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Rated: E · Sample · Experience · #2232066
Walking down a familiar street.
The citizens know when it will rain. Everyone's huds have live feedback and countdown from Damien, the omnipotent AI.

Nate loved rain, instead of hurrying back to their individual compartments, he is strolling outside.

The wind had picked up, and the smell of baked goods and various dishes made his nostrils flare-up.

With deep breaths, he tries to tell his rumbling stomach that he is already full, full of the imaginations of good food.

His bare right foot scrapped on the spotless tarmac, leaving behind small crumbs of weakened rubber and stuffing.

The rotten sole tied to his left surely will give any human athlete foot, but he is just happy he will not wear out his left foot for the moment.

Humidity levels kept rising, and a cool blast blows away his crude straw and grass hat.

The delicate two stories buildings he passed have their occupant's surname proudly presented on nameplates.

Nate's hollow head gives off a spark as he tried to recall if he ever had a surname.

Clunk. His left arm came out of its socket, with a groan and squeak of corroded metal, he bent down to reattach the naughty limb.

With a hiss of leaking hydraulics, the arm is moveable.

His brand and type, used to be clearly presented on bright yellow paint across his now-filled-with-holes chest piece had long faded away. The colour now stained yellow from the prolonged exposure the solar radiation.

His organic hair had long faded away, in need of replacement is what the screen screamed at him every time he checks his status.

On top of the display that gives readings of his bodily state, is the red banner notification of termination date due, the words then replaced by report to incinerator 451.

Walking pass a tram track, the old city is gradually replaced by more modern bulletin boards of three-dimensional figures of near-naked ladies dancing on poles and holograms that popped up as their sensors were triggered.

Turn down another side street, the main road is just ahead.

All those colours from shop signs and advertisements.

His visual sensors tried to focus, but they dimmed then turned black.

The body moved accord to the planned trajectory, the momentum is what kept this aged body rolling.

He pictured the lights, the faded memories all have distorted colours.

He bumped into something, an alarm.

He was plucked up from the ground. Then a sudden blow to the back of his head.

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