adamcarvosso

Right, this is the latest work I've done for my English Writing Course. It kind of falls apart around the halfway point, because I was a bit rushed for time and space (2000 word limit, I accidentally did 2400).

Anyway:


Lying face down on the pillow, he went through his futile nightly routine of trying to drift off into oblivion. His doctor assured him that he couldn't die from insomnia, but he wasn't entirely sure this could be called living. You're never really asleep, but you're never really awake either - perpetually fatigued, frequent headaches, a constant feeling that everything is distant, that you're viewing actions rather than participating in them. Then, of course, there were the daylight hallucinations, in varying degrees of believability. The trick was realising when he was hallucinating; he had a pretty sharp eye for noticing when objects weren't accelerating downwards at 9.81 meters per second as they should be, but some of the more believable ones had an annoying habit of obeying his (somewhat limited) understanding of physics. He turned and gazed at the antique clock by his bed. The display read 5: 43. Now was as good a time to start the day as any.

He forced his way out of bed and shambled over to the door. The lights turned themselves on, and he cursed them for it, eyes taking longer than they should have to adjust to the sudden luminescence of the room. He dragged his legs up the brief staircase; they would be useless until he received his morning dose of caffeine. He drearily approached the mess of applications and clutter that he occasionally referred to as a kitchen, reached out and fumbled around the coffee machine until he heard some kind of beeping noise emanate from it. Whatever it was making, he was drinking. The warm liquid slid down his throat as awareness seeped back into his mind.


He stepped outside and regretted it immediately; the breeze swiftly sapped away any residual heat provided by the controlled environment that was his apartment. The transit hub was only a short distance away, but those three blocks stretched out to be much more than that when the wind chill is below zero. But focussing on it makes it worse; as the old adage goes, ignorance is bliss. Bliss is not, perhaps, an appropriate term in this case, but moderate discomfort is preferable to the intolerable. He shifted his focus to his immediate surroundings. If he was asked to describe the city in two words, he would tell the individual in question to stop being so stupid. If pressed, the answers would be 'bland' and 'inconsistent'. Atlanta, Georgia, like most of the first world, was a mish mash of architectural philosophies from at least half a dozen distinct periods. Although none in a particular period felt any great attachment to the aesthetics of their modern architecture, nostalgia kicks in for the last remnants of each period and the inhabitants see fit to 'preserve their history'. For all their noble intentions, the net effect of all this is not a rich sense of history, but certain parts of the city being what could be charitably described as "hideous".

On the flip side of this coin were the buildings constructed in the past twenty to thirty years. Architecture of late, he mused, had taken a turn towards the decidedly monotonous; however others would be quick to remind him that this was the fault of his own perception and not the stylistic tendencies themselves. With that thought in mind, his gaze shifted down from the endless series of large, multistorey buildings to their residents. As his eyes passed over the teeming masses of people, he was careful not to stop and gaze at any one person for a length of time - in spite of the enormous effort spent by individuals to differentiate themselves from one another, the very idea that they stood out at all made them feel very uncomfortable.

He decided that he had been disillusioned enough for one morning. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pair of vaguely fashionable sunglasses, which he promptly manoeuvred to its correct position. As they made contact with his ears, the world shifted around him. The monotone, blandly designed buildings lit up with vibrant colour, empty spaces were filled with an endless series of public displays, the larger ones filled with obnoxious advertisements. The people walking around in the streets came to life. Their personal representations (or “Avatars”) were so unique and varied that only two things stood out against the sea of 'individuality' - the truly absurd and the truly normal. He gazed down at his own avatar - he had finally constructed one after years of social pressure from his peers, and indeed, society as a whole. It was designed so as not to stand out in any way. Along with his average height, average build, average intelligence and brown hair, he could easily have blended into a crowd of three. The degree to which Alex Fenster was average was his only truly remarkable feature. He came up to the unusually wide building he recognized to be the transit hub, and entered.


The interior of the Mag-Lev train was plastered with even more advertisements. Luckily, they were relegated to the upper half of the carriage, and could be avoided by staring at the ground. It was sparsely populated by people that outwardly appeared to be just as bored as he was.
"You look like you're having a good time."
He looked up. A twenty something woman stared back at him, with a slight grin on her face. Has to be a hallucination, he thought, nobody ever talks on these trips. Especially not to him, and particularly not girls half his age.
"Well, you're all talk today" she continued.
"I'm thinking about something" he replied.
"And what's that?"
"Silence. You may be familiar with the concept. It involves you not talking." Her face took on an insulted look.
"Well that was uncalled for. My name's Nicole, I've been assigned to your team."
Was that today? He was fairly certain that Smith's replacement was another man... but he couldn't be totally certain, which meant playing along just in case. Nobody else was looking at the pair, but that didn't mean anything at all - even if he was talking to himself, it's unlikely anybody would say anything.
"Alex," he finally stated. Her expression lightened. Questioning her would be a futile gesture - if she was a hallucination, she'd know everything he knew, and thus, would be getting all of the right answers. He cursed quietly to himself.
"What's that?"
"Nothing important. If we're going to be working together, I should know a bit more about you."
"Sure. I graduated from a Bachelor of Political Science/Counterterrorism degree last year, and was recruited by APD right out the gate."
"Augmentations?"
"Nothing drastic. Medichines, artificial red blood cells, Ocular displays. Nothing you couldn't have discovered from reading my file, of course. And yourself?"
"None." The comment caught her off balance.
"Well well well, what have we here, a bit of a neo-luddite?"
"It's nothing like that."
"Purity of form then? Religious motivations?"
"I'm an atheist. I just don't like it. It's not natural."
"What, less natural than other medical procedures, or this train you're in now?"
"Yes yes, I've heard all the arguments. It's not really any of your concern, now is it," he snapped. The trained was visibly slowing down, but he wouldn't feel the inertia kick in till the last few meters. The doors opened. He stood up and walked out, casually ignoring the woman. She pursued.


