The Phoenix sky vibrated with golden and blue hues as birds crossed the airways in sync with delivery drones. The city pulsed with its usual rhythm: modern, clean, and vibrant. Cars from famous brands, yet with accessible designs, glided along the luminous strips of the suspended avenues. Creatively designed storefronts shimmered with interactive advertisements, and along the floating sidewalks, families, young people, and hurried workers mingled like an urban symphony.
Inside a bar with a faux-wood facade and a flickering holographic name, the tables were filled with muffled laughter, glowing glasses of synthetic nectar, and bioengineered snacks. But the ambient noise gradually faded as the large screen in front of the bar flashed with the familiar logo: [FÊNIX NEWS]
The host appeared, impeccably dressed in his smart-fiber jacket, with a practiced smile and a polished voice. "...and we're back with our most anticipated segment of the evening. Beside me is none other than the renowned expert on Planetary Development and Post-Digital Collaboration Policy, Professor Cael Mirandor. Good evening, Professor."
The man beside him, bald, with a perfectly groomed silver beard and eyes that seemed to have seen more than was necessary, smiled at the camera as if greeting an old friend.
"Good evening, Elian. Always a pleasure to be here."
The presenter leaned in slightly, and with the charm of someone who has already won three neural communication awards, asked, " Professor Mirandor, tell us: how would you describe the world today, in the year 3031?"
The expert took a deep breath, interlacing his fingers in front of him, and then fixed his gaze on the camera lens as if speaking directly to billions. " The world we know today, Elian… is almost unrecognizable compared to the 23rd to 25th centuries. The turning point came with the Global Non-Aggression Treaty, signed in 2294. And of course, emerging technologies have exploded in an almost poetic way. Previously, what was scarce—potable water, clean energy, even certain rare metals—is now abundant. Or rather, replicable."
The entire bar fell silent. Even the waiter, a human-like android, stopped polishing the glasses.
Elian nodded, his eyes narrowed. " Impressive. And what led the world to emerge from constant conflict and move surprisingly toward unified collaboration for nearly two centuries?"
Mirandor's smile widened as if remembering something that seemed like fiction. " Oh, that's a good one. It all started when the climate became... unsustainable. Literally. The world was on the brink of environmental collapse. Perpetual fires, acid storms, mass desertification. Oxygen was becoming scarce in certain urban areas. Then something unexpected happened: China and the United States of America joined forces."
"In the 24th century?" interrupted the presenter, frowning.
"Exactly. They created Project Gaia. The proposal was bold: no territorial expansion, no armed conflict, just joint efforts to regenerate the planet. Soon, other countries began to join in. The planet had, for the first time, a motive other than war or profit: collective survival."
"And that created the world we have today…" Elian said, gesturing to the backdrop of the screen: images of pristine oceans, suspended forests, lunar colonies, and aquatic cities.
Mirandor nodded. " The world formed by ten gigantic continents. A restructuring took place, and absurd advances came. From hyper-aware AIs to solid holographic screens, like these here, produced by Phoenix Solarius, of course."
The host winked at the camera. "Rumor has it that we'll have viable flying cars within the next four centuries. True?"
Mirandor let out a light laugh. " Maybe before. But the curious thing is that, with so much evolution, paradoxes arise. The world today has 30 billion and 900 million people alive. And at least 1% of them are 99% more intelligent than the rest."
Elian's eyes widened. " So we have… population supercognition?"
"That's it. They think, create, resolve at levels that defy even reality itself."
The presenter then looked at a pad on his desk and asked another question. " According to the latest data, the average global monthly salary is $50,000. In some countries, it exceeds $130,000. Are we living in an era of global wealth?"
Mirandor laughed, shaking his head. " Oh, that's a common prank. I myself earn 180,000 a month, which technically makes me 'rich.' But it's not quite like that. With increased production, costs have fallen. But certain continents still live on less than 10,000 per family. The disparity hasn't disappeared. It's just changed its appearance."
"So not everything is rosy in the planetary garden."
"Exactly."
Elian winked at the camera again. " And speaking of artificial flowers: robot workers have taken over the market with a vengeance. The unemployment rate has reached its highest peak in 900 years. Are we on the brink of human obsolescence?"
The specialist sighed, crossing his legs. " Unfortunately, yes. Or fortunately, if we look at it from another angle. We live in the Age of Robots, where building a skyscraper takes four days. New clothes? Three minutes. A complete artificial heart? Sixteen seconds. Production is absurd. That's why human wages have skyrocketed: those who still work do so because their time has become a luxury item."
