The manual on exemplary behaviour for academy students had three very important things to say about my current situation. First, when working for an employer, one had to give their full attention to the task at hand. Second, it stressed that bothering managers to ask for permissions for things such as time off were to be avoided wherever possible. Third, a student had to perform their duties to the best of their ability, particularly if it involved people further up the NexCorp corporate hierarchy.
In effect, I had to create, study, and practice a speech. Which I couldn’t do while working, nor could I ask for leave to do so outside of work. But I also couldn’t flop the speech.
Seeing the conundrum of my current dilemma, I took it upon myself to use a secret rule that is always implied but never written: when in doubt, see which of the tasks involves the person with the highest authority.
> Doctor Evelyn Moreau [VIP].
VIP.
If no one else in the list had that tag, then did that mean she outranked even some of the middle-rank managers there? Or did it mean she was a participant that wasn’t there as a familial tie of one of the graduates?
It felt like there was enough wiggle-room with the interpretation that an AI reviewer wouldn’t flag anything. So I sent out a ping to my manager explaining my situation, making sure to copy my team-manager, and then just focusing on the meat obelisks.
I got my response after five minutes.
> *Team5Manag: *calling**
The abruptness caught me off guard. “Axel Garcia speaking.”
My team-manager’s voice was hesitant. “That’s a NexCorp VIP,” he said. “Do you have any clue what sort of trouble you’ve put me into!?”
“...no?” Nothing had been mentioned about corporate VIP’s in any of the training.
“Three secretarial AI’s escalated this to lower-middle-management, which got escalated to upper-middle. I just got thirty emails demanding I throw resources at your face and make ten different conference calls!”
I swallowed. “I just… have to prepare a graduation speech for the VIP, sir.”
“Then go do it!”
> *Team5Manag: *call ended**
> *Team5Manag: emergency-expense fund sent: $1,500.*
My eyes bugged out when I saw the sum that’d just been hot-dropped into my account. Instantly, there were a dozen different ways I could spend it. Food, for one. But my gaze hovered over the clock, it was three in the afternoon.
I knew what I was going to find, but I checked the exemplar manual again, hoping that, maybe, some part of it had been changed over the past few hours without me knowing.
> NexCorp Cause for Mild Penalty 1.2.1: Usage of emergency-funds for food without category 2 starvation status.
My neuralink, the infuriatingly crucial piece of equipment that it was, confirmed I was merely “hungry” and not starving. My stomach growled in protest of that claim, but I ignored it, chugging down more water.
“Just nine more hours.”
Nine more hours and the exemplar program would come to a close.
Until then… I’d just need to be creative about this.
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An electronic jingle signaled my entry into the store. The clerk raised her gaze from the screen where she was playing some connect-three game or another. The disappointment came half a second after. “Oh, it’s you.” Kali was never one to mince words, and she made a dismissive wave over her head. “I don’t have anything for you to clean today.”
Kali owned the dollar mart… I think. In the sense that if she wasn’t behind the counter, then the store was closed. We had a convenient thing going on, I’d show up to scrub the place once every other week, and she’d pay me with whatever pre-made meals were about to spoil. So you could say she was a bit of a saint on the down-low.
I approached with a smug grin. “Believe it or not, I am here as a client. One that’s in a bit of a rush.” I leaned over the counter. “I need my uniform cleaned and ironed. I’d also like to inquire about your coupons, specifically to rent a writer-AI with a speech-specialization module for a few hours. I need something that can mock-up a graduation speech.” As I said this, I made sure to draw a circle in the air outside my line of sight. “And I’d like to ask if all of this jumbled together might come with a complimentary meal?”
“Sir, this is a back-alley general store.” She arched her brow, tone half-humorous but entirely serious.
“And these are emergency funds.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Market-rates for my request are, according to the websites I’ve checked, roughly four hundred bucks for the whole package.” Of course, the websites I’d checked had the company brands slapped all over, they were just about the most expensive options I could’ve encountered.
“Then you’ve been scam-” She cut herself off, then nodded carefully as she glanced at my hand drawing the circle again. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I can throw a fifty-buck discount, to sweeten the deal.”
This was stretching interpretations and protocol, and I very much did not enjoy doing this any. But there was no way I would be able to handle this whole VIP business without a meal in my stomach.
I just hoped the interaction was fuzzy enough that any AI-review would not be able to raise any flags, after all, there was no proof I knew there were cheaper options.
“Great. I need everything done before seven.” I placed my uniform on the counter, sending over the agreed amount. “Any suggestions where I could get a haircut? Gotta look presentable for the big speech.”
“Why, the blender didn’t do a good enough job?” Kali chewed her lip, stifling a chuckle as she spared a glance at the mop of red hair atop my head. “Try the wash-and-dash place down the corner. The owner works as a hairdresser down at central during the weekends. You also need to get rid of some of that factory-floor smell, might as well.”
