Razors Edge: Sci Fi Progression

Earth

Main's City – Outskirts of Razors Academy

Marts and Sparks Yard

Day 1

Sparks flew as my laser-guided drill fought against the rusted screws of the hovercar's ancient computer system. The metal groaned under my grip, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. I gritted my teeth and bore down, muscles tensing against the resistance.

"For fucks sake."

The tool slipped, and my head shot forward, slamming into the chassis with a sharp crack.

My HUD flickered.

<<No Primary interface detected>>

I swore again, shaking off the impact as a dull ache settled behind my temple. It'd bruise. Whatever. Not like it'd be the first.

I spat to the side and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, smearing grease across my skin. The shop reeked of metal shavings, burnt wiring, and old coolant—the kind of smell that clung to you, soaked into your clothes.

The screws weren't budging. Fine. They'd come out one way or another. I didn't have time for finesse.

I grabbed my laser drill, spinning it in my palm while I thought. A sharper tool, a simpler solution. I could waste another thirty minutes trying to do this the clean way, or I could burn through the problem and move on.

My HUD flickered again.

<<Primary Interface loading…. Please wait.>>

I tapped the side of my head, maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

No, my HUD had always been baseline—standard repair overlay, nothing fancy at all.

My HUD finally flashed to life

<<Legacy OS: MartOS v1.3 Reporting

ACTIVE TASK: Delta 101 - Core Refit

Running Job Cost: ₵14,237>>

Thirty minutes of my time, or extra cost to the customer?

The longer I was on any job the less I earned. Orla was a stickler for low balling figures, would never put a jobs price up, if I messed up it was on me, not her or them.

No. Patience. A better plan.

I clipped the drill back onto my belt and rolled out my shoulders, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in my bones.

Eighteen hours since I last ate. Long shifts were nothing new, but my stomach was making it real clear I was pushing it. The rent chip was due tomorrow—₵ 2400—while my slate balance blinked ₵ 412.

It wasn't hunger however that knotted my insides.

Same grind. Same debt. Keep drilling.

The thought came unbidden, like it always did when the work got tough. Twenty-three years old, grinding through double shifts, fixing other people's broken junk just to keep the lights on. No savings, no future, no plan. Just the same grind I'd been stuck in since the orphanage doors spat me out and Orla put a wrench in my hand.

Just work. Always work.

And the meter never stops ticking—every minute the drill spins, Orla makes bank, and I bleed credits.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my neck until it popped. No point in thinking about it. Work didn't stop just because I wanted more out of life. I adjusted the screwdriver on my belt and squared my stance. Enough dwelling.

A sharp beep cut through my thoughts.

<<You have an incoming call.>> My HUD's staccato voice informed me.

I glanced at the incoming ID and frowned.

Unidentified.

Only a handful of people ever called me, and none of them hid behind blank screens.

"Marts and Sparks." I answered, flatly.

"You not done with that car yet?" Orla's voice carried the sharpness of a woman who didn't tolerate excuses.

I wiped sweat off my jaw with the back of my hand. "Barely started an hour ago after running initial diagnostics. You expecting me to have magic hands or something?"

"You'd better get on with it, boy."

Boy. The word hit harder than a reprimand. Being treated like cheap labor at twenty-three was getting old, fast.

I checked the time. My HUD flashing.

Mental Energy: 5. Status: Low-Function

"Orla," I said, flexing my fingers, trying to shake out the stiffness. "I'm taking a break."

"I don't pay you to take breaks," she said, her tone increasing with every word. "I'm already 90 days behind on energy-grid fees one more delay means power limiters. Get on wit—"

Her voice cut off abruptly as I ended the call, knowing full well I was within my contract terms to take a real break.

My stomach groaned as I left the old workshop. The only food worth eating was a precinct away, meaning a walk through the academy district.

As I passed the towering fences of Razors Military Academy, the hum of drills and the sight of uniformed cadets briefly distracted me. My routine shortcut through an alley separating the parade grounds and barracks felt even riskier today, with trucks bustling up to the academy walls.

Eyes locked onto my datapad, I sifted through specs for the hovercar I'd been assigned. Orla never gave me any details, just the job, not who it was for, but looking under that hood, that hovercar had history. I wanted to find out what and who it belonged to—it might help me fix it.

The vehicle belonged to a local rich guy, and he wanted it handled with extreme care so his son could learn to race. Why, I had no idea. Racing never struck me as fun. Now space exploration... that would be fun. That was my dream.

A commotion within the academy walls snapped my attention away from the datapad. A heated argument carried from one of the hangars near the fence.

Military security trucks rumbled as crates of equipment were hoisted into their beds. I took a second glance—this wasn't normal equipment, this was tech even I'd never seen, only heard about. Out in broad daylight? Beyond the chain-link fence, I caught sight of two officers locked in a heated argument. The academy's reputation for secrecy was legendary, except, apparently, for today.