"So we are more expensive than diamonds?"
"Exactly. And rarer too," he said, winking.
The bar audience roared with quiet laughter. The host laughed along.
"Professor Mirandor, as always, a pleasure to hear from you. Any last words for our viewers?"
Mirandor straightened his jacket, looked into the camera, and said, " The future is here. But the real question is: are we here with it… or are we left behind?"
Hours later, somewhere in Phoenix.
Rainwater ran down the collar of Luna's dress shirt as if the sky were laughing at her misery.
Each step was the sound of soaked shoes and a crumbling soul.
"It's not possible... even the insole is rebelling against me," he grumbled, feeling a wet "ploc" inside his sneakers.
Clutching a folder of soggy resumes and what remained of her dignity, she walked through the gray city with her stomach growling and her self-esteem in a medically induced coma.
It was his sixth interview of the week.
The sixth door slammed in your face.
Same excuse, different words:
"Your profile is good, but we're looking for someone with more experience…"
"Very qualified."
"Lowly qualified."
"Unfortunately, your energy doesn't match that of the team."
Oh, yes. Because energy now replaces salary.
She looked up at the sky as if looking at an incompetent cosmic supervisor.
"Hey, universe… ever thought about being a little less of a son of a b—?"
BZZZZZ!
The cell phone vibrated in the wet pocket.
She pulled out the device with trembling fingers, hoping it wasn't the bank again.
...It was the bank.
Automated message: "Luna da Silva, your installment plan was DENIED. Avoid higher fees. Reply '1' to sell a kidney."
He almost laughed.
He almost cried.
He did both, half and half.
He turned off his cell phone, put it in his pocket, and crossed the street without looking properly.
That's when it happened.
BUM.
Everything went white.
— ??? —
It was strange. She could still hear sounds—distant, muffled. As if she were underwater.
Sirens, maybe. Voices?
Someone shouting something like "stabilize the patient!"
But the most bizarre thing was the metallic, digital sound right above his head.
[TYCOON SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
"Welcome, random user #000001."
"Congratulations! You have been selected to participate in the Tycoon™ System Beta Phase."
"Do you want to open the Welcome Pack?"
Luna tried to move. Nothing.
He tried to open his eyes. Dark.
The only thing clear was… that voice.
That screen.
The floating screen.
With a gold frame, shiny icons and… Las Vegas casino-style sound effects.
"Great. I fell into a coma and I'm dreaming that I'm a character in a cell phone game," she thought cynically.
"Answer with a clear thought: [Yes] or [No]."
"Yes. I'd like a croissant with cheese too, please," he muttered, just out of spite.
The screen shone brighter.
She felt a flutter in her chest. Warm. As if something had clicked into place inside her.
[Registered command: YES. Opening package…]
Fanfare sounds. Holographic confetti. Ridiculously excited trumpets.
"Congratulations! You have received:"
– Supreme Tycoon Card™
(Level: Unique. Limit: Unlimited. International recognition.)
– Starting Balance: 2,000,000,000,000 USD
(Taxes already paid. Congratulations!)
– Ultra Prime Mansion™
(Location: Exclusive area. 37 hectares. Active Residential Intelligence.)
– Maximized Personal Attributes:
Intelligence, Charisma, Stamina, Success with Automatic Doors.
– Cognitive Upgrade
(You are now smarter than 98% of the world's population.)
Luna's eyes widened.
The screen floated steadily, as if it really existed.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a daydream. It wasn't the nine o'clock soap opera.
"Huh?"
[Do you want to RECEIVE the gifts now?]
[YES] — [NO]
She hesitated.
It was so absurd that it hurt my brain.
But… what if it was real?
She was already on the floor.
Literally.
What else could I lose?
"Y-yes…" he whispered.
[PROCESSING REWARDS…]
She felt her body tingle.
...As if golden electricity ran down her spine.
Images of the mansion flashed through his mind.
Her bank account… erased all concepts of poverty.
[Transfer complete.]
[Status: Tycoon]
Her heart just raced.
"I-I… I…"
He fainted.
— Hours later —
Light.
Perfume.
Silence.
Luna woke slowly, her eyes blinking as if the world were a corrupted JPEG file.
The bed was incredibly soft. Egyptian cotton sheets.
Next to it, a crystal glass with mineral water and fruit cut into flower shapes.
And on the table… a black box with a silver card on top.
She read the inscription.
"Supreme Tycoon™ Card – Name: Luna da Silva
Balance: $2,000,000,000,000.00"
Silence.
She took a deep breath.
