I’d seen him die.

I’d seen him die right below me, and there was nothing I could’ve done about it.

I’d yelled. 

I’d screamed. 

Nobody would listen. He still died.

I wanted to feel something. Anything. Sometimes you just sit there, wondering what you’re supposed to be feeling when something as surreal as a co-worker diving himself headfirst under a Heavy Loader happens. You also wonder why he’d been singing a jingle. It had been about Dumplings, a common advert for the cantina food.

Advertisement even in a time of death. Was it weird to be craving food at a time like this? I dunno. Maybe...I was still processing I think.

Our direct Supervisor had seemed understanding, even taking the time to come out of The Offices to personally tell me to take the rest of the night off. His symmetrically perfect face, white teeth and impossible smile had been shifted to an expression of empathy and kindness as he watched me struggle to get out of the harness, angling to guide me with a firm hand toward the exit and away from the scene with a few soft spoken words. It seemed like a blessing at the time, I was nowhere near the right mindset to continue for the next minute let alone the remainder of our extended shift so I’d logged out and turned in my work board before trudging homeward.

Bravado aside, that had been the first time I’d ever personally seen someone die- At least directly. Even the fact it had been someone like...well I didn’t want to think about it really.

It was cold. Bitterly so, which was normal for this time of year. City 17 was fortunate to be near the Southernmost tip of the Peninsula. I’ve heard rumors of the Cities far North of us requiring breathing masks to keep the moisture from freezing in their lungs. Thinking about it, I felt a sudden chill and began to shiver violently.

The next breath came out more forcefully. I watched this time as the vapor formed and condensed into a wispy cloud which rose into the harsh glare of the overheads, temporarily turning opaque and muting out the neon lights of the Spire’s exterior. The trio of towers formed the Core of City 17, Corporate Centers for a Global War Project, “Destined to Save the Best and Brightest Humanity had to offer.”

That’s what the decades old advertisements used to say anyway.

The Port was one of the few locations where any of the Glow residents even had a shot at working for Corp-Scrit in hopes of eventually getting a living Visa and the right to live inside. Inside meant Better, with a capital B. Better Food. Better Water. Better Heat. Better Power. Better Peace of Mind. Deeper meant safe. Higher? The Executive Elite, membership to an exclusive club which included less security, but better views and, “...oh so much personal space you’d wonder if you’d died and gone to heaven.” At least that’s what my Supervisor used to brag as he mingled with the down-cast and hopefuls like me. On the rare occasion he ever graced our presence like he had today; I suppose he wasn’t all that bad.

The neon lights of the three Corporate logos of the Spire’s Sponsoring Three shone like a ray of hope, their shapes fading in and out slowly due to the late shift low-power modes. From where I was standing, they still seemed impossibly tall despite the Hundreds of Thousands of souls somehow calling them Home. For Most people? They end up somewhere in the middle, exactly where anyone with logic could see people like myself needed to aim: Closer to the ground, lower the class and, "Stuck in the muck,” as my dear old dad used to say. I often wondered what he’d think about my lofty kingdom right now. 

In my case, Home meant Non-Spire Housing for transient workers, or “The Pod People Village,” as I’d heard the higher ups say when they forgot we were hanging above them on shift. After six, long years I had finally been graded into a Class Ten position. One step away from finally being out of the cramped, dis-repaired and low powered NS-Housing Pods, which, if I were totally honest, were still leaps and bounds better than where I had grown up in the Capsule Bays.

Rumor had it, the Pods were originally meant to be stacked and used as emergency housing in low atmosphere environments--before the Colonization Ban was put into effect. The squat, faded and cheaply made units were like six meter sized PlayCrete Building Blocks. Uniform of size and designed to snap together so connections for heat, power and light could be more easily managed with metal walkways connecting the entryways and various levels. From the outside they looked everything like the shipping containers I’d been busy scanning and labeling before...the event. It was an odd realization I’d never made connection before now; They were practically identical. 

Huh.

Keying the outer door, I tapped the small recessed multi-function panel which acted as the Pod's exterior interface. The display shifted to a representation of the cycle process as it accepted my Ident. A set of gauges representing the internal, inner lock, and external ambient conditions slid around each other as the lock processed the environmental states between inside and outside to work the magic of letting me in.

