2400 AD

In the heart of the sprawling metropolis of Solara, the siren wailed relentlessly, its haunting cry piercing the tranquil urban landscape. For five long minutes, its mournful song echoed through the canyons of towering skyscrapers.

The tranquil hum of daily life abruptly halted.

People froze in their tracks, their curiosity and trepidation piqued by the dissonant melody. Shopkeepers hurriedly closed their doors, and patrons inside restaurants and cafes dropped their utensils in shock. Women and children clung to their radios and televisions. In the sky, and on the streets, aero-mobiles and cars suspended their journeys, causing mid-air gridlock, while on every street corner and atop the landing pads of buildings, Android soldiers materialized as if from thin air.

The city had been subjected to a profound transformation in recent years, one driven by an oppressive regime known as the Solarian Directorate. Its leaders, entrenched in their quest for total control, had implemented a chilling system of surveillance and social manipulation. And now, the siren heralded the next sinister phase of their plan.

Android soldiers, cold and unfeeling, fanned out across the city. They surrounded buildings, erected roadblocks, and cut off air traffic routes with ruthless precision. The people of Solara watched in growing horror as their streets transformed into a militarized zone.

Finally, the public address system crackled to life, and a woman’s voice, calm yet tinged with authority, reverberated through the city’s loudspeakers. “Solarians,” she declared, her voice amplified to every corner of Solara, “make your way to the closest defense unit to receive your mark. Stop whatever you are doing and make sure you receive your mark. If you do not have this mark, you will be treated as an enemy of the state.”

As the message hung heavy in the air, confusion and fear swept through the populace. Citizens exchanged anxious glances, wondering about the significance of this mark and the consequences of not having it. The mark would become a symbol of compliance, loyalty, and submission to the Directorate, and those without it would be marked as outsiders, threats to the regime’s power.

In the days that followed, long lines of desperate Solarians formed at the defense units, where they submitted to the painful process of receiving the mark, a unique barcode etched onto their wrists. Some did so out of fear, others out of resignation.

But a small, resilient minority refused to be branded like cattle. They chose to live in the shadows, resisting the Directorate’s oppressive rule, forging alliances with the underground resistance, and vowing to uncover the sinister secrets behind the mark.

Every day and night the voice repeated the message. and, on the morning of the fifth day, millions had received the mark on their wrists.

Then the manhunt began.

Callum Ingram opened his office door to leave but he remembered his mask in the top drawer of his desk. He cursed under his breath, went back to collect it, and then returned to the open door.

At this moment his life changed.

He peered down the corridor.

Drones buzzed around like bees, huge, evil flyers that looked more like cockroaches than high-tech, state-of-the-art mechanical machines. Soldiers rounded up the occupants of the building. A woman and two men resisted. Forced onto their knees, execution style, the soldiers fired lasers into the back of their heads.

Callum gasped, swallowed hard and held his breath. He checked his left wrist and noticed the trembling in his hand. Without a moment’s thought, he dashed back to his desk, removed his laser from the top drawer and headed for the open door

where he stopped abruptly.

An android stood in the open doorway. He wore a light-blue, skin-tight, protective outfit and khaki zip-up combat boots and he gripped an ominous weapon in his left hand.

“Show me your wrist,” the android's alert voice sounded urgent.

Callum knew what he meant.

His wrists were his ticket to salvation or death.

In Callum’s case, it would be death by the hands of this Android standing before him. He didn’t have the mark. Cattle received better treatment. All he could think of was flight or fight.

After a moment of heart stopping shock, he chose the latter and bolted into another office with an exit into a back corridor.

He would not die by the hands of an Android today.

Today he’d choose his own way of dying.

The android followed him up a flight of stairs towards the roof.

Callum opened the rooftop door into the grey light of day and walked towards the far ledge. Below, masked pedestrians moved along sidewalks all going about their daily lives. Aero-mobiles and hovercabs flew in a long, winding, snake-like fashion between cubist buildings of glass and granite.

This is it.

No going back.

One step off the ledge and it’s over.

The android opened the roof-top door quietly and watched as Callum stepped onto the ledge, raise his laser to his head and close his eyes.

“Stop!”

Callum swung around. The android instinctively held up both hands. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Callum pushed the laser against his left temple.

The man continued. “They’ll find you.”

“Get the hell away from me!”

“Can I call you by your name?”

“You’re an Android. My name means nothing to you.”

“Believe me, I am no Android." He removed his helmet. His golden hair was cut short to fit comfortably in the helmet carried in the crook of his right elbow. Golden moustache and beard. Green eyes wide and tense. "I’m as human as you are. Names are important. My name means I’m someone. Your name means you’re someone. It means you belong. I belong. Everything in life depends on a name.”

“I’m happy for you, now go and belong. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“You look like a Brett. Well built, not too heavy for your height. And those eyes. Jesus! I’ve never seen such clean, hazel brown eyes. And I bet there’s some lucky lady, maybe a fiancé or wife who feels the same way. I could call you Peter. How about that? I don’t know anything about you, Peter, but I’m sure if you’re a father, your kids are going to miss you….”

“Stop with the fucking name calling! I’m not a fucking Brett, I’m not a fucking Peter. I’m not married, and I don’t have kids. Just go! Let me finish my fuicking business. They won’t kill me. Today, I die my way.”

“Don’t do this. Just think for a moment. Take a breath. I can save you from them.”

“I don’t know what the hell is going on here, all I know is those soldiers are fucking killing people in this building.”

“Look around you. You’re so hell bent on taking your own life that you don’t even notice what’s going on around you. Look. Look out there. Look at the sun set.”

Callum turned to face the sky.

Dark blue-grey clouds roiled across the sky. The last vermilion sunset disappeared ten years ago when Toba erupted.

The San Andreas Fault collapsed.

The Mariana Trench lifted.

Tsunamis wreaked havoc on several continents. Two and a half billion souls perished.

Even before Callum stepped off the ledge, the stranger leaped forward, grabbed his legs and brought Callum down with him just as the door to the roof suddenly blew outward.