“Honey, look,” I say, pulling down the old jar stuffed with score chips. “We’ve got two hundred points saved up, and we’re not in any danger. We just need to wait to use them when we’re sure our scores are locked in place. Let’s just watch the news and lay low for a few days,” I say.
“Are you working tomorrow?” Vivian asks between sobs.
“I need to call my boss; I’m not sure yet.” It’s a good question, and I’m not sure how all of this will affect Rogers Shipping, a Precinct Corporation.
I push a button on my phone, and the TV in our apartment flickers to life.
The same man from before, the representative from McGuire Mercantile walks on screen, wearing the same expensive suit and wearing the same fake smile.
“Tiffany, at McGuire Mercantile, we’re devoted to providing the best living experience possible for all of our citizens. We’re investigating a bug in the Corporate Mainframe right now that might be inflating citizen scores above what we’d like to see. While we aren’t changing the Threshold, we are delaying the weekly cullings until we’re sure everything is as it’s supposed to be. User scores that appear high may be brought back down once we’ve completed our investigation, but we’d like to remind everyone that they won’t be reimbursed for any purchases.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “You hear that, Vivian? We’re going to be fine, it’s a bug,” I say.
“A possible bug,” she corrected, still teary-eyed.
“The Corporate Police are reporting that most of its officers assigned to the east side have scores above one hundred now. Would you consider culling the Police responsible for carrying out the cullings themselves?” Tiffany asks.
“As part of the Big Five, McGuire Mercantile works hard to offer competitive rates and lobby for better benefits for our law enforcement. We’d like to take a moment to remind you, and the viewers, that everyone in the country is subject to the same culling laws, even you and I, Tiffany. While we don’t want to see our officers exceed the Threshold, they’re not exempt from the law. That being said, McGuire Mercantile is working hard to boost the benefits for our law enforcement officers in this dark hour,” he says.
“How are they going to cull people if they don’t have officers to do it?” Vivian asks me.
“They’re not culling anyone until this is worked out,” I say, trying to focus on the TV.
“We’re increasing law enforcement presence on the streets and want to remind everyone that crime will not be tolerated and will be subjected to harsh point penalties as usual. If a crime penalty would push a citizen above a score of two hundred, they’ll be killed on the spot. As a reminder, we encourage you to work with your employers to do business as usual and stay in the city. Transfers to other cities will be subject to a 25% score conversion fee, so moving will only make things worse,” the man says.
“Like we could move cities anyway,” I say, grabbing Vivian’s hand. She's still crying, and I need to distract her. "How about I cook us up a nice dinner and we can settle down for the evening, maybe watch a movie,” I offer.
“What would you make?” she asks.
I raise my finger and walk over to the pantry. “How does spicy-peanut street noodles sound?” I call over my shoulder.
“Perfect."
I grab the ingredients from the pantry, placing them on the counter and taking out the heavy pot from one of the cabinets below. It had taken a long time for Lon to give me his street noodle recipe, but after years of patronage to his noodle cart, he had finally given in, making me promise to still come see him from time to time.
I fill the pot with water and grab a smaller pan from below, adding the oil and peanut butter and stirring in some powdered garlic. The aromas begin to flood the apartment as the oil and peanut butter mix with the garlic and red pepper flakes. I stir in Lon’s proprietary blend of spices and add the noodles to the now boiling water.
“Smells good, Mike,” Vivian says, still fixated on the TV.
“Any updates?” I ask.
“It’s just the same stuff, no one knows what’s going on,” she says.
“Have you talked with any of the neighbors?” I ask as I turn the burners down.
“No, I was too scared,” she says. “I know I would technically have a week from when I exceeded the Threshold, but I was paralyzed with fear,” she says, leaning back on the couch. “Can you pour me a glass of wine?”
“Of course,” I say, pulling down a glass and uncorking a bottle of cheap red. I fill her glass and walk over to her.
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As I’m walking away, she grabs my arm and pulls me into a kiss. “I love you, Mike. Thanks for taking care of me,” she says, managing a smile. I smile back and return to the stove, the noodles are almost done, and my stomach is growling now. It smells delicious, and I’m always impressed with the versatility and cost-effective nature of Lon’s recipe.