From the outside, the system was near silent as red glows became green glimmers, and with a tone I was eventually notified the outer door was ready to open. The entire process served an important purpose: Efficiently keeping internal conditions from being wasted with Efficiency being the key takeaway. Less Space, Less Waste. 

As the outer door opened, I was presented to a somewhat cramped vestibule, only marginally big enough for two people to squeeze into. 

Shaking off old thoughts, I stepped inside and keyed the inner door process as the outer door closed. The gauges did their balancing act as frigid air was pumped out to equalize to Pod living conditions and warm, damp air pressed against my face. 

The inner door opened. 

The smell of clean moisture and Lavender surrounded me, intermingling with a whiff of my scarf, which I'd unraveled subconsciously upon arriving home, and I was then reminded how much I wanted to wash off the daily crud from working the docks before...the event. 

I let out a soft sigh as I took a deep breath, beginning to relax from the lavender smell of her soap. The scent meant comfort and home. The moisture in the air and the lack of lights meant it was highly likely Dora had returned early from work, taken a shower and gone to sleep. While Dora might hate the thought of us calling the sanitation unit a “shower”-- more of a warm, very weak spray than anything. Her turning in early was a common occurrence when things were going well, and if the cycling of the lock hadn’t stirred her, she had to be as tired as I felt. 

Habitually, I scooped off my bag, extending my arm outward. My aim was to be quiet: Better to tell her everything in the day rather than wake and bother her tonight.

All chances of being quiet failed. 

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Fully expecting the hook by the doorway catch the strap as normal, I let go and a thunk echoed throughout the Pod with all the subtlety of a brick hitting a drone. The bag landed in a pile on the floor at the speed of gravity and I froze in shocked surprise as my brain caught up to the bag being the source of the noise. 

An apology was already on my lips in anticipation of the sleepy murmurs, or shocked yell I'd expected from Dora. Instead, the room remained mostly silent. 

The environment cycler clicked slowly on, filling the room with a steady hiss of warm air being pumped into the room. I began to sweat. 

It remained eerily silent.

Odd... I thought to myself.

“Hab-E...lights?” I said quietly to the automated environmental controller.

The lights, opposite their normal pre-programmed behavior of gradually increasing to 20% in increments, snapped on. Instantly. 

I yelped, stumbling in surprise as I slipped in a puddle and went down hard. My elbow banged into the kitchen counter as I tried desperately to cover my eyes with both hands to try to block out the sudden illumination. The full 100% output overloaded my cheap ocular implants and hit my cortex like an icy spike of sudden pain. 

“Hab-E! Lights to Twenty Percent!” I shouted from the ground. 

The environment system acknowledged with a trill and lowered the lighting. I sat there for a moment, a sliver of worry beginning to slowly grow in the pit of my stomach to the size of a small boulder. 

I hadn’t heard Dora say anything. The Pod was still silent.

The room slowly came into view in patches as my vision returned. I sat up too quickly, banging my head again, but choosing to ignore it. 

Now lit by a cold and harsh bluish tint the room was somehow much more gray than I’d anticipated and that was concerning. 

For a fleeing moment, I had the bewildered sense I’d mixed up unit blocks, challenged by my Ident-Code, which was displayed in green on the upper right hand corner of the entry display. Lacking any additional warning messages about intrusion, alarms, or emergencies; all systems appeared to be normal.

Sqwincing up at the display, I confirmed the unit number was the correct one and blinked a few times to ensure my vision was working correctly.

I turned my attention back to the rest of the room, still feeling so many things weren’t adding up. The first and most notable thing became apparent: A distinct lack of anything on the walls to cover the exposed piping, conduit and electrical lines in the utilitarian pod. 

Now that definitely WASN’T normal.

The Pod design was meant to be universal, allowing a pod to convert from one mode to another quickly with the right tools, materials and modules. Dora, never the fan of utilitarianism in anything, had made it her life’s mission to shape our pod into a homely environment. A standard living Pod’s layout had areas with all the spatial qualities of a booth connected to other booths and she'd taken it as a personal affront on her womanly sensibilities.

The primary issue with the Pod’s Modular design: There was only ONE module configuration designated for housing. 

