Musk Revolution: Fly Towards the Future

CIX and Vega sat near the back of the gathered crowd at the sprawling, neon-lit venue of the N-Tech Expo, their eyes flickering between the towering screens and the buzzing air-drones that glided overhead to capture the audience below.

Vega sat with her arms crossed, clearly unimpressed, her foot tapping a sharp rhythm against the metal floor.

CIX nudged her gently. “So, the Grade A exam,” he began casually. “How was it, huh? You know… in case I ever get the chance to take it.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk?” Vega shot him a sideways glare. “I thought you’d taken a vow of silence or something.”

“Okay… maybe I deserve that,” CIX admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, the Director is… a sensitive subject. But I should have been more…understanding.”

Vega’s expression softened slightly. “Then tell me what happened with you two. Did you do something wrong? Fail a mission or disrespected her? I mean, any reason for why hasn’t she recommended you for a promotion?”

CIX sighed, slumping slightly in his seat. “Honestly… I don’t know. Sometimes, I think she just doesn’t like me. Or maybe she expects more.”

Vega looked away, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on her arm. “She’s always been tough with me. Tough but fair. When I took the Grade B exam five years ago, I misfired during the weapons test and shot the instructor in the leg.”

“You what?” CIX leaned in, shocked. “Wait—hold up. That was you? I remember that! You looked so different back then.”

“I’ll try to take that as a compliment,” Vega smirked. “I still had my glasses and braces back then but I still looked good.”

“Yep, of course.” CIX laughed. “Everyone said you’d quit after that. I heard the instructor still walks with a limp, poor guy.”

“First of all, they gave us real bullets. What did they expect?” Vega rolled her eyes.

“Well, real bullets are more accurate. That’s why they use them in the test,” CIX replied nonchalantly.

“Anyway…I did almost quit," Vega said quietly. “I had written an official resignation and everything. But Director Hale saw me at the front desk crying my eyes out and gave me some tough-love advice. Basically told me to get off my ass and prove everyone who laughed at me wrong. So I did. Trained for months, retook the test the next year, and passed...top of the class.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like the Director I know.”

“Then maybe you don’t know her like I do.” Vega shrugged. “Speaking of the test, do you remember that guy who was top of the shooting class that year? He did a front flip and shot mid-air, hitting the target dead center. I have never seen a better shooter since. I looked him up after but all his records were classified.”

“Yeah… that was my brother,” CIX said, his voice quieter than before.

Vega blinked, taken aback. “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t …uhm we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“It’s fine.” CIX shrugged, but his tone was subdued. “He was a part of a secret team chasing some fugitives but his entire team disappeared three years ago. That’s probably why his records are classified.”

“That’s rough. No one knows where he is, like, at all?”

“No. The Director called off the investigation.”

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of a microphone activating. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and a booming voice echoed through the venue. The crowd immediately stirred as the announcer introduced the man of the hour.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the CEO of N-Tech… BRUCE MUSK!”

The crowd erupted into cheers as a tall man in a sleek white suit strode onto the stage with theatrical flair. Bruce Musk flashed a brilliant smile, pulled off his fedora and tossed it into the audience. His icy blue eyes swept the hall, confident and magnetic.

“What’s going on, Capitaaal!” he beamed.

CIX and Vega observed, their eyes sharp with interest.

“So, this is the grieving brother?” Vega muttered under her breath.

CIX watched him closely. “People grieve differently.”

“Sure. But come on. That guy? He looks like he inherited a billion-dollar company. Oh, wait, that’s right. He did.”

CIX didn’t respond, but she wasn’t wrong. Before Wayne’s tragic passing, they had a public confrontation and Wayne stepped in full-time as CEO. N-Tech had also been on the decline the last few years. Their market profits had gone down thanks to the rise of Constantine Technologies, a fierce competitor spearheaded by the eccentric billionaire Constantine Kane.

Constantine had revolutionized personal technology, introducing a sleek, neural-sync system that seamlessly integrated AIBI assistants into users’ lives. No more physical devices—your AIBI could store your phone’s details, information, and communication logs, linking directly to the Network. A service that was integrated into the Enforcers and precincts all over the world.

In three years, Constantine Tech became the undisputed king of technology.

Then, Wayne Musk died.

And everything was suddenly changing.

Bruce capitalized on his brother’s death, pushing an aggressive PR campaign to revive N-Tech’s reputation. He gave a heartfelt interview last week, claiming:

“Wayne was more than just my brother. He was my best friend, my mentor. We built N-Tech together, and I won’t let his vision die with him. This Expo… this is for him.”

And it worked. The media ate it up. Wayne’s murder was the best thing that ever happened to N-tech, leading to a massive resurgence in sales. And now, all eyes were on N-Tech’s grand unveiling—an event that Wayne had supposedly originally planned before his sudden passing.

Bruce gestured toward a massive sheet-draped structure at the center of the Expo stage.

“This… was Wayne’s dream,” he said, voice rich with performative emotion. “He wanted to redefine how we move. Get everyone out of those expensive houses, right?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

“Today we honour him with this. We usher in a new era of transport.”

In dramatic fashion, he yanked the sheet off. A spotlight snapped on, illuminating what looked like a …floating taxi. Sleek, pod-like with translucent panels, it rose a few feet above the stage, hovering silently.

“Introducing our next generation of urban mobility,” Bruce declared. “The SkyFleet M-1, our new autonomous hover taxi.”

CIX and Vega watched as the SkyFleet lifted off the stage floor and hovered into the crowd, weaving smoothly between the upper balcony seats. Its engines barely made a sound.

