TECHNOCRAT
EPISODE 01 | SCENE 02
RESURRECTION WAS EASY. THE TRUTH IS NOT.
Dr. Renegade has done the impossible—he’s unlocked the door to eternal life. With a simple DNA sample and a brain chip transfer, anyone can be resurrected: their mind, their body, their very essence—preserved forever. But there’s one problem: his closest partner in the Anima Project claims it’s all a lie. If that’s true, what has he actually created? What if the dead aren’t returning? What if something else is taking their place? What if Renegade hasn’t conquered death at all…but invited it in? As secrets unravel, two men are thrust into a desperate search for answers, uncovering a deception more terrifying than they ever imagined.
DISCOVER THE TRUTH. CONTINUE READING NOW.
40 YEARS LATER | YEAR 347
Chaos. That’s the only word for it. The room erupts in hysteria. Wick tries to stay still, but the crowd surges and slams against him from every direction, bodies clawing for a way out. The noise becomes a single, blinding rush of panic that swallows every distinct sound.
The space is dim and narrow, its walls dark and stony, no windows in sight. He’s caught in something like a mosh pit under a low ceiling—except this isn’t a club. Wick doesn’t know exactly where he is, but he’s been here before. Again and again, it repeats. The same walls. The same chaos. The same teardrop tattoos carved into the bottom of wrists. Every time, the scene ends the same way. Then, he wakes up.
Was it a dream or something else—something waiting to happen? Wick runs his hands across the comforter to steady himself. The soft fabric grounds him. Beside him lies Alexa, still asleep, her body rising and falling with the slow rhythm of her breath.
He touches her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertip. Her lashes catch the spill of city light pouring through the bay window. For a moment, he watches her, unmoving. Then his eyes shift to the city beyond. The sky sleeps, but the skyline hums awake, alive as ever. The clock on the nightstand confirms what he already knows—it’s too early. He sits up, draws a long breath, and waits. Sleep never returns after the dream.
“How long have you been up?” a voice murmurs. Wick glances down at Alexa. Her eyes stay shut, her face half-buried in the pillow. He brushes a hand through her dark hair, and her lip curls instinctively. “Don’t tell me,” she says, still feigning sleep. He traces the faint fuzz on her cheek, the warmth beneath his fingertips.
Sunlight from the bay window breaks through, pushing against her eyelids until she squirms. Accepting defeat, she sits up, shifting into the shade of the bed, and opens her eyes. They lock in a silent stare. Her hazel irises shimmer with flecks of green, catching the light.
“Four hours,” Wick says.
Alexa lets out an exaggerated pout. “Ugh, I was gonna guess.”
“You took too long.”
“You’re never patient.”
“I’m always patient.”
“It’s not like we don’t have time… What time is it, anyway?”
“We’ve got lots of time. Don’t worry.”
Alexa sits taller, thinking for a beat, then throws off the covers. “I have to shower. Do my hair. You know, girl things.”
Wick leans back against the headboard. “And I’ll do boy things.” He scratches his head lazily.
The bathroom door closes behind her. Wick’s gaze lingers a moment before he looks back to the window. The city glows, glass towers catching the rising sun. From up here, it’s impossible to tell he’s fifty stories above the ground.
He rises and steps closer to the glass, craning his neck to gauge the height of the building opposite—twice his own, maybe more. Then, still scratching his stomach, he wanders into the tall, open kitchen. The space flows into a sprawling living area, both bathed in the golden light reflecting off the skyline beyond the glass wall.
He pulls a pan from the cabinet, cracks eggs, lays bacon to sizzle. The smell fills the room, drawing Alexa out. She reappears, hair damp, twisted into a loose bun, and glides toward him with a hungry look. Rising on her toes, she kisses him lightly.
“Haven’t done that yet today,” she says with a grin. “Sorry.”
“You owe me double.”
She rolls her eyes, then kisses him again. This time, he doesn’t pull back. Her arms hang loosely, her hair slipping free over her shoulders. The moment stretches, soft and slow.
When they part, Wick closes the gap once more, making her laugh. “And that’s for leaving me,” he says.