Rather than engineer methods of sealing off sections with accompanying methods for ensuring environmental controls and functions, the designers simply implemented height dividers between the kitchen, sanitation, and co-functional sleeping/working modules. The units all had a specific orientation for hook-ups, a few small areas for utilitarian customizations, and...little else. The partitions, specifically, annoyed the ever-living hell out of Dora. Her biggest gripe had always been the lack of coverage, as they only covered three quarters of the space from floor to roof. With our height, it meant everyone could and would be visible from where we stood anywhere in the unit, and I'd laughed about it a few times until she'd made it clear she didn't find it funny.

“Soulless,” had been the term she had used for it. On a mission of comfort, she had pushed every spare Corp-scrit we managed to scrape together into outfitting every flat and exposed surface with cloths, silks and textiles to make for a more homey feel. Utilizing an array of hooks, magnets and polyline acting as guy-lines between the sections, she managed to form the illusion of walls and privacy. 

"Small things; Large payoffs, Owen!" She'd teasingly say to me in that mischievously cute way. Her green eyes would flash in amusement. 

Right now? Everything I could see was missing. 

Hooks, Lines...(my stomach) was Sinkers.

Without the usual mix of coverings to block the head-height emptiness, I had a straight view through an oddly placed, thin-lined view port which took up the top portion of the back wall. I’d only ever seen the room look like this twice: Once when we moved in, and before that when we moved out of our older, smaller block unit.

The lack of the cloths, silks and artwork meant the exposed piping, conduit and duct working which normally would be hidden, were now laid bare. The harshness of the reset lighting, also didn’t help the look any either. “Soulless” was right. It did seem rather drab and more than a little depressing from where I was seated. The entire room had the feeling of someone preparing it for a new occupant, only I hadn't gotten the memo.

I stood, examining the different areas around me for further clues. Trying to fight down the trill of panic which risked taking over.

Several puddles like the one I’d slipped in, as my throbbing elbow reminded me, were still pooled in different places around the locker-like shower/sanitation combo unit. Also missing was the the synthsheet we’d placed there to act as a barrier and curtain to limit such instances.

Noted.

The sole power output port positioned above a rickety slide-out table and seat in the kitchenette was notably also bare. The designated cradle for the multi-use adapter for our charging systems sat empty.

Also noted.

The rattling combo food cooler/protein pack dispenser was still, as usual, unloaded. The unit buzzed and wheezed, reminding me we hadn’t had anyone to look at it yet.

Nothing new there.

The sleeping area. Mostly just a slide-out bunk which stowed when not in use. Empty.

Clothing Storage and Closet. Empty.

Uh...

The worried feeling grew.

Desk and work area, just a seat and a slide-out tabletop with a few storage bins. Mostly gone. Majority of those remaining bits just pieces and parts from upgrading my Cortex Rig. The Rig itself? Missing--Well shit.

I extended the desk seat and sat down, trying to give myself some time to think, but was interrupted by a messaging beep from the lock. A dull incoming message notice blinked on the door display.

A few minutes to cycle the lock, continue to look around in bewilderment until it opened, and I walked out to receive it. The coldness of the air hit me like a knife, as I struggled to cover my face with the now musty scarf dangling around my neck like a crusty noodle to keep my lips from drying out and cracking. 

  Man I need to wash this thing, I thought as a palm sized drone flashing a green light hovered in front of me. With a buzz, it scanned my bio-signature via the Uniform’s Ident-Chip and with a different warble it spit a semi-transparent Filiscrit sheet onto the railing. The sheet flapped dangerously as it stuck, precariously ready to flip over and away into the dark night as the air made it rattle.

I had to scramble forward to keep it from fluttering out of reach, just barely catching it with my fingertips before it flipped free. The drone had disappeared without a sound, having already gotten it’s proof of receipt, not caring if I actually read it or not. 

Wondering what message would justify sending a messenger drone this late at night, I sighed, regretting the action as my nose was again assaulted by the scarf's pungent scent, before stepping back into the lock and beginning the close cycle. 

Flipping over the sheet between my fingers so I could actually read it, I froze at the words Termination Notice written in bold red letters across the top. I had been fired, and worse? My girlfriend, Pandora, was missing.

Now what?