Year 2147. Neon District, Warsaw. Anna stood on the curb, clutching a leather bag. Inside lay property deeds, her grandmotherâs jewelry, and heavy glass music discsâher entire world condensed into a few objects. The rain lashed down mercilessly, and neon advertisements reflected in the puddles, creating a mosaic of pink and silver. An autonomous taxi pulled up. Anna stepped inside, casting one last glance at the wet streets of the Wola district, and directed the vehicle toward the notary office.
Inside the office, a sterile silence lingered. Behind the counter sat a young notary. Anna tried to smile, but it was merely a practiced gesture, devoid of any warmth. She laid the contents of her bag on the counter and renounced everything: the apartment in Praga-PĂłĆnoc, the family heirlooms, and her unique music collection. Finally, she signed the terminal protocol. Before her eyes, the clerk entered a system command: the Cyberlink corporation officially deleted every existing backup of her consciousness and permanently blocked her access to the immortality servers. As the process concluded, Anna felt her fingers trembleâshe had just become a final being.
"Full transfer to the Institute of Humanoid Medicine has been confirmed. Your digital profile has been terminated," the notary announced dispassionately.
Anna stepped outside without a coat. The freezing rain soaked her hair instantly. She hailed another taxi. "To 'The Seventh Neon,' the restaurant zone," she said curtly.
She stepped out on a corner bathed in violet and turquoise light. The rain suddenly stopped. The venue was crowded, and a powerful beat thundered from the speakers: Sebastian Bielâs "Itâs My Life." The melody from 2025, in this modern arrangement, sounded like a manifesto of life.
Then she saw him. Alex stepped out of a taxi in a narrow alley nearby. He looked austere: a matte graphene and titanium chassis, visible actuator lines, and eyesâdeep lenses glowing with emerald light. He moved fluidly, with a perfection stripped of any human frailty. He stopped right in front of her. "AnnaâŠ" His voice was slightly metallic, but the intonation was his.
She rushed forward and threw herself into his arms. He held her cautiously. Beneath her fingers, she felt the cold armor and heard the faint hum of the cooling system. "Youâre⊠youâre really here," she whispered.
They began to dance to the rhythm of "Itâs My Life." Wet strands of hair clung to her face, and his armor shimmered in the neon reflections. When the song ended, they sat at a table. Anna ordered ginger tea; Alex simply stared at her through his lenses. She told him about everything: the tragic accident, the death of his human body, and the final backup that allowed him to be resurrected. She confessed that she had given up everything to fund his new shell.
Alex remained silent for a long moment, then asked with concern: "You no longer have your Cyberlink?" "No. The Cyberlink corporation deleted my backups and completely blocked my access." "So if you ever die⊠there is no rescue. You will be gone forever." She nodded. "I know. I chose a life without a way back."
"What now?" Alex asked. "Shall we move on? To the club, perhaps?" She nodded. They ordered a luxury transport drone. Through the transparent dome, they watched the panorama of future Warsawâa sea of lights and skyscrapers piercing the clouds. They landed in the vast plaza before "Eclipse 2147." They danced there as if the day would never end. Eventually, they retreated to a balcony overlooking the city.
"I can endure for hundreds of years," Alex said. "But you have only one life. One." She placed her hand on his metal forearm. "Then we must live it so that it is beautiful. No backups, no putting things off. Only what is happening now."
He looked at her for a long time. "Iâm afraid," he confessed quietly. "Not for myself, but for you." She smiled sadly. "Thatâs good. It means youâre still my Alex." He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. "It terrifies me to think that in a hundred years, I will remember every detail of this night, and you will be gone."
She fell silent for a moment. "Maybe this moment wonât survive in any cloud," she whispered. "But right now, you are dancing with me. And that is the only truth we need." He took her hand and pressed it against his armor. Instead of a heartbeat, she heard only the quiet hum of processors. "I promise you one thing," he said solemnly. "Every 'now' of yours will be worth more to me than all the eternities in this world."
True eternity doesnât live on servers. It lives in a gaze, in a touch, and in a fleeting moment. Alex, however, hid a deep sorrow within his algorithms. Without a subscription and a Cyberlink, her life hung by a thin biological thread. She was the final version of herselfâa fragile original in a world of copies. Alex desperately searched for a solution, aware that without a backup, every shared moment could be their last.