“I’m not leaving you,” she replies, reaching for a plate.
“For seventy-two hours, you are.”
She studies the bacon, choosing her pieces carefully. “And then I’ll never leave again,” she says, glancing back to blow him a kiss.
Wick moves behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s still seventy-two hours,” he murmurs.
“You could do it too,” she says gently.
“It’s expensive.”
“They’re doing mine for free.” She slides an omelet from the pan.
“Exactly.”
She spins around, holding the plate close. “Exactly,” she repeats. “You just need to apply for the assist.” Then she slips away and settles on a stool, the plate clinking softly on the counter.
Silence settles as Alexa takes her first bite. She looks up mid-chew, watching Wick stare off somewhere distant. “Just do it,” she mutters through a mouthful. “Nearly half of Penumbra’s gone through the transfer already. The Elders are helping everyone.” She swallows, her voice firming. “Plus, it’s safe.”
Wick leans on the counter across from her. “I’ll wait for Gen Seven.”
“You can always upgrade later.”
He straightens, unwilling to argue, and moves back to the stove. He scoops up the last of the bacon and slides two omelets onto his plate. The motion feels final, like a quiet shift away from the topic.
“I just wish we could transfer together,” Alexa says to his back. “At the same time, you know?”
“The pre-process takes three months. It’s too late now.” The hot pan slips from his grip, crashing onto his foot. He curses under his breath and kicks it aside.
Alexa shoots up. “Are you okay?” She looks down at his foot. “Didn’t that hurt?”
“Maybe a little,” he says, brushing it off. “It’s fine. Just stubbed my toe.”
“I’d be crying,” she says. “You really are a man of steel.” She walks over to him, smiling. “My man of steel.”
“And you’re my wimpy little girl.” He wraps his arm around her, smiling back.
She hits his chest with the back of her hand. “Hey. I never said I’m a wimp. I just said I’d… cry… a lot… if a searing pan smashed my foot.”
“Fine,” he concedes. “I’m your man of steel, and you’re my woman of steel… who cries a lot.”
She snatches the fork from his hand, pointing it at him with mock warning. “Soon,” she says. “In seventy-two hours.”
He glances at his watch. “More like seventy-seven.”
“Whatever,” she mutters, placing the fork back on his plate.
She returns to her seat, finishing her breakfast as Wick grabs a rag and retrieves the fallen pan. The rest of their time in the kitchen passes in quiet—only the faint hum of the city beyond filling the silence between them.
The streets of Penumbra pulse with motion as Wick and Alexa weave through the crowd. Men, women, children, and androids flood the boulevard, their footsteps merging into a restless rhythm. The couple moves in stride with the flow — polished, modern, indistinguishable from the rest. They are products of their time, anonymous among the sleek chaos. Yet today, unlike the others chasing distractions among the neon storefronts, their purpose is fixed. They are headed for Anima Corp.
The tower looms ahead, black glass glinting in the sun. Its holographic name ripples across the facade, declaring its presence to the city like a living banner. A steel spire crowns the structure, spearing the light above. As they near, its massive shadow swallows them whole. The sight stirs something in both of them — awe, unease, anticipation. Until now, they’ve only seen this place through screens.
Two hulking androids guard the doors. One raises a hand, halting their approach. Without a word, Wick and Alexa lift their wrists. Their watches flicker from timekeepers to digital IDs. A scan hums across the display, followed by a soft chime.
“Welcome, Alexa. Welcome, Wick,” the android says. The tone is unsettlingly human, almost warm. Wick can’t help wondering if some remnant of life hides behind the machine’s eyes. “When you enter, you’ll find a door to your far left. Please sign in there.”
The second android extends two pairs of sleek glasses. “Wear these inside.” Wick accepts them, passing one to Alexa. They nod their thanks and cross into the building.
A pulse of white text blooms in the air before them, greeting them by name. Wick peeks over the rim of the glasses and realizes the illusion vanishes — the spectacle is entirely within the lenses. Around them, others wander the rotunda, each immersed in their own private layer of augmented reality.
