The second of February 2115. The Atlantic Republic; Coast of Madagascar; Seapoint 5872
“Another day, another dead body to scrape off the floor,” A soft-spoken man told Garrick, John his three-month to-be colleague and partner in the Penal Cleaning Unit. “Or how would you put it, partner?”
“I’d say I wanna get wasted, hit a sim, and doze off to hallucinogenic pleasures.”
Garrick has been with this man since the day he’d been sent to work under penal duty assigned by the government. Each of them was sent here for a crime of their own. Forced to work off the social credit, their way of 'Paying back society.'
Both of them had a bowl filled with mildly flavoured mineral paste. It was bland to be honest, practically textureless mush but contained everyone known vitamin man consumed, a superfood as the government had dubbed it. Garrick smeared the paste on the insides of two pieces of toasted bread. He also put inside a slice of artificial cheese. To make it seem like a proper punishment, the state made sure to feed you bullshit that normal people were never meant to consume.
He took a bite out of it. Chewed extensively to break it down, as the mush was too uncomfortable to swallow down in whole. Scarfing it down immediately would make him more than nauseous.
“You like the morning meal?”
“Tastes like shit.”
“As it should,” John said, smiling at him.
John took it straight out of the bowl and into his mouth. He couldn’t understand how the man could stomach it without any additives. It has almost 2 months of doing penal service, only eight more to go and he would be free of this totalitarian shit.
“What's your quota for the day.”
It was always the same question, Garrick would prefer to shut up, and quietly serve out his sentence. But John and the crew of the suite had other plans, eager to instill a sense of camaraderie, and a sense of community. Though he never bought it, as he knew it was just a pretension they put on to build up could score with the overseer and their machines. Just more social credit.
What a fucked up society
“Hmmm 20 points…a little lighter than yesterday,” he said. Talking with his mouth still stuffed with mush.
“Though I did get reprimanded by the machines for not prioritizing military equipment and munitions. You’d think finding dog tags would be more important.”
“Dog tags won’t win the war. If you ain't 'contributing', then your life ain't worth nothin.” John said.
Garrick simply shook his head. His attention was locked on the cup of coffee, John hadn’t touched. Fatigue had kicked in, he couldn’t get much sleep last night. Someone was making a ruckus in a worker's compound in the middle of the night or was it early morning? He didn't even want to think what it was about. As every crime under the sun happened, when the lights were turned off.
“Are you planning on drinking that?”
John passed the coffee over.
“Take it if you like, I'm perfectly fine without all that hyper-caffeinated stuff. If there’s one thing I learned while living on the farm, it is that living a healthy life is more than a blessing. The stuff they're feeding us is unnatural poison.”
Farmlife. It sounded like heaven, devoid of the strict rulings enforced by a mega city, and utterly isolated from the chaos. Garrick could only wonder about it.
“Sounds nice, pity I can't relate.”
“Well if you both make it out here in one piece, you’re welcome to come find refuge there, my family will welcome you as long as you're willing to do some honest work.
“Maybe.”
*ALERT*ALERT*ALERT*ALERT*
Red alarms started blaring in the room, and a couple of annoying loud sirens went off. A voice on the intercom above the heads announced an immediate command they had to execute.
“All cleaning units to their transport.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Well shit, get ready for a chance to get shot at.” John complained.
Garrick dunked down all the coffee in one swoop. He could feel the fatigue mildly disappearing, and he became hyper-energized. It was like experiencing an adrenaline rush. Without the need to overexert himself.
A hovering drone entered the room. It resembled a massive eyeball with lots of metallic tentacles hanging out of its hull below it. Each metal tentacle had a different tool attached to it. Different tools for different uses, such as fixing any malfunctioning or sabotaged part of the gulag, or perhaps enforcing the rules should they not comply with executive orders. A deadpan cutesy female voice escaped from it. A happy Cartoonish emoji is displayed on the screen like an eyeball.
“Good morning John, Good morning Garrick. I hope you had a great morning, Urgent dispatch is in effect please comply within the next 60 seconds. Sixty…Fifty-nine…Fifty-eight.”
They both jumped up from the seat, strapped on the overall jackets, and made to leave the room.
As Garrick passed the machine, he started getting pissed off. Angered by the existence of the metal contraption, telling him what to do. Oh, how he wanted to smash the fucking thing into bits of silicon and fried circuits beyond repair.
What waste of metal
The machine blocked him from leaving, john stopped for a moment, peering back but resumed running outside. Not wanting to get caught in the immediate crossfire. The machine put a round instrument on his chest. There was no way around this he would have to comply.
“Garrick, I'm detecting a sudden mood shift. Do you require additional medication besides your daily dose of enhanced caffeine?”
“No…I’m fine.” he lied to the flying drone. The last thing he needed was to be put on anti-depressants or happy medicine. ”Just a bit tired, cleaning an active warzone is stressful, you understand right.”