I sniffed my shirt, not catching the scent. Maybe I’d just gotten used to it… well, better safe than sorry. “Will do.”
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There was something about a hot shower that should be relaxing, but that the wash-and-dash did not provide. As the name implied, it was a place to quickly step in, strip, stand in a small cubicle, and get the full clean-cycle in under five minutes. Spray of warm water, spray of soap-shampoo mix, spray of rinse water, repeat if you paid premium (I had), and then get hot-air blasted from every direction to dry off. There was an extra-premium service that promised automated make-up and hair-care, but that was an option I skipped.
Despite the briefness of the service, or maybe because of it, the whole thing cost well beyond what I’d ever find reasonable. But I paid for it anyway because being as presentable as I could was within the purview of my current task (and the reason why I’d gotten the emergency funds to begin with).
“I don’t know what Gods you angered in your previous life, but their wrath knows no bounds.” The wash-and-dash owner commented as he released me from the chair. “I’ve done what I could, but this is a mess that’d take a week to properly domesticate.”
The haircut had been actually enjoyable and relaxing. Mister Echo definitely knew what he was doing, and didn’t rush an iota.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I didn’t mind, since I’d been using my neuralink to work on two things.
First was getting the damn writer-AI to spit out something that didn’t feel stolen out of an almanac (who uses “Cool” unironically in a graduation speech!?). And second was looking into doctor Moreau.
For a VIP, it was surprisingly hard to find anything about her. Usually they were more like celebrities, parading their status all over the place. Though in all honesty, I suspected my search-engine subscription was too low for it to bother linking me to any of the more “elite” parts of the internet.
The day I finally jailbroke my neuralink or at least upgraded it could not come soon enough.
Overall, the summary of her publicly-available achievements boiled down to having been a weapon’s designer for OmniDef twenty years ago. OmniDef being the military-applications branch of OmniCorp, the globe-spanning megacorporation. I couldn’t really find rhyme or reason for her to be considered a VIP, not from this. Reading between the lines, her relationship to OmniDef had been mostly contractual, so maybe she was being poached by NexCorp?
This was definitely well beyond my pay grade, but I just couldn’t shake off the feeling that I’d heard or read that name somewhere before.
“It is what it is.” I replied absently, taking a glance at my reflection. The mirror-screen shifted to show how I’d look once I got the academy uniform, and it was… weird. Not in a bad way, but it was obvious I couldn’t “clean up” well.
Good thing I had no plans on having to work anywhere that would matter.
Sending over the payment, I made my way back to Kali.
“Only six more hours.” I muttered. “Then today will be over.”
Now just to rent Kali’s storeroom, so I could get a chance to practice the speech somewhere relatively private. The latest iteration from the AI-writer was better than anything I could’ve cobbled together in such a short amount of time, and all I had to do was tweak things around while rehearsing.
Better not screw up what was likely the most important event in my life… Nothing to it!
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The tram screeched to a stop, and I tip-toed over a mysterious puddle of fluid as it tried to follow the laws of inertia towards the front of the vehicle. The air was crisp, with the sky having darkened just barely enough for the first streetlamps to flicker on. This was a nicer part of the city, so the streets were cleaner, and I couldn’t spot any suspicious piles of garbage waiting to pounce on me.
Between me and the academy stood a plaza with a set of statues in the middle, I’d been about to just breeze by, but stopped, half-caught in a thought as I stared at the bronze figure at the epicenter. It was of a meguca, well, all of them were, but this one was different. She didn’t sport some gimmicky costume or cosplay, instead wearing a set of pants and a heavy leather jacket.
> Gravis Aqua, savior of NexCorp Frontier City 02
The name was front and center on the plaque, but the rest of the text had been squeezed in at some point after the installation once the corporation had managed to put their name on the city.
Looking at the greenish bronze stirred mixed feelings; it would’ve been hard not to.
Except this time would be the last. After graduation, I would have no real reason to come back to this part of the city. Honestly, the further away from NexCorp’s corporate branches, the better.
“Well, look who’s here.” A sneer voice called out from behind me. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the grime.” A few chuckles followed the commentary.
I really should’ve walked off there and then, without looking back, except…
> NexCorp Cause for Minor Penalty 33.1.0: Ignoring a greeting from a superior.
“Hello, Terry,” I didn’t turn, keeping my eyes glued on the statue.
A fellow student, but technically already part of the corporate hierarchy, meaning he defaulted several steps above the average student. Myself included.
It was one of those details that I hadn’t learned about until four years after signing the contract. Had my life remained Terry-free for just one more, then it would have never been a problem. Unfortunately, Terry’s parents (Mr and Ms Clarke) had sent him far away from themselves, to “Frontier City 02”, probably because they found him as annoying as I did.
“Did someone accidentally leave a cleaning-droid near your pod?”
“No, Terry.” I kept my tone as droll and boring as I could make it, still not looking back. I wished I had a fast-forward function on my neuralink, but the ones that didn’t actually just knock you unconscious had too many zeroes attached to the price tag. “I thought you said you’d skip the graduation? Something about your own private party?”
