Twelve years later.
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In the illustrious and often questionable pantheon of human innovation, one particular invention stood as a testament to our collective masochism: the alarm clock. In my brief - if eternal - 18 years of life, I had come to recognize the alarm clock not merely as a tool for punctuality, but as a device conceived and perfected by demons that came from the deepest pits of spite. And now, in the year 2252, I was to suffer through the latest affront to decency: alarm clocks integrated directly into our brains. I lay in my pod staring at the ceiling inches away from my face, tormented by the incessant buzzing inside my skull. This had to be the apex of human cruelty. The transition from being rudely awakened by external devices to having the alarm hardwired into one’s cranium was nothing short of diabolical.
But as with all things, the devil was in the details, and the cherry on top of this pain-sundae was the tiny red snooze icon blinking in the corner of my vision, buzzing away like a lone angry cyber-wasp. Below it was even tinier text signaling the $0.33 tag to press it. I could only assume that the deranged madman behind this genius stroke of sadistic design was met with swift and just retribution, shot in some trash-riddled alleyway and left to rot in the city sewers.
I closed my eyes and pinged my neuralink to deactivate the 4:00 a.m. alarm, mentally ignoring the ad that popped up right after even if it was physically impossible to look away. It was a picture of meguca Sahara’s hands, or what I assumed was her pale hands, as they applied a reddish cream.
> New Sahara-Sand™: exfoliate the monster away, reveal a smooth new you.
At least it wasn’t a foot ad.
The instant the ad closed and my neuralink was freed up, I sent a ping for my pod to open up. It hissed angrily as it attempted to slide my bed out. I braced and grit my teeth as it shuddered to a stop halfway out, leaving my lower body still inside. It took me a few seconds of wriggling before I made it out, twisting and sitting up, dangling my feet over the edge and rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes.
Someone called up to me as they walked up to their pod. “Morning, Axel.”
“Morning, Mr. Filch.” I chimed back, opening a drawer compartment within the pod and putting on my flip-flops. Within its confines, I found a half-empty caffeinated drink, stale from the day before. “Today’s going to be a good day,” I promised myself, taking a lungful of air, catching the faint traces of trash. “Today’s going to be a good day,” I reiterated as I pinged my playlist and winced when I got an alert that I had not paid for the subscription.
As if to mock me, my financing app sent me a notification reminding me my account had reached double digits of debt. I withheld from cussing, it was the end of the month, I’d need to tighten my expenses for a bit.
Again.
I breathed in, then out.
“Today’s going to be a good day.”
Because today was the day I was going to graduate.
At this hour, the only people cleaning up were those coming back from the night shift. I hastily tossed everything into the changing locker, neuralink verifying my identity before clamping it shut. Entering the shower-area, I quickly skipped past the first four stalls, their insides getting a series of “health-hazard” and “health-violation” pings out of the scan.
“Lucky seven,” I muttered, the insides of the stall only cracked, rather than riddled in fungus.
There were a few grumbled acknowledgments from fellow early-birds or latecomers, half-mumbled and exhausted. I closed the door to the stall and flipped through the options. For half a second, my eyes hovered over the hot water option, but I relented and went for the free cold shower instead. The neural interface kicked in and the five minute timer started as soon as cold water started trickling out.
I hastily cleaned up, finishing with a blast of hot air to dry me off as the automated water reclamation system booted up.
At least it was working again; the last time it had broken down, it’d been weeks of the whole building reeking of stale sweat.
My locker creaked open once it verified my neuralink. Pulling out a comfy set of jeans and shirt, I donned yellow working coveralls, the NexCorp “orb” logo plastered on the chest. Next, I carefully pulled out the pristine NexCorp blue academy uniform, folding it and storing it at the bottom of my backpack. Not exactly the best option, but I couldn’t just run around with the uniform on a hanger all over the city.
I spared my reflection a glance, the red mop on top of my head passively claiming victory over any comb that might dare to put it into shape. “You’ll see.” I promised.
“Never seen anyone threaten their hair like that.” A new face had approached the sinks, splashing water on his face.
I remembered to smile before turning to glance at the stranger. “Got plans to get it in check, got a big thing today!” I said. “You’re new here?”
The guy had a heavy beard and the sort of gut that spoke of heavy meals or little physical activity. “Driver, just staying a couple of days before hitting the dirt again,” He chuckled heartily. “Name’s Bob.”
Spending just a couple of days? It seemed Miss Richardson was renting out again, which was against policy. “My name’s Axel, and I’m from the academy.” I stated, carefully making a circle gesture with my index outside of my own line of sight.
“Exemplar program?” He grimaced visibly. “Can’t jailbreak?”
“I would never jailbreak my twenty-year old neuralink.” I stated plainly and clearly for the sake of the ever-present recording. “It also happens that the academy’s systems can easily detect freeware jailbreaks.”
Bob nodded sagely. “In the end, cheap comes with a hefty price tag.” He gave me a slight nod. “How much longer do you gotta keep the digital ball and chain?”