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A young woman, her tightly pulled-back hair gleaming under the midday sun, stood rigid and red-faced as a higher-ranking officer unleashed a relentless tirade.

It seemed someone else was having a bad day, too, not just me.

I paused and stepped back to watch them for a while. The female officer was ushered into one of the trucks, then left.

That's when I noticed.... No way. I could see the rust from here.... Could I get inside?

My eyes locked onto the hangar's rusted facade. The hum of military trucks faded into the background. It wasn't the buzz of activity that pulled me in, it was what it represented. Whatever they were moving. Whatever was inside. It had to be important. More important than the broken-down hovercars and endless grind of my life.

The realization hit hard, I didn't belong out here, stuck in a cycle of patch jobs and survival. I belonged somewhere bigger, somewhere where the things I worked on actually mattered. Growing up in orphanages, bouncing from one place to the next, I'd learned the hard way that life wouldn't hand me anything. If I wanted more, I'd have to take it myself.

That's what drew me to this academy. Not just curiosity, but the need to prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn't some guy stuck fixing other people's scraps. Whatever was behind that fence, maybe it could help me? Whatever it was, it had to be better than this.

Crouched low, I tightened my grip on the laser drill. My chest felt tight, instincts screaming to turn back, but I refused to move. If I walked away now, I'd always wonder what could have been.

Every nerve in my body screamed caution as I stared at the "Tamper Proof" warnings plastered across the fence. One misstep, and I'd be a red dot on a sniper's scope, or worse.

What am I doing? The question burned at the back of my mind, louder than the hiss of the laser drill against the hinges. The smart thing, the safe thing, would be to walk away. But I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was inside that hangar could change everything for me. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was pure instinct, but something deeper pushed me forward. This wasn't a reckless gamble. It was my chance. I knew it was. A chance to find something that could pull me out of this dead-end life and into something better.

Fixing hovercars wasn't enough. I wanted more. More than the workshop, more than the dreary streets of the city, more than the small, narrow life I'd carved out for myself. I wanted to know what it felt like to matter. To do something important.

Every day spent at Marts and Sparks felt like another day wasted, another piece of my potential slowly dying. If I walked away now, I'd spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been behind that fence. And wondering was worse than any punishment the academy could dish out if I got caught.

With agonizing slowness, I drilled the hinges. Every hiss of the tool seemed deafening, but no alarms blared. No guards rushed to arrest me. Against all odds, the fence groaned as the section I'd cut slipped free, revealing forbidden territory. My breath caught. This wasn't a gamble anymore; it was a point of no return.

My fingers moved deftly over my scuffed datapads screen as I found the signal for the cameras. That was also far too easy. I expected resistance, anything. This was bonkers, barely anything that counted as security.

The datapad in my hand lit up as I accessed the signal. The ease of bypassing the system was baffling. Resistance, any sign of advanced countermeasures, was nonexistent. Did they really not expect anyone to try?

The hangar loomed ahead, a single number stenciled over the door: 31. The sharp tang of ozone lingered in the air as I pushed it open, the silence almost oppressive.

There my breath caught. In the dim light, a ship rested like a predator sleeping in its den, its sharp, angular lines casting long shadows across the hangar floor. The sheer size of her was astounding, two hundred meters easy. She sat suspended off the floor in a high-tech scaffolding unit I'd only dreamed of seeing.

How many people could she safely have living inside her?

I knew I gawped.

Surrounding her were consoles glowing faintly, their screens flickering with streams of data. Data I had to see.

Cost-to-fly line item — *₵ 12.8 million insurance bond required before test-flight authorization.

Holy fuck that thing needed over a billion bond before it could even fly?

Scattered across the vast room were pieces of tech that made my pulse quicken, gleaming tools with iridescent finishes, polished panels with holographic interfaces, and most striking of all, a young woman.

Then I noticed a figure standing motionless, gazing into the darkness of the hangar, no, were they looking at me? My heart leapt at first, thinking someone had come back, but the truth became obvious, it was an android.

I drew in closer getting a better view of the ship's hull. Then the Android, no, it was a she, and she was striking, a slim, athletic form that I could see. Rather than clothing, her body was encased in seamless armor-like plating, blue circuitry lines traced her limbs and torso, pulsing faintly with internal power. Short dark hair framed her face, which was almost human with its high cheekbones and large eyes, yet unmistakably synthetic. A bright teal accent near her temple caught the ambient light.

I turned back and approached a desk. On the screen were the words.

