Satoshi Takano, a lean and slender man in his mid-20s, walked through the streets of the city with a weary gait. His pale complexion and messy black hair gave him a somewhat disheveled appearance, but his sharp eyes betrayed an intense focus that hinted at a mind always working overtime.

The uniform he wore – the standard black outfit of a salaryman – did nothing to hide his obvious fatigue. The long hours at the office had taken their toll, leaving him drained. Despite the late hour, the streets were quite busy. People hurried about, each engrossed in their own thoughts and concerns. But Takano hardly paid any attention to the lively activity around him. His mind was occupied with the day's work, the endless hours spent at the office, and the mountain of pending tasks that waited for him back at his desk.

He pulled out a small electric ciggerate from his pocket, flipping open the top and pushing a button next to his finger on the bottom to make it live, he drew deeply on it, letting the vapour inside to fill his lungs.

Takano worked at a so-called "black company". These kinds of companies were known for their exploitative practices. Overworking employees, paying less than minimum wage, long hours, no overtime pay, and very little to no annual leave. It was a far-too-common practice, but Takano's company was among the relatively "better" ones. Better in the sense that they didn't force him to work for more than 12 to 14 hours a day.

However, that didn't mean his job was any less taxing. The workload was always insane. Deadlines were impossible. And the stress was always at an all-time high.

He often worked overtime, without pay, just to meet those damn targets. He didn't have a choice, it's not like switching companies would help. All companies were more or less the same. Black companies were the norm, not the exception.

There were however 2...no..3 so-called "good" companies, the ones whose names were constantly floating around when people talked about finding a stable job.

But applying to those companies was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. They were always filled, and when a vacancy did occur, the competition was so fierce that even your education and qualifications barely mattered. Thousands, sometimes tens of thousands, would apply to a single position. The perks, of course, were worth the effort. Working for one of those companies would give you a chance to live in the city of paradise for the wealthy, an arcology.

An arcology where all your needs were met. Where crime was almost non-existent. Where pollution was a thing of the past. But those companies were more like an exclusive club. Only the best of the best got in, and even then, it was more about who you knew rather than what you knew.

Takano, like most people, had applied to these companies numerous times. But every application was met with the same, disheartening reply – "We regret to inform you..."

Working there was like a dream, a dream which was as attainable as breathing in space. He was stuck in this corporate hellhole, like many others, just trying to make ends meet and survive one day at a time.

Takano muttered to himself as he walked, his voice filled with annoyance and exhaustion

"Unpaid overtime. Again."

He grumbled under his breath, the anger boiling within him. Today marked the 10th day in a row where his boss had forced him to stay back late without extra pay. The long hours, the stress, and the lack of recognition were starting to wear him down. The thought of yet another night spent at the office, just to meet his boss's unreasonable demands, filled him with a sense of frustration.

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"I swear, if this keeps up, I'm gonna quit," he mumbled, half to himself and half out of sheer irritation. The thought of quitting was quickly dismissed as takano's face turned into a grimace.

He took another long draw of his electric cigarette, the vapour filling his lungs. The nicotine provided a small but temporary sense of relief, numbing the frustration and anger that bubbled within him.

"Yeah, right," he muttered to himself, "like quitting is even an option."

Takano knew how life was like for the poor and homeless from stories he'd heard, the images he'd seen, all pointed to one reality: the third-tier cities were a living nightmare for the poor.

Crime was rampant, law enforcement was a joke, and poverty was the norm. Those who ended up there were more often than not, doomed to a life of misery and despair. The thought of that hell-hole was enough to make him stay in his crappy office job. Sure, the unpaid overtime sucked, the stress was unbearable, but the alternative was just too terrifying.

Takano glanced up at the sky, or atleast what should have been the sky but it was blocked by the dome surrounding the city, a pang of annoyance washing over him. The sky was filled with 3D advertisements, ranging from formal-looking to downright anime girls. He couldn't stand the sight of them, the endless ads playing throughout the night and into the morning. The day sky was always hazy at best. He'd never seen, let alone remembered, what blue sky or the sun looked like. He had only seen it in old videos or video games.

The concept of sunshine and the open sky was as foreign to him as life outside the city domed cities. He had never known what it was like to breathe fresh, untainted air.

Takano's thoughts shifted to the one thing that gave him solace after a grueling day at work, his "girlfriend". But she wasn't your typical partner. She was a robot designed to mimic humans down to the last detail. She had internal organs and an artificial intelligence that was so advanced, it was nearly indistinguishable from a real person. Such robots were a common sight these days. With the population declining rapidly, the demand for artificial companionship was on the rise.

People no longer had the time to build relationships, to fall in love. They preferred the convenience and reliability of robots. Takano was no different. Sure, his relationship with the android wasn't real in the conventional sense, but she provided him with comfort and company, much like a real girlfriend would. And as for children, Takano knew the drill. If he ever wanted a child, all he had to do was visit a lab and give his sperm. It would be then placed in an artificial womb, and after nine months, a healthy baby would be born. The whole process was automated and quite simple.

There was no need for a partner, no need for the messy complications of a real relationship that could end in disaster. He could have a biological child, a piece of himself, and not have to worry about the other aspect of relationships.

And as for a mother figure in the child's life his girlfriend could exactly be that. Takano's "girlfriend" wasn't just any ordinary robot. She had access to a vast database of information, including millions of videos and documents about how to be the perfect mother. She could easily be that ideal mother figure, a loving and caring woman who knew exactly what a child needed and how to provide it.

It was a dream come true for many, to have a 'partner' who could fill the role of a mother so flawlessly. Takano counted himself lucky to have such an advanced companion.

Takano thoughts were interrupted as he felt a sudden sensation of being watched, a feeling of unease washed over him as he glanced around, but he saw no one. The road he was walking on was nearly deserted, and the eerie silence only amplified his sense of solitude. He quickened his pace, wanting to reach his home in the downtown area. The rent there was cheap, but the downside was the constant fear of crime.

He often heard stories of muggings and assaults happening at night, even in the relatively safe areas. He just wanted to reach home, to feel the safety and security of his apartment walls. Takano power-walked, instead of sprinting to not be suspicious. But as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, a strange wave of dizziness overcame him.

His mind began to fog, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. No matter how hard he fought to stay awake, the lost his consciousness and everything went to black.

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