I immediately preened. “Today’s graduation day! Top five!”
“Damn, congrats.” Bob splashed his face again, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a data-shard. “Here.”
My alarms immediately began to ring, but I didn’t let it show. “Sure.” I kept my smile as I glanced down at the tiny piece of metal and glass. “What is it?”
“It’s the latest big thing over in New Francisco.” He chuckled, pointing at the back of his neck. “It’s a digital experience.”
“Thanks!” I spoke out cheerfully. “I’ll make sure to check it out when I get the chance.”
Which would be never.
This was a frontier city; we didn’t get big-name hackers because they all ran off to the big cities. However, even without that looming threat of cyberware security breach, I knew the dumbest thing anyone could do with a strange data-shard was to slot it in. The fact that it was supposed to be a ‘digital experience’ summoned no less confidence in its contents. Not that I would complain.
I just got a free data-shard! I'd just need to plug it into some isolated terminal, format both the shard and the terminal, and then sell it off.
Maybe it would be enough to cover for dinner in the ramen-imitation place down the block!
“Today’s going to be a good day,” I said as I stored up my cleaning and personal hygiene supplies in my locker. This time I felt the words actually gained some traction.
My gaze lingered on two pictures stuck to the back with magnets. The first was of my father holding his guard helmet under his arm. The second was of my aunt, bald and glaring at the camera as she chewed on the butt-end of a cigarette. I lingered for a moment, only reminded by the alar-clock that I needed to get going.
There was a little extra bounce to my step as I ignored the trash heaps littering the corridors on my way out of the mega-building. The reinforced entrance door swung open with a cheerful squeak.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
And I immediately jumped back in.
SKREEEAAAAGH
A tiny monster leapt straight out of one of the garbage piles, trying and (fortunately) failing to lay claim to my ankles. The thing was no larger than my shoe, half of its body no more than an oversized mouth with fangs each as long as a finger. “Jesus!” Slamming the security door shut, I took a moment to glare at the baby G-class as it bashed its mouth fruitlessly against my defensive measures, gnawing on the metal.
With a glare, I fished into my backpack and pulled out my firearm, my trusty Civic Defender-22, and clicked the safety off. The CD-22 was purely for self-defense. The low-caliber revolver worked well enough against an armorless-type G-class, but to me, the most important aspect was that it was among the least lethal options available against a human.
Behind the safety of the thick door, I quickly followed protocol and confirmed the perimeter, both inside and outside the safety doors. No bystanders in danger, no other monsters. I had no reason to rush this, so I walked down to the next security door further down, verified that the monster hadn’t seen me, and opened a different door just enough to take aim.
BANG
One last squeal and it collapsed, overly-toothy mouth snapping shut, then opening to spew out black ooze. Its entire body began to wriggle and bubble, twitching as steam escaped into the cool air. The decomposition was fast, and within moments all that was left was a black puddle on the concrete. I nodded in confirmation of the monster’s death and checked the perimeter a second time.
Nothing.
The monster had likely crawled out of a nearby sewer and been waiting for a victim.
I made sure to turn over my shoulder to look at the camera that should’ve been pointed at the entrance way. The security device that should have spotted the threat and sent a notification to keep an eye out.
Some smartass had thought themselves funny by pushing it to look elsewhere.
“Miss Brooks lost her foot last month just like this,” I grumbled, stomping my way over and readjusted the camera so it was pointing back to where it ought to… except the device wasn’t on to begin with.
I looked at the time, then at the camera.
Growling, I opened the resident group-chat and sent a notification.
> *Axel: @everyone, there was a monster at the entrance, G-class, mouth type. Dealt with it. The camera was vandalized, again, so auto-alarms didn’t go off properly.*
I would’ve attached the clip of the monster, but I didn’t have permission to upload files that large, so I just sent a picture of the puddle and that of the camera.
Immediately, I got a response from the building manager.
> *Man14: Puddle could be anything*
> *Man14: No pay*
Followed by one of the tenants with an actual flat of their own, 15-N.
> *J&Y: Spam. Blocked and reported*
My lips thinned, I took a deep breath, and I opened the DM’s with the building manager, sending a series of shots from the clip involving the before, during, and after of the monster. Unfortunately, the quality wasn’t exactly the best, but it clearly showed the series of events.
> *Man14: Looks AI made*
> *Man14: No pay*
“Motherf-!” I clenched my jaw tight. “-fudge.” I finished, breathing in the frustration. “This is not worth it, today is not the day,” I glowered through clenched teeth.
There were rumors that exemplar students could get points subtracted from their score if they ‘bothered’ anyone in a managerial position. It was a risk I would not be taking, not when I was less than twelve hours away from graduation.
“Today’s going to be a good day.”
A quick check of any suspicious garbage piles, and with the confidence nothing was going to jump out and eat my face, I took off. Neon lights and ads were the main source of illumination in these parts of the city, so rather than put the gun back into the backpack, I clicked the safety on and put it into my pocket, just to be safe.
