Getting a Technology System in Modern Day-Chapter 905: An Argument Between Friends

"I'm telling you," Abdullah said, his face lit up with excitement, "if you read the announcement properly, the empire's planning to make all of us six-figure earners, if not outright millionaires."

"How so?" Mussa replied, skepticism etched into his expression. "We'll only be able to access that fund after retirement, and I don't see us hitting that age anytime soon unless we retire early. And even then, the empire hasn't set a clear retirement age. It's only been a decade since they extended our life expectancy to two hundred years. Some people aren't even sure that claim's real, since no one's lived that long yet to prove it."

Mussa, a former American and part of the Black minority community, belonged to an even smaller group within that community, those who still harbored deep institutional distrust, rooted in the historical mistreatment of Black people during slavery and unethical medical experiments.

The only reason he hadn't been among those forcefully relocated to other star systems, a move that both he and even imperial historians described bluntly as "genocide", was because of his wife. She had refused to go, insisting on staying with their children. Since the empire gave custody preference to the parent who was an imperial citizen, Mussa had been forced to adopt citizenship just to remain with his family.

That decision, however, had cracked their marriage. Even now, more than a decade later, they were still working through those issues with the help of the empire's free marriage counseling, one of many health services available at no cost.

To the empire's credit, it didn't hide what it had done. It taught the events in schools, kept public records, and provided detailed profiles explaining why each person had been selected for relocation. The justification was always the same: ensuring a peaceful transition of power to prepare for the foreign threats, and these people were doing everything in their power to derail and resist.

"Has living in the empire for over a decade still not changed the way you think?" Abdullah's voice rose with frustration, his tone sharp but tired. "I'm seriously getting fed up with you seeing everything the empire does through a negative lens. You've got no evidence, none, and everything they've done so far has moved in a positive direction. I get that you're bitter because you were forced into this situation, but come on, man. Enough already."

To Abdullah, the empire had been a blessing. It had given him a life he never imagined possible: homeownership in his thirties, a stable job, disposable income, and subsidies that made living easy. The difference in their views had been a constant point of friction.

Mussa didn't flinch. "But did the empire ever make it clear what the actual retirement age is? No, they didn't. Doesn't that bother you even a little? It's like they're planning to make sure we all just work until we die. So how exactly am I supposed to benefit from this fund if there's no guarantee I'll ever be allowed to retire?"

Abdullah exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright. I'm going to ask you very simple questions. Just a few. And I want you to answer sincerely, okay?"

"Sure, go on." Mussa's tone was calm, as if he knew this routine too well; they always reached this point in their arguments.

"How many days a week does the average person work?"

"Four."

"How many hours before overtime is considered?"

"Eight. But how is this even relevant to what we're—"

"Just answer," Abdullah interrupted, holding up a hand. "How many vacation days are mandatory?"

"Two months."

Abdullah leaned forward, jabbing the table lightly with his finger. "So. So!" he emphasized, each tap punctuating his words. "Two months of vacation. Four workdays a week. Three days off every week. Tell me, how many total days off is that per year?"

He gestured to his personal AI, which responded through his VR watch speaker for both of them to hear.

{You get a total of 189 days off per year, which is approximately six months and six days.}

"You heard that?" Abdullah said, eyes locked on Mussa. "Even if your theory is right, even if we never retire, over a two-hundred-year lifespan, we'd spend less than half of it actually working. And that's not even factoring in that they're actively researching long-term retirement solutions. They're running simulations. Planning multiple flexible retirement paths…"

He paused. Even he was stunned by the realization as it settled over him. There was no need to finish. The math and the silence that followed spoke for themselves.

But that clarity from the numbers only lasted a moment. Abdullah remembered he hadn't even gotten to the real part, the part that would make his friend eat his words.

He leaned forward again, his voice calmer but brimming with intensity. He had to say it now, while Mussa was still mentally cornered, before he came up with another half-baked counterargument.

"As for how they plan to make all of us rich," Abdullah began, "if you'd actually read through the entire announcement and understood it, you'd have seen the part where the empire said they're going to take a quarter of all profits from the VR expansion and the wormhole lane project and pour that directly into the retirement fund."

Mussa blinked, silent.

"That's a quarter of the profits from two of the biggest imperial projects in history. You know what that means? It means you'll be earning back ten times, no, even up to a hundred times, what you pay in taxes every year once you retire. And the best part? Taxes are staying at ten percent. No increase. None."

Abdullah's voice was rising now. He could feel his anger bubbling with each word, but he didn't care. He was done holding back.

"And if you need money now, before retirement? That fund will let you take out interest-free loans using your future share as collateral. You'll be able to borrow up to ten times your current valuation, without paying a damn cent in interest."

He didn't pause for breath.

"And that's not all. They're still going to use a chunk of the remaining seventy-five percent to subsidize housing, utilities, and daily necessities. They're even cutting down the cost of raising kids more than they already have. Education? Already free. Nurseries? Government-funded. Maternity leave? Paid. Three years for both father and mother.

So tell me, please, how the hell did you come to the conclusion that this is something we'll only benefit from after we retire?" His voice cracked, forcing him to clear his throat before continuing, "You're acting like one of those conspiracy nuts who still think the Earth is flat."

Abdullah's chest was heaving. He hadn't realized how worked up he was until he finished. But it didn't matter. He needed to say all of it. He was tired of this cycle, tired of Mussa clinging to the past like it was still relevant in the empire they were living in now.

In that moment, Abdullah knew this wasn't just about politics anymore, this was about their friendship, his friends' healing marriage, and more. If Mussa still refused to accept reason after all this, then maybe… maybe he wasn't someone Abdullah could keep walking forward with.

Around them, people had started to gather, watching the argument with interest, with some quietly live-streaming it as it was the kind of thing that could easily blow up across local networks. No one was interfering yet, but the tension was thick, and they were all waiting to see how it would end.