I finish cooking and cut the power to the burners, pulling the pot off the heat and scooping the noodles into two bowls. I pour a glass of wine for myself and walk over to Vivian, topping off her glass and bringing the noodle bowls over before sitting on the couch next to her. She scoots over to sit closer to me, and I give her a smile, trying to focus on her rather than the news of uncertainty that continues to play in the background.
“What movie do you feel like watching?” I ask. Just as I say it, the screen flashes and the ‘breaking news’ tag appears in bold font.
“We’re receiving a live update from 4th street in Central. A mob has formed to protest prices, increasing personal scores, and lack of corporate transparency,” Tiffany says.
The representative from McGuire Mercantile raises his phone to his ear, walking off screen. Tiffany tries to stop him, but he’s already off the set, refusing to comment.
“Can we turn this off?” Vivian asks.
“Hold on; we need to see what’s going on,” I say.
A camera from Drone 2 displays on the screen and the camera pans to the scene. Hundreds of people are swarming in front of the Central Corporate Government building, waving signs and makeshift weapons in the air.
“Corporate Police are deploying tear gas, and are wearing full riot gear. They’ve set up a penalty boundary in front of the building that will increase personal scores if crossed. They haven’t announced the penalty, but the tear gas seems to be leaking from the front into the crowd,” Tiffany says.
“Mike, please,” Vivian says, tearing up again.
“Vivian, we need to see this,” I say, trying to focus on the screen and not get frustrated with Vivian.
I turn back to the TV; someone is exiting the building, holding their coat over their head and wearing a gas mask. Police are huddled close to the man, walking him toward his car that’s waiting on the curb about thirty feet away. Someone in the crowd throws something, a rock, a piece of concrete? I can’t tell. The projectile sails through the air and hits the man on the head, he drops to the floor, raising his hands to protect himself from the attackers.
More things start flying through the air, and the Police start shooting tear gas canisters into the swarming crowd. Someone in the crowd jumps over the barricades, swinging a metal baseball bat in a wide arc. The bat connects with one of the Police in riot gear and causes him to stagger back. The light on the barricade flashes, penalizing the man that jumped it. I watch with horror as one of the Corporate Police moves forward, blasting the man in a chest with a shotgun. From the visceral explosion of red mist, there’s no question of the lethality of the weapon.
Vivian screams and recoils on the couch. “Mike, turn it off!” she shrieks.
“Look away,” I yell, grabbing the remote before she can turn it off. I need to see this.
No one else charges over the barricades, and the crowd starts to lose coherence, falling apart as the clouds of gas expand. The camera zooms in on the body laying on the ground. Blood is pooling around it, and the Corporate Police move in to cover it, still pointing weapons into the disbanding crowd. One of them points at the news drone, and another shoots it down, the camera shot splintering with cracks and blurring before it goes black.
Vivian is crying again, and I turn off the TV, pulling out my phone and setting Corey’s RSS retrieval app to pull news articles and deliver it to my phone, so I can stay up to date without disturbing Vivian.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I say.
My phone buzzes. ‘Mandatory curfew enabled from 11PM-5AM. Violators will be penalized. All work from employees that commute within that timeframe has been suspended. Workers are encouraged to work with their supervisors to see if corporate housing is a good option for them.’
I turn on a movie, it’s one we’ve already seen, but Vivian enjoys the distraction. I can’t help but worry about everything, and I know Vivian is scared too. There’s nothing we can do right now, and I’d rather not go out until everything settles down. Without the overtime I was hoping to get by working the graveyard shifts, we’re not going to be well off. Moving into corporate housing isn’t an option, especially with Vivian pregnant and expecting our daughter in the next two months.
I wrap my arm around Vivian, pulling her in and kissing her cheek. “I love you,” I whisper. She kisses me back then rests her head on my shoulder.
My phone buzzes again, it’s a text from my friend Corey. ‘Mike, I think I found a way for us to get out of this mess. Still researching, and it needs to be a last resort for us. Message me when you read this, and we can meet up. Delete message once you’ve read.’