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People are not individuals. They have no true character. Society shapes a person’s identity. Grades, social norms, pressure. We stopped being human, we stopped talking, we stopped living and started merely existing. Focusing on deadlines, on surviving the next day instead of truly experiencing it. We began living in a system, even though the system was supposed to serve us—not the other way around.

“Hat drawing will begin in five minutes,” the government device’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Every week began with a Sunday drawing of a new social norm for the next seven days. The government device, equipped with a camera, microphone, advanced artificial intelligence, and connected to a chip implanted in every citizen of the city, controlled every aspect of people’s lives. From trivial matters like making sure everyone showed up on time, to overseeing education, to even monitoring emotions—tracked through the chip.

The boy was forced to interrupt his existential thoughts. He went downstairs and sat on the couch, watching the government channel on TV.

“Welcome, Mr. President,” the host said.

“Good evening. Without further delay, let’s begin the drawing.”

The host held a hat filled with small slips of paper. The president reached in, stirred them lightly, pulled one out, and read the new rule.

“From 03.07.3125 to 09.07.3125, any form of smiling is prohibited in both public and private spaces. Those who fail to comply will face consequences. Have a pleasant evening, and see you next week at the same time.”

The boy returned to his room, the absurdity of the new rule still echoing in his mind, even though it didn’t affect him much. He wanted to call someone, maybe text Hanna? Or Maks? At the same time, he didn’t want to talk to anyone. It all seemed absurd—that everyone had simply accepted this system. What would come next? Mandatory smiling? A ban on melancholy?

It didn’t bother him that he wouldn’t be allowed to smile. In fact, he rarely did. He rarely felt any happiness at all. More often, he felt pressure or loneliness.

Loneliness was his curse. And yet he had so many friends, a family—and at the same time, he hated them. Was “hate” even the right word? Sometimes he loved them deeply, felt like he truly did, and the next day he felt nothing at all. All he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone.

That was how he felt now. Theodor wanted to move to the other end of the world, far away from everyone. Far away from society. Or maybe he just wanted to disappear himself, to stop feeling any pressure at all.

The worst part was that he was needed everywhere. At school. At competitions. At work.

When he decided to take a summer job to earn some money, he hadn’t expected he would have to combine it with school, studying, good grades, and competitions.

What kept him going was the thought of summer. He planned to go to Romania for the entire break as a volunteer, with the organization covering the costs. He would be far from all this absurdity. The only obstacle was the city government’s approval. They refused to grant it, even though he would soon be of age during that period. They argued that after the summer he would be in his final year, that he should spend the break preparing for exams, because the city needed qualified workers. They called it concern for his education.

Theodor threw on his jacket.

“I’m going to the store,” he informed the robot by the entrance.

“Come back quickly. You have an essay to write.”

The boy didn’t respond. He knew that talking to the device wouldn’t change anything—and might only cause problems.

“Timer activated. Twenty minutes until return. Remember, your education is the priority.”

As he stepped out of the building, the first thing he saw were banners. Banners showing people who had achieved nothing—those who had left the city, and worst of all, those who had left the country. Theodor didn’t believe they were unhappy. Quite the opposite—he thought they were the happiest, but society rejected them because it wasn’t within the accepted norms.

Looking at the banner of a girl who had moved to Germany, he realized he didn’t have to accept this absurdity. Maybe if he resisted, the government itself would deport him to another country. But he had no means for that, and in reality, he wanted to pass his exams, get his secondary education, and go into medicine. Just not necessarily in Poland.

His thoughts were interrupted again by the system, informing him through his smartwatch that he had two minutes left to return home. He realized then that he had been standing outside the building for eighteen minutes, staring at the government banner. He sent a request to extend his time outside by fifteen minutes.

“Request denied. Approved: five minutes,” Theodor read on his watch.

“Theo, what are you doing here?” a familiar voice stopped him.

“Hey Leo, I’d love to talk, but I’ve got five minutes to get home. I have to write an essay for that summer program.”

“Don’t tell me you signed up for summer school,” he replied.

“Unfortunately. See you,” Theo said, no longer interested in the conversation. Even if he were, the system wouldn’t allow him to stay outside any longer.

Leon was a classmate of Theodor’s. He talked to him when he had to, but he considered himself better than him. The reason was simple—Leon wasn’t particularly good at school, especially in science subjects. And Theodor didn’t respect people without ambition. He was slowly realizing that this way of thinking was wrong, but the system and society had convinced him that to be respected, you had to succeed—that you couldn’t be happy without others’ approval.

The truth was, he himself felt worthless.