That Cursed Day

Zac swirled his Macallan 50 in a crystal glass, this has been his go-to drink ever since his first big break. The smoothness of the whisky left no burn as it went down his throat leaving behind a mesmerizing taste for a while. He stood at the edge of his high-tier penthouse, glass walls opening to the city's towers, their lights flaring in his neural implant. A big shot, he shaped neural tech's future, his name unlocking every elite gate.

An AI assistant hummed, its voice silk, curating holo-sculptures that glowed on obsidian shelves. His sister's laughter lingered from a recent dinner, her husband's jests quick. Zac's grin was steady, his confidence a honed edge. There was a quiet tension in the air, softened by a flicker of trust. Today was Mira's upload to Zenith, the digital haven that would save her from neural decay. He'd see her thrive.

He set the glass on a levitating tray, his implant pinging, the chopper ready. The rooftop pad's doors slid open, revealing a sleek, AI-piloted craft, its hull gleaming under city glow. Zac boarded, leather seats humming with neural feeds, displays sparking with flight data.

Rotors thrummed in his bones, the chopper lifting smooth, towers blurring below. Lights pulsed like veins, a grid he'd helped forge. Mira's face flashed in his mind, her twelve-year-old smile a spark. The chopper banked, descending into the Luminex upload facility, its steel frame stark against the skyline.

The craft landed, rotors fading. Zac stepped into a sterile lobby, neural scanners purring as they cleared him. Techs in white nodded, their deference routine. A grav-lift whisked him to the upload suite, its walls alive with data streams. Mira lay on a neural rig, her small body wired to machines pulsing with purpose.

Her dark curls framed a pale face, but her eyes sparked. "Late, Uncle Zac. Too busy owning the world?" He laughed, tossing her a holo-toy, its lights dancing. Her neural decay was a shadow, but Zenith's digital embrace would preserve her mind.

Zac knelt, his hand warm on hers. "You'll be unstoppable, kid. Ice cream once we are both there, deal?" Her smile was sunlight, her trust a weight he carried.

The lead tech, a wiry woman, signaled go. "Transfer's primed. She's ready."

Zac stepped back, his implant displaying all specifications, upload rates, neural maps. Machines whirred, lights flaring. Mira's eyes held his, then closed. Data streams spiked, screens flashing green.

The techs relaxed, one saying, "Clean transfer to Zenith."

Zac's chest loosened, a grin breaking. "Told you, kid. You'd make it." They'd link to her digital self tomorrow, her voice clear in his implant. He squeezed her hand, still warm, and left, the facility's hum trailing him.

Hours later, in his penthouse, Zac linked to Zenith's servers, his implant primed for Mira. The interface sparked, but her presence was silent. He pinged again, data faltering—garbled fragments, no voice. His pulse surged, the city lights dimming outside.

A tech's message flashed: Anomaly in Zenith. Neural map fragmented. Mira's mind, uploaded, had splintered in the digital system, lost in its depths. No response, no trace. Zac stared at the blank interface, her sunlight smile gone, guilt devastating him.

He'd promised her life, but she was neither out here, nor in there.