The marble floor lights up underfoot. Arrows shimmer ahead, pointing the way. Alexa flashes him a grin. Together, they follow the glowing trail.
The arrows lead left, to a blank wall crowned with floating letters: TRANSFER. They stop before it, waiting for it to open, but it doesn’t move. Wick lowers his glasses, and the illusion collapses. The door never existed — only the frame remains.
“Do we just walk through it?” Alexa asks.
He shrugs and pulls the glasses off completely, glancing down another corridor. But before he can take a step, a voice crashes from above. “Glasses are required within the visitor center of the building. Keep glasses fastened at all times.”
Wick doesn’t move. Down the uncovered hallway, he catches sight of several women holding children, their faces pale and uncertain.
“Glasses on, please,” the voice repeats, sharper this time. The strain in its tone is unmistakable. Wick hesitates a beat longer, then obeys.
With the glasses on, the hallway dissolves into a seamless wall. The space beyond it vanishes, replaced by uniform stone.
“What do you think is happening down there?” Wick asks quietly.
Alexa turns, seeing only what the glasses allow. “What do you mean?”
“Those women. With the children.”
“What children?”
“Down the hallway,” he insists.
“There’s only a wall,” she says flatly.
“Take your glasses off.”
“Didn’t you hear them? We’re not supposed to.”
“Just for a second.”
“And get escorted out? No thanks.”
“Then look over them, Alexa.”
She ignores him, turning back to the blank façade ahead. “Open, please,” she says, testing it.
Nothing happens.
Wick stares another moment at the invisible wall concealing what he knows is still there, then forces himself to look back at Alexa. “Maybe we just walk through it,” he says. “It’s not real anyway.”
She takes his hand. Together they step closer, cautious, fingers tightening as they approach. When they’re only a few feet away, the illusion flickers and drops. The doorway reappears, exactly where it was. Alexa exhales in relief. “That was easier than I thought.”
Still holding hands, they cross the threshold. The room beyond is empty—too empty. Before either can speak, a young woman materializes in front of them, bright and smiling.
“Oh, good morning!” she greets, her voice channeled through tiny speakers in their frames. “Welcome to Anima Corp. You’ve successfully arrived at the Transfer Center. My name is Eve.” She glances down at her tablet. “I see Alexa has an appointment with us today. Am I correct that Wick is just accompanying?”
Alexa shoots him a look. “Well, I’ve been trying—”
“Just accompanying,” Wick cuts in.
“Thank you for clarifying,” Eve says, still smiling. “For your awareness, the Anima Assist Program is currently active. Should you choose to transfer in the future, all you need to do is apply. It’s that easy.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Alexa says.
Eve turns her attention to Wick. “During our short tour, you’ll learn about the remarkable advancements in our Anima Generation Six model. And in three days’ time, when you see the new Alexa — or rather, when you notice no difference in her at all — we’re confident you’ll soon follow in her footsteps.” She laughs lightly. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Follow me, you two. Let’s get started.”
Wick tightens his grip on Alexa’s hand as they follow the projected image of Eve. A door glides open, and they step into a narrow corridor that leads to a dim elevator chamber. The door seals behind them with a soft hiss, and a single white spotlight drops from above, trapping the three in its glow.
“It’s probably best if we start at the beginning,” Eve says brightly. “For that, I have a very special guest to introduce to you.”
A man materializes beside her, fading into view like a spirit caught between worlds. His slicked-back hair is streaked with black, grey, and white; the lines across his face are deep and deliberate. Wick and Alexa recognize him instantly. They’ve seen that face before—on every screen, in every broadcast.
“I’m Dr. Renegade,” the man says, his tone rich and measured. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alexa. Wick.” He nods to each of them. “I’ve come to give you a little history of Anima Corp.”
The space before them shifts. A holographic city blooms into existence, black and white, suspended in midair. At its center towers a massive structure—dark, angular, unmistakable.