“Exactly so. I’m just trying to convince some of your fellow stiffs this is a waste of time,” he said. “The only thing that matters is the slot assignments.”
Right, because those would be sent digitally.
I spared a glance at Terry. Much as I’d expected, he wasn’t wearing the academy uniform, having instead shown up in a fake-leather jacket sporting glowing neon blue trims. his hair implants were shifting colors between blue and white, and his shirt displaying the image of a sword on it. I couldn't readily recognize which gang it belonged to, but it was unmistakable that it belonged to one.
It also happened to be a different gang than the getup he’d worn a few weeks ago.
“Gang affiliation paraphernalia is not permitted within academy grounds,” I intoned.
The first time I’d pointed it out had been because it was protocol to inform your “superior” if they were about to break some rule or law. If only to give them the opportunity to reconsider.
Every iteration since that first one had been mostly to annoy him.
“You’d think a pod-worm would be less of a boot-licker,” he snickered, a sound mimicked by his peers.
Only the first part of the insult stung; it was an old wound.
There wasn’t such a thing as homelessness, not in the technical sense. Any city would have its fair share of G and F-class monsters slipping through cracks and making nests within sewers or abandoned buildings. Someone trying to live in the streets would sooner or later become food, which would make the monster stronger. If allowed to fester in such a way, they could start to evolve into higher classes and cause serious problems.
It was practically the one and only reason mega-buildings had “optimized, communal living areas” for anyone that was destitute. Such as any orphan that reached sixteen.
“I earned what I have,” I declared flatly as I turned to face him.
Terry chuckled, having finally gotten a proper reaction out of me. “You have nothing.”
I knew I shouldn’t answer that, that the best course of action was to just keep my mouth shut, nod along, and let him go on his way. Come tomorrow morning, I’d probably never see him again, and I would have more important things to be concerned about.
I didn’t stay quiet.
“Having nothing is still better than being a leech,” I said, intently glaring at him.
Terry was decked from head to toe in expensive clothes, and if the lump on his hip was what I suspected it to be, then he was even armed with an expensive gun. All paid for in full by his family, just so he could throw it away at whatever criminals happened to be trending on one of the socials.
His smile cracked ever so slightly, and I wondered whether he’d actually do anything today.
There was a great deal of annoyances Terry could get away with, but in a way I was protected. The very same AI overwatch that had kept me from telling him to suck sewage water through a moldy hose was also an irrefutable witness.
“Enjoy your five minutes in the spotlight. Tomorrow you’ll go back to being nobody.”
With a chuckle, he turned to leave, the others following close behind. It took several more seconds before I found the necessary calmness to unclench my fists. A million and one retorts rushed through my head, none of them pretty. Another minute and I’d calmed myself down enough for my shoulders to loosen up.
I’d ask what Terry’s deal was, but I’ve had my fair share of customer service part-time work. Some people just singled you out and made it their business to be your problem.
I was jolted back to reality with my clock buzzing off to warn me I didn’t have much time to idle around. So I made my way towards the academy. “Boot licker?” I chewed on the words as I stepped through the warm, temperature-controlled air of the building. I glared at the NexCorp globe logo above the lobby.
If I had an option to get what I wanted without the scholarship, I would’ve taken it years ago. But the corporation’s control over the city had spread so far over the past decade. That was the issue with frontier cities; more often than not, they’d been propped up and built as a monopoly. NexCorp practically ran “Frontier City 02”… and in most cases, literally did so.
Pushing aside my irritation, I marched over to the reception desk. The bot behind the counter pinged my neuralink to confirm my ID, and the gates opened for me, so I marched along.
“Four more hours and it’s done,” I muttered to myself. At this point, it was closer to a lifeline, keeping me sane and focused.
On the fifth floor, I stepped out and marched on to the small auditorium. The room was meant to have barely enough seats for the hundred-odd graduating students. It should have been at least at half occupancy by now.
And yet it was empty.
Save for one woman.
“Good afternoon,” She said with a corporate smile. “You must be Axel Garcia.”
The first thing that caught my attention were her eyes; the left one looked like someone had shoved a cylinder into her skull. The effect was slightly jarring, as if she had a monocle with a flat screen that showed the image of a normal eye. I was pretty sure I could see a dataport sticking out right above her cheekbone, though I immediately realized I had been caught staring.
Realization struck me all at once.
I recognized that eye.
It was like getting slapped across the face. The memory came in a flurry.
The alarms, the communal terror of the shelter, my aunt holding me tightly as I screamed and cried. The screen flickering with the face of the woman with a robotic eye, speaking of sacrifice and of hope and of the future, before calling forward the meguca that’d killed the B-class monster.
“You can call me Evelyn,” the older woman said. “But if you want to be a stiff, you can call me Doctor Moreau.” She cackled. “It was hard enough to earn the title, might as well polish it off.”