With the area cleared, I picked up the remaining pieces of the bullet and pocketed them. It wouldn’t cover the cost, but it would make it hurt less. I made a mental note to bring up a formal complaint after I graduated from the academy’s exemplar program.
Fortunately, the only live thing I encountered on my way to the tram stop were roaches.
Time to go to work.
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I hummed a happy little tune, an earworm that’d been stuck in my head for the past few hours. My coverall hoodie covered my head, and my voice was muffled under the respirator mask. I stood in front of a protein pool, a bathtub filled up with pinkish fluid that bubbled and sizzled from the aeration moving through from the bottom. A row of red buttons flickered, and one of them went green.
Clicking my set of tongs twice, I carefully dipped them into the liquid and pinched down. The spongyness confirmed this one was finished, so I pulled out the fist-sized orange and pink fleshy brick.
“Meat obelisk comes out…”
Placing it on the conveyor belt, I reached into the box behind me and pulled out a white sheet that looked like paper, using my tongs to dip it into the now empty space and clicking the green button.
“Empty cellular mesh goes in…”
I pressed the green button, watching as it went red.
I clicked my tongs twice, for good measure.
“And the city gets their bacon mix.”
The company logo hung a couple meters over the conveyor belt, a bright fountain of multicolored meats swirling into a hungry vortex. The lights flickered, annoyingly bright.
Bacon-nado™: we add a human touch to every meal!
It had taken all of 1 hour working here to make me swear off meat from a vending-machine for the remainder of my days. Mostly out of spite.
My neuralink pinged, informing me it was break time. I waited until my replacement showed up, and with a confirmation everything was in order, I went off to rest for a bit. I’d go buy myself lunch, but my balance was in the red.
I wasn’t going to pay for a meal in quotas.
Again.
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Break-Area 18 was special in a way that most of the tier-1 employee break-areas weren't. Originally, perhaps sixty or so years ago, the room had been a control-point from where technicians could keep oversight of the whole factory floor. This allowed for a very small group of people to be a button-press away from changing anything they might have needed, as back then the operation was entirely automated.
After most of those robots had been reclaimed and repurposed, the room had been turned into a break-area. Just one that most people forgot about because it was very much out of the way. It took a whole ten minutes of walking to get here, moving through the expansive areas in the factory building as well as a few refurbished parts.
The only reason why I’d managed to find this place long since forgotten by management had been because I’d made friends with the cleaning lady. Old Missis Nura had sworn me to secrecy before using one of her cleaning drones to teach me how to get here.
One of Break-Area 18’s walls was just one large panel of tinted glass, showing the long meandering snake that was the production line. There were two doors, one of them leading into the office building (it being the path I’d taken to get here), and the other a fire-escape that’d been rusted shut probably before I’d even been born.
Chugging down water to combat the hunger, I watched the couple hundred employees working down below, fumes swirling up and around into extraction vents… I felt oddly reminiscent.
After today, I would finally be able to apply for my dream job.
Without thought, my eyes flickered at the far walls of the factory, milky white from the fog, I could only barely make out the faintest flash of light off in the distance. In my mind I could imagine the city walls, and the gatling turret that was no doubt turning some monster to shreds right about now.
I kept my damning thoughts about NexCorp’s stranglehold over the city and its job market deep inside where the neuralink couldn’t record them.
I hoped.
“Welp, break’s up.”
DING
My neuralink opened up the DM, as it’d been tagged as important by the sender, Peter, a fellow student. He’d placed second in our class.
> *BNRar51: @Axel. Health emergency’s come up. Won’t be able to make it to the ceremony.*
> *BNRar51: Top student’s supposed to do a speech, but her family took her to NF.*
> *BNRar51: You are third in line.*
> *BNRar51: were*.*
> *BNRar51: attached: speech.draft*
> *BNRar51: Good luck.*
I tried to respond, but all I got was that he’d already disconnected.
My next step wavered, and I bit back a groan. “You’ve gotta be-!”
Sending over several very vaguely implied expletives, I gave the document a quick check-over as I headed back to my station. I was fuming, glaring at the single-page block of text. It was bland, generic, and hollow, the kind you’d only get when you asked an AI to write it and didn’t even bother to put in details. No, worse, he hadn’t even changed the text-formatting!
If I ever got my hands on that piece of…!
I breathed in, holding it for a long few seconds. “Today’s going to be a good day,” I snarled through clenched teeth, stopping myself from slamming the cellular mesh into the tub (and potentially breaking it) at the last second.
My neuralink rang out a series of pings, all of them notifications from the academy. They were messages confirming that the task of being the “speaker” had now fallen on to my shoulders, and as I tried to go through it all, something caught my attention.
It was a list of important guests I was to reference and thank after the speech.
I’d gotten the list twice, and though at first I thought it was a mistake, I realized that the second one was an update barely a few minutes old, with an addition that hadn’t been there in the previous one.
Doctor Evelyn Moreau [VIP].
Her being the only VIP in the list was a little alarming, but I was entirely caught up by the feeling that I’d heard that name before somewhere. For the life of me, I wasn’t sure where or when.