Neo-Singapore arrived like a slap of wet heat.
The plane door opened to air that felt solid—40 degrees Celsius, 89% humidity, the kind of atmosphere that made enhancement cooling systems worth every dollar. Through the haze, the city rose in impossible verticals, each building a monument to humanity's refusal to accept limits.
"Welcome to the future," Maya muttered, already sweating through her shirt.
"Welcome to their future," Sarah corrected. "Remember that. This whole city's built for the enhanced. We're visiting someone else's tomorrow."
Customs was its own education. Jayson stood in line watching enhanced athletes flow through automated scanners—quick flashes of green as their systems registered. When his turn came, the scanner buzzed confused red.
"Natural?" The officer looked like she'd found a glitch in reality. "Full biological?"
"Yes."
More scanning. Supervisors summoned. Forms excavated from digital archives that hadn't been accessed in years. Other athletes passed, their processing smooth as their augmented muscles. Jayson waited, the first of many reminders that he didn't belong here.
Finally, a senior officer who remembered the old protocols stamped his entry. "Olympic Village is Sector 7. Transport pods are..." She paused. "Actually, you'll need a manual vehicle. Pods sync with enhancement systems for navigation."
"I'll walk," Jayson said.
"It's twelve kilometers."
"I'm a distance runner."
The officer's expression suggested he was something else entirely.
The Olympic Village sprawled across reclaimed land like a city within a city. Sixty towers connected by climate-controlled skywalks, each building a testament to what humans could build when they stopped being merely human. Enhancement charging stations glowed on every corner. Medical bays hummed with tomorrow's medicine. Everything designed for athletes who'd evolved past sweating.
Their assigned quarters were in Tower 47—the one reporters had already dubbed "Natural Tower" because it housed the few athletes competing in traditional sports like archery and shooting where enhancement was still restricted.
"At least we're not completely alone," Maya observed, setting up her equipment by the window. "There's a Korean archer two floors down who's fully natural."
"In a sport where enhancement doesn't help," Sarah pointed out. "Different kind of natural. We're the only ones stupid enough to race enhanced athletes at their own game."
The suite was spartan by Village standards—no bio-monitoring walls, no recovery pods, no neural link stations. Just rooms with beds, a basic kitchen, air conditioning that struggled against Singapore's assault.
"Perfect," Sarah declared. "Less to break. Kai, security assessment. Lisa, find training routes. Maya, get your monitoring station running. Jayson—"
A knock interrupted. Marcus Chen entered, looking travel-worn but energized. "Made it. Beijing production is running, orders shipping, and..." He paused for effect. "Wei Chen's grandmother sends a gift."
He produced a package wrapped in silk. Inside, shoes that looked almost plain compared to enhancement gear—simple, elegant, built for running rather than processing.
"She made these herself. Based on her husband's design from 1944, updated with what we've learned. Says they're for someone who understands that running is poetry, not programming."
Jayson held them, feeling the weight of history. Handmade shoes in an automated world. "Tell her—"
"Tell her yourself. She'll be watching. Her grandson too, though for different reasons." Marcus's expression darkened. "He's here. Wei Chen Jr. Not happy about our arrangement."
"Enhancement athletes rarely are," Sarah said. "They've been told they're evolution. We remind them they're just expensive."
Training in Singapore's heat was like learning to run underwater. Every morning, Jayson and Sarah ventured out before dawn, chasing shadows between buildings that never cooled. The enhanced athletes trained in climate-controlled facilities, their systems adapting in real-time. Jayson just endured.
"Shorter loops," Sarah commanded after his first 20K attempt left him dizzy. "This isn't about conquering heat—it's about coexisting. Enhancement fights environment. We flow with it."
She found routes through old neighborhoods where enhancement clinics hadn't yet colonized everything. Past hawker centers where vendors recognized something ancient in his stride. Around reservoirs where monitor lizards watched with prehistoric indifference.
But it was at the Village track where reality bit hardest.
The facility was a marvel—surface that responded to foot strikes, optimal lane banking, everything calibrated for records. Enhanced athletes flowed around it like water finding the fastest path. Their warm-ups were Jayson's race pace. Their easy runs made his intervals look pedestrian.
"Helps mental preparation," Sarah insisted after watching him get lapped repeatedly during a tempo run. "You see the gap, accept the gap, then run your race anyway."