Then deeper.
Then she whispered, "I guess I died and got promoted…"
TOC TOC.
The door opened.
Two men in impeccable suits entered. One of them smiled like a NASA-trained British butler. "Miss Luna. The helicopter is waiting."
"Your mansion is ready."
She blinked. "Excuse me… my what?"
She didn't have time to think...
Moments after being discharged from the hospital, the helicopter cut through the skies with surgical elegance.
Luna, still a little groggy from the hospital, tried to process everything with the same expression as someone who opened their internet bill and discovered they also owed electricity, water, and dignity.
"Miss Luna, would you like champagne, organic lychee juice, or the special cocktail?" asked the suited butler.
"Coffee. Strong. With soul."
He smiled and handed over a cup of brown liquid so fragrant it tasted like it had been filtered by Tibetan monks with PhDs in caffeine.
Luna took a sip.
He closed his eyes.
And he thought, "If this is all a dream, let me sleep just fifteen more years…"
Thirty minutes later, the helicopter landed on a gleaming glass platform.
Ahead of her stretched an estate like something out of a billionaire superhero movie.
The Tycoon Mansion.
But calling it a mansion was an affront to world architecture itself.
It was as if Versailles had had a child with the Taj Mahal and raised it in Dubai with NASA funding.
The main entrance was a walkway of black marble with golden veins, flanked by fountains that gushed water shimmering like liquid crystal. The ornamental statues seemed fashioned by artists who sold their souls just to finish the front garden.
Green fields stretched for acres, with perfectly pruned trees forming floral labyrinths. An artificial lake reflected the sky like a celestial mirror, with koi so large they could pay taxes.
Three distinctly designed pools: an Olympic-sized pool with a dark tile bottom and infinity edge; a heated, covered pool shaped like a harp; and a third—Luna blinked to be sure—yes, it was a sparkling foam pool with rainbow LED edges.
There was a helipad, an underground garage, a private golf course, a mini outdoor theater with opera-style acoustics, and a… zoo? No, it was just the Japanese garden with albino peacocks casually strolling around.
Luna was speechless.
Literally changes.
A white-haired assistant beside him, who introduced herself as "Ivy, AI Service Tycoon," smiled with synthetic kindness.
"The residence has been calibrated to your subconscious taste. Every area is customizable. The mansion features quantum-level smart automation technology. Your bed adjusts to your emotions. The refrigerator recommends desserts based on your mood. Even the bathroom offers motivational playlists."
"The... bathroom?" Luna mumbled, not daring to ask what exactly the toilet was singing.
Entering the mansion, Luna passed through glass doors that opened on their own with a soft sound.
The main lobby had a hanging chandelier with floating crystals, curved staircases of shining ebony, and a red carpet that looked like it had been woven from ruby threads and rich people's guilt.
"Do you wish to see your personal suite, Miss Luna?" Ivy asked.
She just nodded, as if on the verge of a fit of hysterical laughter or spiritual enlightenment.
The suite was the equivalent of an entire apartment.
As I entered, the soft lighting adjusted automatically.
Jasmine scent.
Sound of waves.
And a bed so soft that you could sink in just by looking at it.
But what caught his attention was the mirror in front of the dressing table.
A full-length mirror with a white gold frame, which glowed with digital runes.
Luna stopped in front of him, curious… and froze.
She...
her look changed...not as if she were another person but as if all her features took a leap in beauty STATUS.
It was like something straight out of a poster of a Norse goddess remixed by a manga artist.
Long blonde hair, falling like waterfalls until it touches the floor, with its own shine and natural waves that not even the most expensive television commercial could simulate.
Silver-gray eyes that seemed to contain compacted galaxies, vibrating slightly as she moved.
White, flawless skin. Zero pores. Zero pimples.
Slender body, curvy without exaggeration: thin waist, natural bust, graceful shoulders.
Long, shapely legs, maintaining a posture worthy of an international catwalk.
And most impressive: she wasn't wearing makeup.
That was her. Natural. Powerful. Unreal.
Luna ran her fingers over her face.
By the hair.
He turned slowly, seeing the perfect silhouette.
"What the…" he whispered.
The system responded.
"Congratulations, Miss Luna. Your new appearance has been optimized based on global beauty standards combined with your repressed subconscious desires. Result: 99.7% aesthetic perfection."
She took a step back. "So this is what it feels like to be… beautiful?"
For the first time in years, Luna found herself without having to make excuses. Without having to feign strength.
She was strong. Rich. Beautiful.
And the most dangerous part?
She was starting to like this.