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I'VE HAD THAT DAY-DREAM AGAIN.
Day-mare is more likely.
A flash-mare? Not sure what to call these, really.
The AN.NET transmitter towers dotting this bloody city are making my life difficult, but not as difficult as the fact that everyone expects me to work 14 hours a day.
I seem to exist entirely on microsleep.
The latest episode of microsleep was a bizarre and psychedelic combination of impossible environments. I can't remember exactly how it went but there was something about living in a fish and then being chased out of its ribs by cake-shaped spiders?
Hah, I must have been really small to fit inside of a fish!
Ridiculous, I know!
...Wait, I can sort of remember it now.
The green eyed man-child-robot was responsible for getting me into the fish somehow... aided by the purple eyed girl? Or a purple-eyed man? Was that it?
I remember being really angry in my dream at the green eyed one, at the fish and at the whole situation. My hate for these characters within the dream even forced me to strangle my lunch, as soon as the flash of microsleep was over.
It's not a good sign when dreams start to infect my interactions within reality. Really not good...
70-04cc.jpg [https://github.com/alexiussssss/romac/blob/main/70-04cc.jpg?raw=true]
Someone just brought me paperwork to sign. Yes, paperwork. I'm that disabled! I still use paper, unlike modern humanity!
It sounded like it was a girl. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh at my misfortune. Trying... very poorly.
I heard the sound of her musical giggle as she departed. Her voice seemed familiar. I swear I heard it somewhere before... but where? Earlier today, maybe? Whatever.
I wiped the tuna sandwich off my face and stared at the papers on my desk.
I wouldn't want to report this 'sandwich incident' to my psychiatrist. I hope that the paper-bringing secretary doesn't report me.
If the Directorate finds out, they might delay my transfer to the Dead Zone tourism and that would be the worst. They might permanently disallow operation of heavy machinery and then there would be no way for me to get out of this awful place, where everyone makes fun of my disability... into the Dead Zone. Anyway, it's not like anyone will ever review my records. I'm not important enough. I barely exist.
I don't think my psychiatrist is even human, the way she talks, she could probably be just a recording or a very basic, dumb AI made for all cases like mine by the G-Directorate.
According to my psychiatrist though - the sleep issues and headaches should decrease as soon as I am outside the city.
And I will be the one in charge, so I can set my own hours!
Screw those tourists, they can learn to live under MY sleep schedule, instead of me trying to adapt to current society's insane standards and practices such as staying awake forever.
I really dislike what humanity has become. It's like everyone is a slave, addicted to the broadcasting wave.
I saw how ridiculous people react if the broadcasting signal is down. They can't talk or act. One of the scientists wrote a whole thesis on this matter, putting test subjects outside of broadcasting range and disallowing them to use personal transmitters with satellite reception.
The test subjects didn't know what to do with themselves. Those who stored 99% of their memories within the net, had troubles recollecting who they were and what they did without the search engine to aid their minds. This experiment had of course given the scientist a ginormous grant to build more transmitter towers and satellites. Self perpetuating insanity! It's like someone up top wants people to become machines.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The longer everyone spends online, the less human and self-reliant they become.
Mark my words, someday those fools will lose their own identities within the net!
...
As I went through the papers I discovered a whole stack of absurdity. I read through it and remembered what it was about... right. Of course. This was an ongoing problem.
The papers delivered to me were once again about "PROJECT SEVEN", a project lead by an an egghead engineer Dr. Gromov.
Dr. Gromov proposed finding the luckiest human being on the planet through the use of ANNET's search engine by scanning billions of humans, to dig through their memories for such an individual using something called the "total grid."
At first, Dr. Gromov's writing was excellent and consistent. The thesis was an idea that statistics run the world and that the person who can understand all statistics will understand exactly how the world functions and exactly how humans as a species can be saved from destruction. Dr. Gromov looked for loopholes in statistical data, links between human interactions throughout history, anything that could be used as a tool of control, the ultimate lever if you will... that according to the doctor "balanced the universe."