"Hard to ignore when they're passing me every three minutes."
"Then wave. Make friends. Humanize yourself." She paused. "Actually, that's not bad advice. You're a curiosity here. Use it."
That evening in the athlete dining hall, Jayson tested her theory. The space was cathedral-vast, offering cuisine from everywhere, optimized for everything. Enhanced athletes moved through buffets with algorithmic precision, neural displays calculating exact macro requirements.
Jayson loaded his plate with rice, fish, vegetables—fuel that predated optimization. Found an empty table. Started eating.
The stares were immediate but subtle. Enhanced athletes had perfected peripheral observation. Conversations happened in glances, micro-expressions, the occasional direct look that quickly turned away.
"Natural athlete?"
A young woman stood with her own tray. Tall, Eastern European features, the telltale signs of enhancement—but something was off. Her left hand trembled slightly. Her stance favored one leg. When she blinked, her eyes didn't quite sync.
"Jayson Rodriguez," he offered.
"Ava Petrova. Russia. Middle distance." She sat without invitation. "System conflicts. Neural interface doesn't like my leg servos. Happens when you enhance piecemeal—different companies, different code bases."
"Why not fix it?"
"Time. Money. Politics." She started eating with mechanical precision despite the tremor. "Also pride. I've made it this far glitching. Might as well finish the same way."
They ate in companionable silence while the dining hall hummed around them. Finally, Ava spoke: "You've caused quite a stir. Natural athlete in the Centennial Ultra. Betting sites don't even have odds—they just list you as 'DNF probable.'"
"Motivating."
"Honest. Which is rare here." She studied him. "Why do it? Why race machines when you could compete in natural-only events?"
"Because natural-only events are charity. Participation trophies. This"—he gestured at the enhanced athletes around them—"this is what running has become. Someone needs to mark the grave."
"Or dig yourself one."
"Maybe. But at least it'll be an honest hole."
That sparked something in her eyes. "Want to train together? Evening sessions? My team's usually in recovery pods, and I can't sync with their optimization schedules anyway."
"A glitching enhanced athlete and a natural runner. We'll be the fastest comedy show in Singapore."
"Better than being inspirational." She stood to leave. "Track, 8 PM. Bring your stubbornness. I'll bring my conflicts."
Three days into Village life, Thompson found Jayson at breakfast.
"Heard you're training with Petrova," the American said, sitting carefully. "Smart. She knows suffering in ways pure enhancement doesn't."
"Thought you weren't supposed to talk to me. Corporate solidarity and all."
"Screw that. My nephew started a running club. Twelve kids, no enhancements, just shoes and dreams." Thompson pulled out his phone, showed video of children running through Detroit streets. "That's worth more than corporate approval."
"Your sponsors might disagree."
"My sponsors can explain to my nephew why his uncle chose brand loyalty over humanity." He leaned closer. "Fair warning—Wei Chen's been talking.
"Fair warning—Wei Chen's been talking. Calling you an insult to his grandfather's legacy. Says you're using his family's history as a publicity stunt."
"His grandmother doesn't seem to think so."
"His grandmother sees something her grandson can't. Or won't." Thompson glanced around the dining hall. "Enhancement creates blindness too. When you're programmed for perfection, imperfection looks like failure instead of... whatever it actually is."
"What is it actually?"
"Human. Which might be worth more than we thought."
Training with Ava became the highlight of Jayson's days. She understood struggle in ways pure enhancement didn't—the betrayal of systems, the negotiation with failing parts, the humor in imperfection.
"Watch this," she said one evening, attempting a 400m sprint. Her form was textbook for 300 meters, then her left leg's servo misfired. She stumbled, caught herself, finished with a grimace-laugh. "Personal best for consecutive strides without glitching."
"How do you race like that?"
"Same way you race without enhancement. Badly, but with style." She walked off the misfire, systems recalibrating. "Actually, that's not fair. You run with something I lost—trust in your body. I'm always waiting for the next failure."
They developed a routine. Jayson would pace her through longer runs where her conflicts smoothed out. She'd pull him through speed work that hurt in ways enhancement was supposed to prevent. Between sets, they talked about the Village, the Olympics, the strange moment they'd found themselves in.
"There's going to be a protest," Ava mentioned one evening. "Natural Movement activists. Outside the Village gates tomorrow."
