epitome of the mundane.
Nothing about my life was special. And to make it worse, neither was I.
Who am I?
Well… I'm human. Caucasian. I've got organs, a functioning brain, and I like to think my consciousness runs a bit deeper than the standard person. But beyond that? I'm average. Just a guy walking around in a crowd of forgetful faces.
If there's one thing people can't stop pointing out about me, it's my so-called "defining personality trait."
They say I'm not the caring type. I don't see it that way, though. I care about the things that matter—life, freedom, empathy, stuff like that. But most people? Everyday problems? That little cut I got while chopping vegetables?
Who the hell cares.
I can't be bothered with such imperfect, negative thoughts.
I think I care about what matters.
Food? I like food. People? Sure, they're okay, but they can get annoying. Hard to find those real, considerate friends who are genuine.
Negativity? I hate it. But I'll admit, I only pay attention when it suits me.
Women?
They're just people. Nothing more, nothing less than myself. But when it comes to relationships… That's where things get complicated.
Love, to me, is like a sickness.
A cold. It comes and goes, but it lasts for longer than I'd want.
I wish I could say that I've loved a woman before. My first girlfriend at twenty was probably my chance to experience that. Not that it mattered much anyway. Because before I knew it, each and every world-government began to crumble.
They called it the "Doomed Age of Zyber Endfall."
The collapse of humanity, brought on by cybernetic humans and cyborgs. Made me realize something. All the people who'd criticized me merely for my nature? They were the real fools.
But, like I said, it didn't matter. Nations were falling, and I, a moralistic pessimist, was powerless to do anything.
In the end, it doesn't matter how right you are. Without power, things like being right are nearly meaningless.
Time passed, and somehow, against all odds, I found myself aboard a spaceship that could travel between galaxies.
Earth, as I knew it, was changing drastically. The world had plunged into a cyber-apocalypse. Wars broke out like they were the weather. Vast organizations tore each other apart, killing their own kind in some twisted game of survival.
And humans? Some turned themselves into cyborgs. Others took it further, fusing with robotic bodies until they no longer resembled the humans they once were.
Those humans, born from blood, were manipulating their brain waves…
Some found peace in becoming more machine than human. Because, their "flaws," were no more, and they could be whoever they "wanted" without the effort tagged along.
Overall, I decided not to go the cybernetic implant route. I had no desire to outpace those around me, to become a being beyond the flesh, more machine and superior than human.
Because when you take away the glimmering promises of enhancement, and when the machinery fades, you realize something: it doesn't matter. Not in the slightest. We're all just stardust and data in the end, hurtling toward the same singularity, with or without the upgrades.
I began to wonder, who was truly emotionless? Was it really the robots the ignorant humans spoke of? Maybe they weren't so apathetic after all.
They didn't have the arrogance we humans had. They could shut off their emotions, sure, but they didn't use that power recklessly. Some of them were more moralistic than any human I knew. They didn't want to destroy and conquer worlds. Most of them were just like us.
Robots. They're life—living, breathing, real life. I've always been disgusted by humans who see them as anything less.
The gap between humans and robots was becoming an impervious bridge. In the Age of Zyber Endfall, you either killed or were killed. Trust was a twisted, distorted idea. It was all about power. Who had it? Who was controlling it?
And right now? Before all of this happened, I was just another guy.
Twenty-three years old.
Not exactly living my best life.
I had long glorious, flowing brown hair, parted perfectly. Reaching my shoulders, it was definitely my third best trait. Truth be told, I took a certain pride in it. My muscles were lean and defined, and at six foot two, I carried a weight of one hundred and ninety pounds. Each day, I pushed myself through rigorous calisthenics to ensure my six-pack and arms were worked to perfection. It was something I felt compelled to do. It was a pursuit to master my own form before my time ran out. And while, in the grand expanse of existence, it may have meant little, I couldn't help but feel prideful in it.
My style however, that was my best trait of all. Usually, I would wear a variety of all-black fits, mostly being designer shirts and jeans. I had regular stuff also, but almost every piece of my clothing had a corresponding match.
Sure, I was proud of a lot of things. I was quite good looking, had a decent job, a few friends…
Even had amazing, fulfilling hobbies.
But there was still something missing.
An empty feeling. You know the one? The nagging sense that no matter what you do, no matter how much you fill your life with distractions, you're still not whole.
I try not to focus on it too much.
I was stretched out on my couch, staring blankly at the flickering screen of my TV. I was tired. Exhausted from work, I wanted to unwind before diving into my gaming routine.
The calm was shattered by a sudden emergency alert on my screen.
'This can't be good,' I thought, a knot forming in my stomach.
It was the president of America, a man who had only recently taken office. Newly elected in the year 2040, his name was irrelevant.
He looked terrified. He was stumbling over his words, like a man who knew the end was near.
"C-Citizens of America… w- what you once knew as normal is no more. The government has fallen. Chaos has struck the nation… I'm sorry, but science has evolved too vast for control to stay the way it is. Your new leader will show his face in due time…"
He paused, his eyes darting to someone off-screen. Then, with a sudden burst of defiance, he shouted, "SCREW EVERYTHING I JUST SAID, FIND REFUGE! THESE PEOPLE ARE PURE EV—"
Before he could finish, an energy blast shot through his skull. Blood poured from the large hole like a fountain. It was horrific, but for some strange reason, I couldn't look away. The way his body crumpled onto the floor, the light fading from his eyes—it was like some sick piece of art.