“This is where we are,” Renegade says, pointing toward the tower. “But this building hasn’t always belonged to Anima Corp. For most of Penumbra’s existence, this place stood empty. Three centuries of vacancy. Yet it was never abandoned. The Elites who built this city always intended that life—true life—would one day awaken here. That purpose has finally arrived. And in our age, life is indeed manifest within these walls—quite literally.”
The hologram fades to black, and the room feels smaller. “In the year 293, I founded what was then known simply as The Anima Project,” Renegade continues, pacing across the spotlight’s circle. “It began with a problem. A universal one. A flaw that haunted mankind from its first breath. The problem—mortality.”
Figures flicker into being around them. First two, then five, then ten—pale digital bodies lay floating in the air. Their forms are unmistakably human, yet lifeless. Wick feels Alexa tense beside him.
“Take a good look,” Renegade says. “This is what follows every life. Death. Oblivion. This awaits all people. Yes, even you.”
Two more bodies fade in. Alexa’s breath catches. Wick’s stomach turns as he recognizes the faces—their own, eyes open but empty, skin drained of color. Alexa’s hand seizes his.
Renegade’s voice cuts through the thick silence. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? That our bodies betray us. But why must this be so? Is death truly natural, or is it a flaw in the system of life itself?” The holograms vanish into the dark. “I believe it’s an anomaly. A disease mistaken for design. Life is meant to thrive. We see it in birth, in growth, in the will to continue. Yet, over time, the body decays. It cannot sustain its own energy. But what if it could? What if you could live in a body that lasts a thousand years? What if you could live forever?”
The word forever hangs heavy in the air. He looks at both of them as though peering into their souls. “This is where The Anima Project takes shape.”
A vertical beam of light erupts beside him, splitting the dark. Wick squints against it, momentarily blinded. When his eyes adjust, the illusion gives way to something real—a vast warehouse stretches out before them, humming with cold machinery. Wick lowers his glasses to test it. The image holds. This part isn’t projection. It’s all real.
Renegade and Eve lead Wick and Alexa from the darkened chamber onto a high metal balcony that stretches above an endless grid of human figures. Each stands upright, perfectly still, their posture identical, their silence absolute. The scale is overwhelming — a sea of bodies reaching into the shadows.
“We have one simple goal here at Anima Corp,” Renegade says, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall. “Immortality.”
Alexa exhales sharply, the sound almost lost in the vastness. Wick grips the railing, his knuckles pale, eyes locked on the motionless crowd below.
“What you see before you are not bodies of flesh and bone,” Renegade continues. “There is no blood in them. Beneath their skin lie circuits and steel. Yet on the surface, they appear perfectly human. And that, my friends, is the wonder of it all.” He steps closer to them, hands clasped behind his back. “In the year 293, Anima Corp was born. Eighteen years later, in 311, came the breakthrough — the merging of mind and body, of man and machine. At last, our efforts carried purpose. And life itself could continue indefinitely.”
He breathes deeply, pride softening his tone. “For forty-nine years, we have worked to perfect this union, refining every detail of existence. Across six generations of the Anima model, the boundary between human and construct has vanished. Death, for those who choose the ways of Animas, is obsolete.”
Renegade’s gaze fixes on Wick, steady and knowing. Then the light around him begins to dim.
“Thank you, Dr. Renegade,” Eve says cheerfully as his image fades into static. She turns to them with a polished smile. “While much of that may sound familiar, it’s always a privilege to hear it from the man himself. Dr. Renegade has given so much — to Penumbra, to us, and to you, Alexa.”
Alexa returns a small, respectful smile.
“Now,” Eve says, gesturing for them to follow, “there’s more to see.”
She leads Alexa along the balcony toward a narrow, shadowed corridor. Wick lingers, still staring down at the rows of motionless forms. He searches for any sign of movement — a twitch, a breath, a mistake. But every figure remains fixed, frozen mid-life.
“Keep up!” Eve calls from ahead. Alexa waves him on. Wick hesitates, then tears his eyes from the still bodies and follows.
As they enter the dim passage, he asks, “Why are they so still?”
“They’re in the process of transferring,” Eve replies, her tone casual, almost bored.