"Supporting me?"
"Using you. There's a difference." She paused mid-stretch. "Some of them are... intense. Anti-enhancement completely. Think people like me are traitors to humanity."
"You're not responsible for extremists."
"Neither are you. But here we are, symbols for causes we didn't choose." She stood, tested her leg. "Want to see something?"
She led him to a section of the Village he hadn't explored—older buildings, pre-enhancement architecture. In a courtyard, someone had drawn chalk portraits on the concrete. Dozens of them. Athletes rendered in simple lines but capturing something essential.
"Who did these?"
"No one knows. They appear overnight. Look—there's Thompson." She pointed to a portrait that caught the conflict in the American's augmented face. "There's me." Her portrait showed the glitch, the asymmetry, but also a grace the artist saw beneath.
Then Jayson saw himself. The artist had drawn him mid-stride, form imperfect but forward motion undeniable. Around the edges, small figures—children running, reaching. He'd become larger than himself in chalk and imagination.
"It's beautiful," he said.
"It's pressure. You're not just running for you anymore." Ava traced the chalk lines. "These kids, these believers—what happens when you don't finish? When reality reminds them why we enhance?"
"Then they'll know someone tried."
"Is that enough?"
Jayson thought about his father's fourth place, his mother's double shifts, Maya's sacrificed fortune. "It has to be."
Two nights before the race, Sarah called a strategy session. The suite's common room became a war council—maps spread out, weather data scrolling, everyone focused on the impossible task ahead.
"The Centennial Ultra isn't just long," Sarah explained. "It's designed to break athletes. Coastal heat, industrial ruins, jungle, river crossing, desert, mountains, urban maze. Each section tests different systems."
"Enhancement fails predictably," Kai added. "Heat overwhelms cooling. Rough terrain damages servos. Water shorts electronics. The question is which failures happen when."
"You're planning for mass mechanical failure?" Maya asked.
"I'm planning for Jayson to run his race while chaos happens around him," Sarah corrected. "He can't match their pace, but he might outlast their complexity."
Lisa pulled up historical data. "In simulation, accounting for conditions and course difficulty, a natural athlete running 3:30 pace would finish around... 65th of 200."
"If everyone finished," Sarah said. "But they won't. Singapore's heat, the technical sections, the sheer distance—I'm predicting 40% DNF rate. Maybe higher."
"So I'm racing attrition?"
"You're racing everything. Time, distance, heat, history, yourself." Sarah met his eyes. "But mostly you're racing the idea that says you shouldn't even try. That's the real opponent."
The meeting broke up late. Jayson found himself on the balcony, looking out at Singapore's electric skyline. Somewhere below, enhancement clinics ran through the night. Somewhere, kids drew chalk portraits of runners they'd never meet. Somewhere, his family waited on the other side of the world.
"Can't sleep?"
Wei Chen stood in the doorway. Not Junior—the original, the grandmother who'd defied her grandson to help. She was smaller than Jayson expected, but her presence filled space like memory.
"Mrs. Chen. I didn't know you were—"
"In the city? Had to come. Maybe my last Olympics, probably your only one." She joined him at the railing. "My husband would have liked you. Not because you're fast—you're not. But because you're necessary."
"Necessary?"
"Someone has to remember what we gave up. Someone has to ask if the trade was worth it." She studied him. "My grandson thinks I'm betraying our legacy. He's wrong. I'm trying to save it."
"By helping me?"
"By helping us remember that enhancement was supposed to expand human possibility, not replace it. We've forgotten that. Made running about processing power instead of human power." She touched his shoulder, her hand light but firm. "You won't win. Might not even finish. But you'll make people think. Sometimes that's enough to change everything."
She left as quietly as she'd come. Jayson stayed on the balcony until dawn touched the horizon, painting Singapore in colors that existed before enhancement, would exist after. In thirty-six hours, he'd line up against everything the future had built.
For now, he had this—the quiet before. The weight of being necessary. The strange peace that came from accepting impossible odds.
Tomorrow would bring final preparations, last runs, the settling of nerves into purpose. But tonight, he was just a natural athlete in an enhanced world, carrying chalk portraits and children's hopes into a race designed to prove he didn't belong.
The city hummed its electric song. Jayson listened, remembered what silence sounded like, and prepared to run through noise toward something like truth.