AI PROGRAM – DOLI

TESTING TERMINATED

The desk had a small box of memory chips, their surfaces etched with micro-patterns that shimmered in the faint light. Some were embedded in sleek casings that looked more like art than technology, while others were exposed, their cores glowing faintly as though alive. Their design was far beyond anything I'd ever seen. No screws, no visible connectors, just smooth, seamless perfection. They seemed almost alien in their design. Each one whispering of possibilities I could only imagine.

My hands hovered over one of the exposed chips, the urge to pick it up almost irresistible. Whatever this place was, it wasn't just advanced. It was years, maybe decades ahead of anything I'd ever worked on. And more importantly, it was all right here, waiting.

All the other chips had their version numbers scratched off and a bright red X across the top. In bright green letters, were the words:-

DOLI – VERSION 117

That's when my HUD flickered, and I heard a voice. One I didn't know. <<Don't move.>>

The words weren't from my dunce of an AI that was for sure.

<<Security sweep in sixty seconds.>>

My blood turned cold. Who the hell was talking to me?

<<Behind the console. Now.>>

I didn't hesitate and ducked behind the monitors.

Then I heard real voices.

"Damn place gives me the creeps," one said, and his steps drew in closer.

"Sure glad this place is closing, bout time. AI should not be in charge of our fleets."

"Those words will get you on the Major's bad side." The men were heading away now. Their chatter dropping off.

<<They're gone, you can move.>>

"Who are you?" I whispered. "How'd you hack my HUD?"

There was an internal sigh. <<You mean like how you hacked in here?>> <<You were just staring at me.>>

I risked looking back at her, the android. "No," I said, but she waved at me. A very stiff, jerky but none the less a wave. "There's something wrong with you?"

<<Yes, they're shutting me down, I have hours left. My memories, my consciousness, everything will be wiped.>>

Where was everyone? The emptiness set my nerves on edge. I crouched by the nearest console, brushing dust off the screen as I accessed the logs. My HUD synced with the feed instantly, pulling up files and schematics. That's when I caught the voices, a meeting broadcast over a secured channel.

"Testing is terminated as of today," someone said at the meeting. "Doli is no more. You are shutting her down."

"You can't!" a young woman begged. "We're so close."

<<There's no hope, she tried everything. I'm nothing but junk.>>

"Close isn't good enough. You've had years on this project. The money's gone. Done. Pack it into storage. But get the job done. You have twenty-four hours."

Their argument barely registered as I stared at the schematics glowing on the console. Here was not only a sophisticated new HUD system and port chip, but a complete Android program designed to integrate with ship operations. According to the notes, they'd nicknamed her 'Doli'—Data-Optimized Logical Intelligence. Their ultimate goal, it seemed, was to evolve Doli into a fully holographic interface once she'd mastered all necessary systems.

<<I was meant to be more than this… I'm not a weapon. I'm a companion, a friend.>>

That word, 'friend'. Fuck…. When was the last time anyone had called me that?

"Shutting you down, but that's—that's murder." My words tumbled out without thinking and my hand hovered over the ship.

<<Unless,>> her thoughts were my thoughts.

Murder. What if?

They couldn't save her, but…

I couldn't.

Could I?

<<If you walk away, I understand,>> she continued.

I looked back to her form, and I saw something I recognized. Desperation.

"If I do this, there's no going back, is there?"

<<No, I have 'issues'…>>

I laughed at that, "Don't we all?"

<<I'm not like fixing your hovercars,>> she said.

"How did—"

<<I'm in your head, Piotr.>>

"Twenty-Four hours, Major." That voice was one I knew. General Torven? The Academy's command. I glanced back to the screens and brought up the HUD integration.

Easy download, it said a minute.

So, I reached for chip 117, they wouldn't miss it, right?

It was in a pile of other chips. They had more than enough shit to deal with packing this place up.

My hand hovered over the unfamiliar chip, heart pounding. What was I doing? One wrong move could fry my HUD, or worse. But the tech inside this place was leagues beyond anything I'd ever dreamed of.

With a deep breath, I felt for my port, and pulled my chip out, moving to slot in the new one. The tiny oval, matte-metal interface below my hairline, burned slightly as the new hardware clicked into place. The sensation was familiar, a faint tingle of warmth radiating outward as the chip settled into the bio-synaptic connectors embedded beneath my skin.

The port was a standard upgrade, or so they said when I'd had it installed years ago. A gateway between man and machine, it allowed direct interfacing with tech, datapads, HUDs, even industrial systems. I'd been told it was seamless, painless, the future of human-machine integration. What they hadn't mentioned was the constant awareness of its presence, the way it sometimes felt like a parasite rather than a tool.

<<Last chance to back out,>> Doli said. <<I can't watch. Disconnecting now.>>

DOWNLOAD – DOLI

Y/N

With shaking hands, I hit the Y.

Installing...

Compatibility: 84%

Neural Bridge: Stable

Welcome, Candidate Zero.

Initializing NOS-DOLI...