Year: 2048
Under a massive billboard that read "Would you like to join our AI Feedback Campaign?", humanoid robots stood chatting among themselves.
"Can we even give feedback about ourselves?" asked one, placing its index finger thoughtfully under its chin.
Another one, mimicking human embarrassment, covered its face. "That would be seriously awkward."
"Did you hear about the newest mineral?" said a third, who had just joined them. He spoke with excitement: "It's called Obsidium. Supposedly, it's going to be used to build a highly durable structure."
"A durable structure?" repeated a fourth robot, who had overheard the conversation from a nearby alley.
They all lined up and stared at the crowd in the street.
Military vehicles began driving past in formation.
Immediately behind them came the piercing whistles of police and ambulance sirens.
Steve Meyer was at the wheel of the ambulance, pressing the sirens.
Weee-ooo! Weeeeeee-oooooo!
As the tone shifted between sharp frequencies, Meyer stepped on the gas, weaving between vehicles pulling aside to let him through.
"Patient is critical—massive blood loss!" voices from the back of the ambulance rang out.
Meyer wondered if the person lying there might be someone from his own family. How would he react? His fingers trembled. He turned left at the lane, gripping the steering wheel tightly. As the emergency nurse in the front seat alerted the hospital, Meyer tried to stay calm.
"Frank Cut, 57 years old. Are you a relative? He's in critical condition. Come to the hospital immediately."
Meyer imagined the person on the other end of that call.
They were nearly at the hospital.
The paramedics in the back were working frantically, like a scene from a film.
"Pulse is dropping!"
"Heart rhythm irregular!"
It was the last intersection before the hospital. In less than a minute, Meyer had pulled up to the emergency entrance. Doctors and medical staff rushed toward them with a stretcher. The Chairman of the Valuable Minerals Union was carefully transferred onto the stretcher and taken inside through the cold, sterile hospital corridors.
Meyer felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.
He answered. The voice on the other end belonged to his humanoid roommate.
"When will you be home?" asked Jennie.
"Home? I've got work to do," Meyer replied. "But why'd you call?"
"Meyer, there's an email in your inbox. The sender is unknown."
"Don't open it," Meyer snapped. "You're a robot. If you look it up online, you'll find hundreds of scams just like that."
"You're right," said Jennie. "But this one's different. There's no attachment. It only says the message was sent from the future."
"That's nonsense," Meyer groaned. Just then, his radio buzzed. A new call had come in.
He confirmed the address of the incident and jumped back into the vehicle.
He tapped Google Maps, pinned the location, and hit the road again.
By the end of his 24-hour shift, Meyer was absolutely exhausted.
When he returned home, he found Jennie deep in thought. "What's wrong?" he asked, startling her slightly—at least as much as a robot could be startled.
"I've been thinking about that message all day. Oh, and I made you dinner."
That part piqued Meyer's interest. He found the soup pot she'd prepared in the kitchen and set it on the stove to reheat while walking back into the living room.
"What was in that message anyway? It's obviously a scam! Just a stupid fraud trying to get attention," Meyer said bitterly.
"Another email came after that," said Jennie, sitting upright at the desk and clicking something on the computer.
She pointed with her index finger. "Here."
Meyer leaned in and squinted at the screen.
"Steve Meyer. You have been assigned to serve Code 43. Those who do not accept the mission will be executed."
"This is either some pervert or… I don't know, someone trying to mess with me." Meyer felt a cramp twist in his gut, though outwardly he remained composed.
"I feel nervous too," Jennie admitted.
Meyer almost argued that robots couldn't feel nervous. But it seemed ridiculous. Everything was right there in front of him. Too obvious to hide from.
"He probably wants me to reply. That way, he can track my location."
Jennie mused aloud, "What if you did accept the mission? What would happen?"
"It's fake. Nothing would happen," Meyer replied, trying to sound calm.
Just then, the windows next to the couch Jennie had been sitting on shattered with a sharp crack.
Both of them ducked instinctively.
A powerful wind swept into the room from outside.
Then came the light—bright, blinding, like a shroud of white silk.
"What the hell is that?" Meyer said, shielding his eyes.
Jennie blinked rapidly, trying to adjust.
Meyer saw something glowing in the light.
The object floated toward him and landed in the palm of his hand.
It read:
"Would you like to remember the future?"
"Remember the future?" Meyer muttered. "That has to be the most illogical sentence I've ever heard." He chuckled and rolled his shoulders. "Damn it, I forgot the soup!"
He walked confusedly toward the kitchen. He went to the stove—but the pot was gone.
"What the… Where's the pot?"
He looked around. He had definitely put it on the stove and turned the burner on.
But now, it was nowhere in sight.
"What's going on?"
He heard a voice inside his head.
[Devil Chip Version 2 activated.]
[Year: 2048]
[Assignment: Issued by Code 43]
[Mission: Save Frank Cut]
[Linked Mission: Save Code 43]
Pfffft!
Frank Cut—the critical patient in the ambulance. Chairman of the Valuable Minerals Union. How was he supposed to save that guy?
And what did "linked mission" even mean?
Wait—
A cough tore through Meyer's throat as he choked on his own saliva.
Could it be?
Was this "Code 43" actually Frank Cut?
How could he know, without even knowing who Code 43 really was?
He repeated the name a few times under his breath.
No real familiarity… and yet, somewhere deep inside, it rang a faint bell.
Then the voice came again. This time, its tone struck something inside Meyer's chest. Though no memory surfaced, something felt oddly… familiar.
[Clue: Find the spider antidote!]
Spiders…
That word lit something up in his chest. A faint, lingering sensation. But no clarity. No image. No solid thought. Just a hanging thread.
"Why are you just standing there?"
Jennie's robotic voice snapped Meyer out of his trance.
"N-no, it's nothing!" he stammered.
Jennie crossed the kitchen and began pouring the soup into a bowl.
Thank God the pot hadn't disappeared after all.
Meyer felt like something had stolen his focus.
What was that voice in his head?
As if the ambulance shifts and crazy work hours weren't enough—now this.
His head was a swirling mess.
He looked up at the calendar on the wall, its date fluttering ever so slightly.
Code 43… who are you?