The report descended into ridiculous ramblings about:
a)Finding a Super that exists outside of time
and
b)The grid becoming unstable and unpredictable, almost like a nervous system of a mega-mind that spanned the entire planet, users becoming neuron cells for a self-aware entity.
Endless series of tests were listed. All of them were haphazardly conducted (thanks to the corporation rushing the project).
The tests were poorly documented (thanks to the horrid bureaucracy of the Directorate) and showed a complete disregard for safety of the test facility, failure to report to superiors, and inability to explain anything about what actually occurred.
There was a lot of test documentation attached and all of it read like the ramblings of a raving lunatic.
I sat down on my computer and typed out a complaint:
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REPORT FROM THE DESK OF CHARLES SNIPPY:
I hereby report that it is unbecoming and unprofessional for a Lead Engineer, major Directorate shareholder and Administrator in control of the AN.NET database, to believe in "Super-heroes that walk among humans", "Search-engine-self-awareness" and other nonsense.
AN.NET is just a neural interface and search database and not "a living, thinking entity", which Dr. Gromov fondly calls "my girl, Annie" in the report.
Subject Seven is not a "super-hero who is going to save the world from certain doom."
If anything Seven is a bumbling moron who breaks everything. Yet, according to the report you keep delivering complex machinery like candy to this test subject.
Has anyone ever bothered to check Seven's IQ?
Who authorized giving a test subject a high rank and access to the data-banks including all 3rd level facilities?
Was that really necessary?
Do you people never bother to read Insurance agency reports?
Do you know how many machines Seven broke already? Why is subject Seven's idiocy have to be impacted on the salary of everyone in Cube 15? I've never met subject Seven, yet somehow I keep ending up with reports about it, like it's somehow my fault that Seven is breaking everything in Cube 15. Seven is not my responsibility!
Why the hell does everyone let subject Seven carry a cup full of hot tea around electronics?
I sincerely hope that my report reaches you before my transfer to the "Dead Zone Tourism Industry" branch.
What is up with the papers that come through my desk about Dr. Gromov's ridiculous experiments: "stopping gravity", "confusing the universe" and "bending time"?
If Dr. Gromov and his insane test subjects blow up Cube 15, I cannot be held responsible/accountable for it, especially if you do not review and respond to this report!
Seriously, I don't know who's bringing or sending these to me, but you need to stop!
Sincerely,
Charles Snippy
Clerk # 04477645
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As I went downstairs to file some paperwork, I had a strange encounter on the elevator.
When I got on, there was someone else inside: a trench-coat-wearing individual with a military cap and gaskmask on. I only saw their back and instantly felt the oddest sense of tingling familiarity towards this person.
"Do we know each other?" I asked.
"NOT YET!" The trenchcoat waved me off and marched out of the other side of the elevator with the doors sliding shut before I could ask anything else.
What an oddball.
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I found more paperwork on my desk when I returned. It was about my transfer!
70-04nn.jpg [https://github.com/alexiussssss/romac/blob/main/70-04nn.jpg?raw=true]
Yes! My transfer to D.Z.R.T. was finally approved!
I've never felt so much joy, standing on the outskirt of Eureka and facing the Dead Zone. Breathing through my respirator felt like a relief... a relief from stupid paperwork, stupid coworkers and stupid pranks about mugs.
Ironically, the Dead Zone was my only relief from my daydreams and nightmares. There are no AN.NET transmitter towers out here, except for the mobile transmitter in the All Terrain M.A.G.S. Vehicle, but it works like ass. The tourists whine about how they can't constantly mind-text to each other and have to resort to the "outdated" methods of "moving your lip muscles to communicate".
I felt so happy that I even wrote my tour-group a poem:
I will show you the World.
Scorched earth, shattered splendor.
Tell me, tourists, now when did
You last let your hearts decide?
I can open your eyes
Take you wonder by wonder
From the mountains of garbage,
To the glowing green seas.
A whole new world
Where the dead cities sleep.
We shall visit them now,
On an all terrain vehicle ride.