RUSSIA 2030
PROMETHEUS-49. The Underside of the Future.

2026. Arrival

The bus engine rumbled steadily as people crowded at the exit. It was understandable—dusk was settling over the city, some were hurrying home, while others were just starting their workday. But the girl with chestnut hair was in no rush. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the bus station square. Neon signs glowed everywhere: soda ads, the station sign, a welcoming banner—"Prometheus-49: City of the Future." She smirked, muttering, "I hope that’s true." Her fingers brushed the falcon tattoo on her neck with a pang of longing. The crowd dispersed, and the girl hopped off the bus, adjusted her backpack, and headed toward the terminal. The air smelled of ozone, the hum of drones blending with the chatter of the crowd. A buzz sounded behind her. She turned—nothing. A flash blinded her eyes. She yelped, pressing her hands to her face. The buzzing faded. Blinking, she saw a small drone flying away. A chill of unease ran down her spine: "Damn machines." She kicked a crumpled soda can on the ground and reached the terminal. Pressing her finger to the sensor, it took three tries for the scanner to work, displaying a greeting on the screen: "Good evening, Valeria." Her slender fingers tapped the on-screen keyboard, typing a query: "Cheap hotel nearby." A second later, the terminal responded: "100 meters, Kovalev Street, Baikal Hotel—8499 rubles per night." Lera clenched her jaw: "Too expensive. I’ll have to find something cheaper."