The interior of the Atlanta Police Department was expansive. In terms of aesthetics, it was considerably more Spartan in design than that of the outside world, which was one thing Alex appreciated greatly. As he walked past the Information & Cybercrime division he took special note to avoid eye contact with several of his co-workers. I&C alone was responsible for almost two thirds of the employees in the PD, and it showed. Even the coffee room was packed shoulder to shoulder with disgruntled employees that never seemed to do any real work what-so-ever. The only people in that whole department who got their own offices were the brass and the guys who spent twelve hours a day trying to find exploits in government information systems and then send them off to the grunts to patch up.

He eventually made his way past I&C into his own cramped office on the other side of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall, dark haired man moving on a similar vector to his own.
"Garry, how are you? Oh I forgot, you never get sick because you have half a kilogram of metal and computers floating through your veins," he opened as they continued to walk towards his office.
"Alex, cynical as always," he replied, with a slight grin resting on his face.
"Ugh, try not to look so excited. It's too early for that."
"We just got a John Doe in this morning."
"Have the boys down at Cyber got an ID from his implants yet?"
"No point, Taylor couldn't find any. It looks like we've finally found you a friend."
"Hilarious. Where do I come in?"
"You don't. At least, not right now. IDing the body is our number one priority for now. I don't even know why we keep you on the payroll, to be honest."
"Hey, don't even joke about that shit - have you seen B.R. around yet?"
Garry didn't reply, but motioned towards a large self contained office.
"What do you need to speak with him about?"
"I uh..." He lost his train of thought as he spotted the same twenty something woman he'd seen on the train.
"Planning on finishing that sentence chief?"
"Hold on, I have to take care of something." He didn't give him time to respond as he raced around the corner he'd seen her take, just in time to see a crowded elevator door close. He turned around, vaguely disappointed, and made a beeline to B.R.'s office, which turned out to be empty. He turned to find Garry, who had also apparently vacated the immediate area. Wonderful.


He sighed audibly. There was a stack of paperwork approximately six million kilometres high that had to be completed before the end of the day, they still had nothing on the John Doe, and thoughts were racing through his head about how to approach B.R. about a long-overdue promotion. There was a knock on the door, and Alex dropped the stationary he was fiddling with to aid him in his procrastination.
"Come in," he said. No answer. He stood up and approached the door, then violently opened it. A twenty something woman stood at the door. We meet again...
"What do you want," he asked, with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"I have a name, you know."
"And what was that again?" He asked. She frowned.
"Nicole. My name is Nicole. Garry said you were looking for someone?"
"I was looking for B.R., but it's not urgent."
"Nobody seems to be able to give me a straight answer - what does B.R. stand for?"
"That's because nobody knows. I've been trying to get my hands on that information for about a decade now."
"What did you want with him anyway?"
"That's not really anything for you to concern yourself about. Shouldn't you be working on the Doe case anyway?"
"Nothing I can help with."
"You came in here to say that?"
She paused for a moment, arranging her thoughts, before speaking.
"There's got to be a reason. Why are you afraid of augmentations?"
He'd been interrogated by his co-workers when he first arrived for several weeks before they finally gave up on learning the 'why' and instead resorted to making quips about it ever since.
"Why does there have to be a reason - I just don't like the idea. That's that."
"Of course there has to be a reason. All the advantages the various modifications confer - job opportunities, greater convenience. Just because you 'don't like the idea'?"
He was absolutely sick of it. His rage built to an uncontrollable level, and as it did, the door opened behind Nicole.


B.R. sat in his chair, towering over the mere mortals before him. His face was half buried in the palm of his hand, running through the details in his head one more time. Alex sat motionless, and a woman he didn't know sat a meter or so away from him. Garry slipped silently into the room.
"You told her to what?"
"He told me to forcibly... insert my augmentations up my anus" the woman eventually replied awkwardly. Garry suppressed a laugh. B.R. didn't say anything. He didn't have to. This was going to be an interesting situation to explain at a later date, but for now, he figured he could just apologise and be done with it. His initial instincts had been right - Nicole was a hallucination - and a rather persistent one at that. He'd gone ballistic at her, and as he did a girl from forensics had walked into the firing line. Of course, he couldn't really tell them that he was shouting at his invisible friend. The whole situation felt surreal. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

Five minutes later, he was done. The woman shambled her way out of the room, and B.R. made eye contact with him.
"I believe you wanted to see me about something?" He inquired.
"I did, but I don't really think now would be a good time, considering the circumstances." he replied.
"Nonsense, sit down." So he did. "Now, what did you want?"
"Well sir, I was going to ask about a promotion."
"I see."
"I've been working here for 17 years, and the last 7 exactly where I am now. I seem to be stuck in the one position." Both parties remained expressionless. Alex fidgeted nervously.
"I'm sorry, you've worked here for a long time, and you've done a good job - but I can't really offer you a higher position than the one you currently occupy." he delivered after a protracted and awkward silence.
"And why is that?"
"Because," he started. "As much as I hate to say it, you're too... human."