“This model is already being rolled out in Capital’s inner sections,” Bruce added. “By next year, it will replace all ground-level taxis in the major cities. Welcome to the flying era.”

The crowd burst into applause. People activated their AIBI scanning and recording feature, which was kind of ironic because they were designed by Constantine tech but no one seemed worried about that.

CIX barely smiled at the reveal.

“A taxi? I didn’t come all the way here to see a taxi. Let’s go, Vega.”

“Calm down. He’s not done yet.”

Bruce came back to the stage again. He raised a hand, snapping his fingers. The stage lighting responded instantly, casting a golden halo around the next display. A new sheet was pulled away with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing something sleeker, edgier—utterly alien in design.

For a moment, the crowd said nothing. Then a low murmur rippled out—then cheers. Even the air felt charged, like it knew something extraordinary had just been shown

There it stood.

The Zenith.

A slim, almost serpentine motorcycle glinted under the lights, its obsidian frame segmented with thin, pulsing lines of cyan light that danced like veins across its surface. No exhaust. No spokes. The wheels were wide hover-discs, shimmering with soft magnetic pulses. Its body seemed to hum with contained power, as though it were a living thing rather than a machine.

CIX leaned forward, utterly transfixed.

“Fully formed from a single alloy composite called Duralume-X, developed exclusively in our labs,” Bruce explained, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the bike. “It’s lighter than carbon fiber, tougher than titanium, and can reshape itself using embedded nanite weaving. That’s right—it repairs itself on the go.”

CIX’s AIBI scanned it automatically, and his AI, DAX, showed him the specs across his neural display.

Zenith Motorcycle — Prototype MZ-01

Core: Quad-Ion silent engine

Hover Stability System: Quad-point mag-lev anchors

Max Speed: 840 km/h (Ground & Hover Mode)

Defense: Reactive plating, mild EMP shielding

Neural Sync Capable: Yes

Nanotech Weaving: Autonomous minor repair in 10 seconds

Power Source: Liquid crystal hydrogen battery (24-hr cycle)

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” CIX exclaimed.

“Only fifty units will be produced this year,” Bruce continued with a smirk, “and before you ask—no, you can’t buy one yet. Not unless you’re a registered Beta Partner. And trust me, that’s invite only.”

The crowd laughed, cheered, and a few shouted pleas for early access.

“Now,” Bruce said, raising his hands again, “I know what you’re all really here for. Who wants to ride one of our new taxis tonight?”

A wave of noise hit the hall—screams, cheers, and raised hands from every section.

Bruce chuckled warmly, pointing toward a middle-aged couple standing near the front.

 “You two look like you’ve got somewhere to be. How about a free ride in the SkyFleet M-1?”

As the spotlight found them, the crowd clapped and cheered while the couple beamed with excitement. A nearby steward guided them to a sleek boarding platform as the SkyFleet M-1 descended from above, quiet as a whisper.

The cabin door opened with a seamless slide, revealing a surprisingly spacious interior bathed in soft blue lighting. As they stepped in, the cabin recognized them instantly.

“Welcome aboard,” chimed a soft synthetic voice. “Synchronizing local AIBI systems. Identification Confirmed: Mr. and Mrs Johnson. Destination, please?”

The interior looked more like a luxury lounge than a taxi—polished glass displays lined the walls, while the seats were memory-foam adaptive, adjusting to the passengers' bodies instantly. A small console hovered mid-air in front of them, displaying route data, entertainment options, and an emergency override system.

Bruce’s voice echoed as the taxi prepared for takeoff.

“SkyFleet uses Silent-Core Thrusters, embedded in a cross-dimensional mag-bed, meaning zero noise pollution and no exhaust. Not only that—our new neural relay system means you can use your own thoughts or your AIBI assistant to command routes, play music, or communicate with other vehicles.”

CIX’s AIBI scanned again:

SkyFleet M-1 – Urban Hover Cab

· Passenger Capacity: 4

· Operating Modes: Auto, Neural-Link, AIBI Command

· Max Speed: 320 km/h (Urban Cap), 540 km/h (Open Skies)

· Range: 1200 km per charge

· Energy Core: Quantum-cell battery with solar assist

· Noise Level: 0.03 dB at 100% thrust

· Safety: 8-Point Auto-Stabilizers, Full AI Evade System, Emergency Levitation Backup

· Materials: Hybrid-carbon glass, Smart-polymer interior lining

“Not bad,” CIX admitted.

The vehicle rose smoothly, gliding over the crowd. Cameras tracked it as it soared across the domed roof of the Expo center, turning easily and descending again with surgical grace. The crowd erupted as the couple exited, laughing and speechless.

Bruce grinned, arms open wide.

“This isn’t just the future of travel,” he said. “This is the future of freedom. No more jams. No more smog. No more ground-level chaos. And hey, it looks cool as hell, doesn’t it?”

The crowd roared their agreement.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bruce said, voice now reverent, “this is what my brother dreamed of. He wanted a better world, a cleaner sky. I am happy to say that I have fulfilled my promise to him.”

His eyes glistened as he looked toward the screen behind him. It lit up with an image of Wayne Musk, smiling beneath a sunrise skyline.

“In honor of Wayne… from this day forward, N-Tech will no longer be N-Tech.”

A pause.

“It will be… Musk Industries!!”

The crowd clapped—but not as loudly. A few murmurs of confusion rippled through the venue. "Musk Industries?" someone whispered.