The left wall of the hallway is made of glass. Beyond it runs a parallel shaft that lights up as they step onto a slow-moving conveyor. Eve gestures toward the glass. On the opposite side, a figure appears — translucent, shimmering, unmistakable.
Alexa gasps. It’s her.
A perfect digital twin hovers in step with them, matching every movement as though walking the same invisible track.
“What you’re seeing is an augmentation,” Eve explains. “She looks exactly like you, Alexa, and that’s intentional. She’ll help demonstrate the latest advancements of our Anima Generation Six model — so you can see what you’ll soon become.” She claps her hands lightly. “Now, where to start? Ah! The exterior.”
She brightens. “Skin was introduced in Gen Two, but each iteration has refined it closer to perfection. In Gen Six, it’s indistinguishable from natural epidermis — it even tans.”
The holographic Alexa begins to peel away the top layer of her synthetic flesh, revealing the smooth lattice beneath.
“Under the skin,” Eve continues, “you’ll find a skeletal structure made from precision-forged alloy. Stronger, lighter, and adaptive. It expands and contracts to simulate biological growth. The SentiaChip, already gathering data from your mind, will combine with your DNA sample at the end of this tour. With those two inputs, your Gen Six model will know how you would age — if you choose to. Of course, many prefer to remain unchanged forever, so aging is optional.”
Before their eyes, the holographic head splits apart like a technical diagram, each layer rotating in perfect sequence, exposing the intricate machinery beneath.
“More innovations from this model are found within what we call the anima’s hive mind,” Eve continues, her voice bright and rehearsed. “Perhaps the most popular feature is its ability to interact with the SentiaChip’s stored data to generate dreams. True, vivid dreams. And yes, even sensations such as fear and pain have been carefully calibrated into the model. At first, that may sound unnecessary, but Dr. Renegade and the team at Anima Corp discovered that these instincts are essential for authentic human experience. They help the mind relate to the world with the realism it expects. But don’t worry—these sensations are faint compared to what a natural body endures.”
The layers of the holographic Alexa fold back into place, rebuilding her piece by piece until she stands whole again. Then the image fades, and the shaft’s light extinguishes. The corridor brightens in a slow glow.
“The transfer process itself is simple, Alexa,” Eve says. “It involves four stages: submersion, extraction, recreation, and resurrection. Once you reach the end of this hallway, you’ll enter through those doors. Inside, you’ll be asked to lie back in the reclining chair and drink a six-ounce cup of water. Within sixty seconds, submersion begins. It feels like falling asleep—only faster. From there, your physical body will be used for DNA sampling, and your SentiaChip will be extracted. The sample and chip are then passed to our Recreationists, who ensure your new anima body is perfectly calibrated. When complete, your model will be placed with the others in the main facility, where your mind’s data will be uploaded from the chip. Once that transfer concludes, you will awaken—same mind, new body.”
Eve smiles softly at the end, her tone carrying the rhythm of a practiced benediction. Alexa beams back and squeezes Wick’s hand.
“So,” Alexa asks, “does that mean the tour’s over?”
“That’s right,” Eve replies. “All that’s left is to say farewell.”
Wick’s hand tightens around hers, his jaw tensing. They face each other in the quiet hum of the corridor. Her eyes catch the light, and he cups her cheek, thumb brushing her skin before kissing her gently.
“It’s not really goodbye, Wick,” Eve interjects, her voice too bright, too mechanical.
“Just seventy-two hours,” Alexa whispers.
“Seventy-two hours,” he echoes. “Not a minute more.”
“Then get here early,” she says, pressing one last quick kiss to his lips.
Eve gestures toward the end of the hall—the door to the submersion chamber. Wick reaches after Alexa, their hands stretched between them, trying to hold the moment as long as possible. But the space widens, and the connection breaks.
She crosses the threshold and dissolves through the doorway, vanishing like a projection switched off. Eve follows her without pause. Wick lowers his glasses to see the truth. There’s no door at all. The space is empty. And still, Alexa is gone.
He stands alone in the sterile corridor, the distant hum of machines filling the silence. Then, under his breath, he begins to count.
