Zhang and Mansoor works on an Artificial Intelligence that will be self-sustaining, just to push limits in technology, it succeeds once but how long it will stay this way?
Zhang is ordered to undertake a task, but nobody knows what it entails. The corporation he is aligned with is Zyrca Corporation, a multinational limited partnership company that has invested the majority of its capital in Switzerland. The main laboratory, named "Alpha 445," is located approximately 15 feet underground in a discreet location. Zhang finds himself in an elevator illuminated by neon lights as it descends, feeling both exhausted and excited.
Zhang has an intriguing background; he is not officially employed by Zyrca but is instead officially "aligned" with the corporation, meaning he has no official records. However, the main task relies on him. After graduating from a village school in Mongolia, he ventured to Shanghai in search of employment. There, he developed a machine learning model that caught the interest of Zyrca. Since then, he has been receiving payment from them, despite not being formally employed.
Zhang descends into the laboratory, illuminated by harsh white fluorescent lamps. As he traverses the tunnels, he encounters an unsettling blend of an eerie desolation and the faint scent of industrial cleaning agents. Was that a hint of pine, or merely a fleeting floral aroma? Such details fade into insignificance as the pervasive dust of isolation overwhelms his senses time and again. Pressing forward, Zhang finally reaches a metal door. With a hesitant hand, he pushes it open, only to find that he is not alone.
"Who are you?" Zhang's voice echoed through the chamber.
Inside, a slender man, clad in a pristine lab coat, labored over a complex machine. Despite the sterile environment, the room exuded a familiar scent, reminiscent of Zhang's village—a scent he found comforting. Beds lined the walls, hinting at a life within these confines.
It was evident that this man was on another assignment, but Zhang found himself unable to voice any inquiries. He simply stood there, frozen in place, as the man, named Mansoor, rose to meet him. Mansoor's face bore an expression of excitement, his clean-shaven features illuminated by a spark of anticipation.
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"Praise be that you are here, my friend! Come, come and see! I was told that you would be here,"
Zhang, unaccustomed to such hospitality, gathered his courage to question the situation.
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"Who are you?!"
"Ah, were you not informed? I am Mansoor, my friend. I've been tasked to build a computer. It all feels natural, so I made this corner a bit pursukoon, you know qarar valah mein hai. You can also get tea here, all good."
"I am not used to this kind of... friendly behavior. What do you mean by that anyways?"
"You'll get used to me. Anyway, I am a Hindkowan! My family all lived in cities, you know all trade and other knowledge I know! You can trust me."
"Yeah, opposite works for me but, what is your title? I am a Software Manager, scientist."
"Agha! I mean no, I am a Hardware Engineer."
"This is very good to hear. You may continue, can I get a cup of tea then?"
"Sure! It's all free anyway, as long as you don't want to leave, Zyrca provides anything you want."
"Wh-"
"You will get used to it."
As Mansoor tinkered with something resembling a trash can, Zhang ambled over to the corner on the upper left, drawn by the aroma emanating from the lit teapot. The scent was both familiar and uncanny, not like the tsai he was accustomed to.
"What's that smell? Definitely not the tsai I'm familiar with!" Zhang remarked with curiosity.
"It's gunpowder tea, my friend," Mansoor replied, his Urdu accent coloring his words. "I got used to it when I was in China. I would prefer Assamese tea, but nowadays I'm open to a change, so I order this."
"I'm more accustomed to tsai, especially served with milk." Zhang reminisced.
"Milk? Please. Add nothing to tea except some cinnamon and other sharp spices. You've got to enjoy the tea's taste. Try my chai in the teapot you smell and just experience. Relax until your time comes," Mansoor suggested.
Zhang found a cup, swiped it with his white shirt, then poured a cup and drank confidently, only to follow with a cough. The tea was too spicy for him, introducing him to foreign lands he had not yet experienced in his short journey to the real world. His imagination faltered, and he coughed two or three times until he regained his composure.
"What do you think, my friend?" Mansoor inquired, his eyes reflecting a hint of anticipation.
"Different," Zhang responded, still recovering from the unexpected taste.
