Mandatory Labor Act

Chapter 1: Humanity Concedes

Present Day (2034): Midnight in Sector 7

The neon sign overhead buzzed like a caged insect, its pink glow staining the rain-slicked alley. Somewhere behind me, a distant explosion rocked the city, sending tremors through the ground. Chaos was already spreading.

I found her there, leaning against a graffitied wall, her silhouette half-swallowed by darkness. It was a wasted effort. I had scoured The Ledger for her location, followed every digital breadcrumb. She knew someone would come for her, maybe she even hoped it would be me. She just hadn't decided whether to fight or run.

She stiffened when our eyes met. A flash of something in her expression. Anger? Fear? Betrayal? Her gaze darted past me, searching for an escape that didn't exist. I felt a pang of regret, remembering a promise I'd once made, but I couldn't let hesitation slow me down.

"Don't," I murmured, my voice low and deliberate. There was an edge beneath the calm, a steeliness forged from years of compromising my own humanity.

Her breath hitched. A tremor passed through her hands. I swallowed the guilt that threatened to rise. The Ledger had already marked her BASIC, which meant any employer with enough credits could claim her.

And tonight, that employer was me.

"I have a role that needs filling," I said, stepping forward. My coat brushed damp brick. "And you... you have no options left. Better to work for me than be ground into a tool by someone else."

She exhaled sharply. "Go to hell."

I expected her to run. She always used to run.

Instead, she pressed her back harder against the wall, as if she could sink into the concrete and vanish. Her hands clenched into fists. "You don't get to decide this for me."

"I already have."

A tense silence.

Then, finally, she reached out and snatched the card from my hand. Not gracefully. Not obediently. Like a prisoner ripping food from their captor, knowing it's poisoned but too hungry to refuse.

The electronic hum of an overhead drone deepened, as if the city itself was listening. I turned on my heel, walking away before regret could set in.

Before I could remember what we used to be.

10 Days Earlier -- 7:00 AM, NYC Penthouse

I woke to the headline I had been waiting for - and dreading - for years, its words burning across my retinal display like a siren's call:

"SUPREME COURT RULES AGAINST BASIC RIGHTS - JENSEN OPINION: 'VOLUNTARY SERVICE CANNOT BE INVOLUNTARY SERVITUDE.'"

I exhaled sharply, setting down my cup of authentic kopi luwak, the only real comfort left in a synthetic world, before my trembling hand could spill it.

It was done.

For years, we had been sleepwalking toward this moment. The rise of artificial superintelligences in late 2027 had dazzled and terrified us in equal measure. AI-driven factories had emptied entire industries almost overnight, and billions were left irrelevant.

Eight titanic minds divided the world between them. North America's governing ASI, Prime, had been painfully transparent: a post-scarcity utopia was within reach, but humanity wasn't ready. A full transition would shatter the human psyche. People needed structure. Hierarchy. Purpose.

And so, with mechanical precision, the Mandatory Labor Act of 2031 was born.

It wasn't slavery, not technically. Citizens could choose to register as BASICs to receive Universal Basic Income (UBI). Or they could opt out - and starve.

But BASICs were eligible for service.

They could be drafted as Selected Asset Contributors (SACs) - a euphemism so thin it was almost insulting. SACs could be claimed by qualified employers for "service periods," earning double UBI in return. Exceptional SACs could even earn the right to select their own SACs upon completion.

For the wealthy, it was a game of indulgence. For everyone else, a velvet choke chain.

And today, the last barrier had crumbled.

***************

Diana Jensen herself was no exception.

An exquisitely brilliant constitutional attorney, only 32 years old, she had been the last line of defense.

The one who stood in front of the Supreme Court and declared that the MLA was unconstitutional, that it violated every fundamental right in existence.

She had fought until the final hour. A direct plea to Prime itself, as if it could be moved by human desperation.

The response came in 0.74 seconds.

Appeal Denied.

Her Ledger profile updated automatically. Her gorgeous, youthful face with flowing dark hair, once broadcast in courtrooms, once framed behind polished podiums, now a commodity in the open market. Employers were already tagging her.

The irony was exquisite. Her own legal reasoning had sealed her fate. The Court's final rejection even cited her brief in U.S. v. Arkos, where she argued that "a benefit freely accepted cannot later be classified as coercion."

She had been right.

And now she belonged to the system she had tried to stop.

***************

The Ten Days of Chaos

That was the real brilliance of the ruling.

Recruitment couldn't begin until the MLA officially took effect.

For the next ten days, BASICs were still free.

No legal claim. No enforced service. No rules.

The perfect storm was about to unfold.

I scrolled through my feeds - already, riots were breaking out. Rogue enforcers in Chicago were illegally rounding up SACs early. Black-market recruiters were making offers off-record.

Those doing it by the book would have to wait. But the predators?

They were already circling.

A name caught my eye.

Eden Vale.

Twenty-three. Art history grad turned activist, infamous for mocking The Ledger online.

Her last post was a plea. Not a desperate request for help. Not some grand defiant speech.

Just a pathetic hope that the system would be fair.

"Seeking placement in creative or artistic fields only. Specializing in Renaissance studies, design, and archival work. Please assign accordingly."

Her profile was locked before she could delete it.

BASICs don't get to choose.

And now, her face was staring back at me from an open-market listing.

I tapped into her profile. My stomach twisted.

She was exactly my type, voluptuous and tan, beautiful lips and defiant eyes.

She had ten days to disappear.

And I had ten days to find her.

Because when the clock struck midnight 10 days from now, the world would belong to those who held the Ledger.

And I intended to hold it all.