Chapter 2: Antonis

Year 2071. No surname — just my Social Provision Code. I was Antonis GR2025BT1. In New Athens, robots built perfect symmetry, silent transport roamed empty streets, and my assistant Iris spoke the same scripted greeting every morning: “Good morning, Antonis, today is an ideal day for creativity.”

I drifted through Creation Park, where every brushstroke, every note, every dance was tracked by the Human Value System (HVS). Robots nodded with mechanical politeness; humans moved like shadows in a measured routine. My basic income (which is relative to my HVS score) paid for food, housing, care, entertainment and every social or private activity in the cloud — yet every dawn felt hollow.

Evening brought VR escapes — neon pixel worlds, endless games where I chased digital victories. Yet when I removed my headset, the stillness pressed in. Virtual triumphs faded into the same gray routine.

I tried small rebellions: a poem here, a sketch there — unquantifiable acts of soul. Iris would offer help. I never answered. In that silence I was simply Antonis — no code, no score — wondering if the soul still mattered.