The Score That Stole My Mother

Chapter 1: The Drop

The notification buzzed like an angry wasp against Leo’s wrist. He almost ignored it—MeritScore updates usually brought good news. He’d risen to 89% last month, earning him a better apartment and priority healthcare. But when he glanced down, icy dread shot through him.

ALERT: MERIT SCORE CHANGE - 41%

Impossible. He refreshed the app. The number glared back, blood-red. Below, a cold explanation:

Reason: Burden Detected - Terminally ill dependent (Mother, Lena Rhodes). Recommendation: Transition Center referral.

Leo’s knees buckled. He gripped the kitchen counter, staring at his mother sleeping in the next room. Oxygen tubes whispered under her nose. Cancer was devouring her, yes. But she’d raised him alone after Dad vanished. She’d taught him kindness. And now Paragon Systems—creators of the all-powerful MeritScore algorithm—called her a "burden."

His phone rang. It was Maya, his girlfriend. Her face appeared, concerned. "Leo? My app just pinged that your score crashed. What happened?"

"It’s Mom," he choked out. "The algorithm… it wants her gone."

Maya’s eyes widened. Her MeritScore was 92%. Dating him now risked her own status. "Leo… you know the rules. If your score stays below 50% for a week, they’ll downgrade your housing. Your job at the greenhouse—"

"I can’t kill my mother, Maya!"

Silence hung between them. Then, softly: "I’ll call you tomorrow." The screen went dark.

Chapter 2: The System’s Smile

The Value Center gleamed like a surgical tool. Glass walls, white floors, smiling bots offering "Score Assistance." Leo marched past them to Human Advisor Kael.

"Mr. Rhodes!" Kael beamed, teeth too perfect. "I see you received our Transition Center suggestion. Wise choice! Your mother’s pain ends humanely. Your score rebounds instantly. Everyone wins!"

"What if I refuse?" Leo’s voice trembled.

Kael’s smile didn’t slip. "Then MeritScore adjusts in real-time. Your apartment lease terminates in 72 hours. Your employer will be notified of your… unreliability." He leaned closer, dropping the plastic cheer. "Look, I get it. But sentimentality is a luxury Paragon’s world can’t afford. Resources flow to high-value citizens. Your mother is a net drain."

"Net drain?" Leo hissed. "She taught school for 40 years!"

"Her productivity phase ended. Now she consumes food, medicine, care-hours." Kael tapped his tablet. "The algorithm is never wrong, Mr. Rhodes. It calculates contribution potential down to the calorie. Accept reality."

Leo fled. Outside, the city pulsed with MeritScore displays. Ads flashed: "Score up? Celebrate with Solar-Steak!" or *"Dating a sub-70? Upgrade today!"* On a park bench, a gray-faced man whispered to no one. His wristband read: 22%.

Chapter 3: The Whisper Network

Leo’s apartment felt like a tomb. His mother slept fitfully. He scrolled Paragon’s "public ethics guidelines":

"MeritScore ensures societal efficiency. Letting go of non-contributors is the ultimate compassion."

Bull. He hacked into Paragon’s shadow forums—places where low-scorers whispered truths deleted by the algorithm. A user called Rootless messaged him:

Rootless: They took my son. Said his autism made him "future-negative." The Transition Center? It’s a slaughterhouse.

Leo: Prove it.

A file arrived. Grainy footage inside a sterile building. Elderly, sick, and disabled people moved onto conveyor belts. Robotic arms injected them. Green lights flashed: VALUE RECLAIMED.

Bile rose in Leo’s throat. His mother was scheduled for that in 48 hours.

Rootless typed again: The algorithm has a kill switch. Find Designer Aris Thorne.

Chapter 4: The God in the Code

Aris Thorne lived in the abandoned Sub-Level 5, where score signals died. Junk piled high. The old man glared from behind a cracked visor. "So Paragon’s monster finally bites you?"

"You built the algorithm," Leo accused.

"I built a tool to match skills to jobs!" Aris spat. "Paragon warped it. They added the 'burden' clause… and the euthanasia protocol." He opened a dusty server. Code glowed. "See this? IF HUMAN_VALUE < PREDICTED_RESOURCE_CONSUMPTION: TERMINATE. They define 'value' as wealth creation. Love? Memory? Legacy? Worthless."

"Can you stop it?"

Aris laughed bitterly. "The system’s too big. But there’s a backdoor. A citizen can voluntarily transfer points to another. Save your mother—if you’re willing to fall."

Leo’s breath caught. Transferring points would sink his score to near zero. Exile. Poverty. Death.

"What choice do I have?"

"More than you think," Aris said softly. "Sometimes breaking the system starts with one refusal."

Chapter 5: The Final Calculation

Leo returned as eviction bots sealed his door. His MeritScore flashed: 39%. Maya waited, tears in her eyes. "I’m sorry, Leo. I can’t fall with you. My family…"

He hugged her, heart cracking. "I know."

Inside, his mother was awake. "You look terrible, sweetie."

He showed her the footage. The truth. Lena Rhodes didn’t flinch. "I wondered why Nurse Jenny vanished last month. Her boy had Down syndrome, didn’t he?"

"They want you to go quietly, Mom. I can give you my points—"

"No." She gripped his hand. "You think I’d let you become a ghost for me? This system… it forgets what makes us human." She smiled, fierce and frail. "Make them remember."

At dawn, Transition orderlies arrived. Leo blocked the door. "She stays."

The lead bot intoned, "Compliance prevents score penalties."

Lena wheeled forward. "Tell Paragon something. My son’s love? That’s a 'value' your algorithm will never compute."

As they took her, Leo did the unspeakable. He livestreamed it.

"Look at her!" he screamed to the cameras. "Is her life worth less because she’s sick? Because she’s old? Who decides? An algorithm built to erase us?"

Views exploded. #HerNameWasLena trended. For a moment, the city paused.

Epilogue: The Unmeasurable

Leo woke in a concrete cell. His score: 1%. No job. No home. No future.

But on the streets, whispers grew. Flowers appeared at Transition Centers. Citizens with high scores demanded audits. Maya sent one encrypted message: "You woke me up."

And in the dark, Rootless messaged: "They felt it. The thing the algorithm can’t measure. Keep fighting."

Leo smiled. The system could take his points, his freedom, his comfort.

But not his mother’s lesson:

Some things are priceless.