“Of course, battlefields are stressful environments. Which is why you need decent morale in your life. So Garrick go!!! DO YOUR BEST TODAY!!!”
The image on the screen changed, now resembling a round emoji with its fist pointed in the air. The machine did his best to encourage him. Its tentacles waving into the air, imitating the emoji on screen, like an autonomous cheerleader. He did his best to fake and smile and to act encouraged. Clench his fist in the air.
“You’re right, today will be a great day. Everything will be alright.” lying through his teeth.
“Your credit score has been raised by 2 Points, and only 1350 points are left for a special reward, now get going young worker.”
It pointed him to the hallway. And He fled the room.
Talk about dodging a bullet had he stuck around for any further examinations he’d be punished by the machine in some way or the other. Here, under penal supervision. Lying through your teeth is the only way to get by.
As he went outside the dormitory. He took note of the large number of penal workers hustling their way through the longways. Guards with fully automatic smart rifles on high alert, patrolling ordering. This many people at work meant some serious shit was going down. He hoped his luck would work today, yesterday he nearly stepped into a minefield.
He did his best to catch up with his comrade. As he reached the hangar lot’s heavy carrier Vtol ships were already taking off. The heavy ones, likely carrying soldiers to their destinations. He forced his way through the bustling crowd of military and staff personnel.
“Garrick, get your ass over here!” A man shouted from an exposed smaller Vtol carrier.
It was his supervisor, strapped in full military gear. A very large pistol in his hand. He waved it carelessly in Garrick’s direction, putting him on the edge. He hurried inside. John was already there waiting for him, and in the process of putting his bulletproof nest on. Kevlar 2419, it could stop any small arm, the same couldn’t be said if the bullet touched your face. As part of the logistics department, they didn't receive full body armor.
Garrick immediately did the same, not wanting to incur his officer's wrath, the heavy weight of the kevlar vest bearing down on him. Placed his hand on a locker that was welded inside the small carrier. A small needle, that he believed was less than zero point one millimeter. It didn’t hurt but he hated the feeling of his blood being drawn.
>Checking user Identity.
>Scanning user Fingerprints
>Scanning user DNA
>Scanning user Identity
>Verifying
He hated every moment of this. Surveillance was bad enough, but security checks every time he did so much as take a shit. He would be confronted by another form of machine. If he could run away, he would.
There were about eight of them inside the Vtol carrier, including the officer. All of them were ‘Janitors’ as they were dubbed by the military. Cleanup and retrieval crew. They were equipped with guns just in case.
“Alright gentlemen, you know the drill. Starting with priority one. Prioritize body retrieval, live ones if you happen to stumble upon a living soldier. Make personnel retrieval your first and possibly last objective.” The officer grunted and took a cigar out of his backpack. “And in this order Intelligence documents,, ammunition, weaponry, Dog tags, mine clearance…”
The officer rambled on, and Garrick sighed aloud.
They could have given him any job. Latrine cleaning, licking radioactive dust off the ground. Fighting gangs. No, instead they make him a janitor in a literal warzone.’
John put his hands on his shoulder. Garrick turns and finds him holding his thumb. An optimistic and happy smile on his face. He wished he could learn to be that happy.
“Failure to fulfill a minimum of 4 criteria-based performance objectives will result in a penalty for your sentence. Success will result in a reduction of your sentencing. Remember Do not run. Do not desert. You will be fired on at will. Do not relay information to the enemy you will be severely tortured. Do not smuggle any identifiable items belonging to a dead comrade. You will be drastically punished…”
Garrick did his best to shut out the annoying list of do’s and don’ts. He had heard it every day for the two months. He got the memo. Though he will never forget the way the state has treated him, he will always hold it against them.
Then there was the matter of his crime, he was not even supposed to be here. Being in the wrong place and the right time sure has its consequences. If he gets out of here, he is sure as hell gonna flee the Atlantic Republic. The grass is hopefully greener elsewhere. Hopefully.
The engines of the vehicle started to come to life. Idling Rotor blades slowly and collectively become increasingly faster over time. The turbulence stressed him out.
“All good?!” the pilot asked from the cockpit.
“You boys are good!” the officer asked, a sneaky undertone, that was probably frustration in his tone.
“All good! Sir!” they all shouted in unison.
You have been awarded One social credit for unifying compliance, keep it up workers of the state. The voice of an artificial intelligence program said over the ship's comm.
Social Credit plus 1. A ping he could see in the wristband that was forced on his arm.
How encouraging
As the VTOL took off. He stuck to his seat. But peered below him as they left the hanger. Sticking his head out of the open window, taking in the smell of the ocean below. The Ultramarine blue in some places, turquoise in some. The beaches under him, he could not reach. All beautiful, all without reach.
Perhaps one day he would be free.