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| Forty Seven Steps Ding... Ding... <DING>... God, Alex's head hurt, and that fucking noise wasn't helping. Why the hell his phone was blowing up at, oh fuck... bleary eyes finally focussed on the clock's hands, eleven on a Saturday morning he didn't know, but he exhaled gratefully as his thumb brushed over the flashing red icon stopping the incessant chiming. <DING>... <DING>... <DING>... "Fuck!" Alex screamed, head throbbing in time to each notification chime. "Why," he spat, while fumbling for the phone's power button, "won't you shut the fuck up? I've got a fucking headache here!" <System Notification Log> 11:03 Cellphone EMID 1493-439-1958 - notification acknowledged. 11:03 Cellphone EMID 1493-439-1958 - notification pending, device disabled. 11:04 Communication re-established, property damage detected, officers dispatched... Alex smiled, oblivious of the small blue light shining from the edge of the entertainment unit, and launched his now silent phone towards the couch... watched it bounce off the ratty cushion and straight into the trash can barely peeking out from under the scarred coffee table. "Three points!" He yelled, wincing even as he pumped his fist, before continuing much more quietly, "Five! Gotta be worth at least five, couldn't do that again if I tried!" He'd pull it out later but for now... now he could go back to bed and... The entertainment unit blazed to life, the screen briefly displaying the off-the-air splash screen of his favourite late night speciality channel before fading to black. Alex closed and rubbed his eyes when text started to scroll across the screen, certain he must be hallucinating - someone must have slipped him something last night, he thought, yeah, that'd explain the headache too... there's no way he should be so bad after only a couple of pints, and a shot, or two, or... fuck it, if he ever found out who... His eyes shot open at the all too familiar DING that had emanated from the entertainment unit, staring in mute confusion at the text that was scrolling across the screen. OK, so he wasn't hallucinating, but what the actual? This wasn't making any sense. Maybe coffee would help? <System Notification Log> 11:07 Subject non-compliant 11:08 Subject exceeds ML(24):Caffeine - Infraction - Dispenser disconnected. Well, maybe coffee would have helped. But the bastard dispenser wasn't working. A cup had appeared, a portent of the nectar soon to follow, the mere aroma of which would have helped his brain start firing on all cylinders again and yet. Alex stared at the orange slush sticking to the sides of his mug. He didn't know what it was, but it sure as hell wasn't coffee. Perhaps, he mused as he slammed his hand into the side of the dispenser, a little percussive maintenance would help... if nothing else, he smiled, it would make him feel better. <DING> <System Notification Log> 11:10 Property damage detected - Infraction. The words resumed scrolling across the screen as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing: "...Rodriguez, Alexander ... Notice: Excess Alcohol Consumption (O'Malley's Bar, Zone 3)... Infraction: Property Damage (O'Malley's Bar, Zone 3)... Infraction: Excess Alcohol Consumption (Sugar Shack, Zone 3)... Infraction: Lewd Behaviour (Sugar Shack, Zone 3)... Notice: ML(24):Caffeine Reached (Mokafe, Zone 3)... Infraction: Communications Disconnect... Infraction: Property Damage (Domicile, Zone 2)..." Alex stared, mouth slightly open. "What the actual fu--". Another notification cut him off mid-word. <DING> <System Notification Log> 11:15 Verbal infraction detected 11:15 Agents on scene Alex was still staring at the screen when he finally registered that he wasn't alone - two figures stood in his lounge, faces neutral as blank screens as they slowly surveyed the room. Whether it was the hangover, likely-- ok, almost certainly, or his fixation on the entertainment unit Alex, had failed to notice the front door's electronic lock disengaging, nor the two figures sliding in to his private space with precise, almost choreographed movements. "Who? What?" Alex finally found his voice - and the intruders, whoever, whatever they were in their pale grey uniforms, snapped their attention back to him. "Subject: Rodriguez, Alexander," the first agent pronounced to the second, eyes rapidly drifting away from Alex, "Thirty-seven infractions in a forty-eight-hour period." "Hey!" Alex interrupted. "Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?" <DING> The second agent, a woman with steel-rimmed glasses, turned slightly. "Thirty-eight. Automatic access was granted per Section 7.3, subsection B of the Act..." "What the? I don't give a fuck!" Like a bear rising from hibernation, Alex was slowly working himself into a rage. "Get out of my fucking apartment!" <DING>... <DING>... The first agent, his attention now fixed on a slim tablet, spoke again to his colleague. "Forty... disregarding infractions prior to, yes.. let's see... 11 infractions, social score has dropped 47 points. Preliminary assessment suggests mandatory re-education. Concur?" "OK, I don't know who the fuck you people think you are," Alex fumed, "but if you're not out of here by the time I've got my phone, I'm calling the police" <DING> Flustered, and confused by their lack of reaction, Alex stepped around the two, whatever the fuck these people were, barely taking his eyes off them as he marched unsteadily towards his bed, and his phone that... oh for fuck's sake... yeah, the bin... "...Access revoked: Compliance recommended..." - What the actual fuck? He looked down, yeah, he'd dialled the number correctly - kinda hard to screw up three digits - so why wasn't the call connecting??? <DING> <System Notification Log> 11:27 Infraction: Non-compliance 11:27 Infraction: Attempting to waste police time Alex's eyes flicked from his phone's screen to the female agent in time to see a razor-thin slice of... something... Contempt? Calculation? that vanished so quickly he couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it before she returned her attention to her own tablet. "Concur on re-education." She announced, "Fifty point drop indicates significant deviation from acceptable social parameters." The first agent nodded, reading from his precisely held tablet. "Agreed. Intervention necessary." "Citizen," a chill spread down Alex's back at the cold, sharp edge to her voice, "I am required to inform you that, under the Social Harmony Preservation Act, hereinafter 'the Act', having been in effect as of midnight last, your numerous infractions necessitate mandatory re-education. Alex's mind raced as the agent's? officer's? whatever, the woman's words washing over him as he stared at the small badge on her breast pocket. The Act, yeah... they'd been talking about that shit, like, forever on the news... months at least... something about cracking down on anti-social behaviour, or something, wasn't it... 'Protecting the social contract for the law abiding majority' that government mouthpiece had said, hadn't she? Tackling the... wait, what? What the hell did that have to do with people like him? "You are obliged to follow all instructions given by duly authorised persons until such time as your," she paused, glancing around the apartment for effect, "lifestyle, communication patterns, and social interactions comply with acceptable norms. This intervention is for your personal, and society's benefit." No, that couldn't be right, he hadn't hurt anyone, broken any laws... what the hell did any of this have to do with... "That'll leave a mark," the male agent stated flatly, watching as Alex's body spasmed a few inches away from the coffee table, "let's try and keep the damage to a minimum - the paperwork..." <DING> <System Notification Log> 11:31 Infraction: Non-compliance 11:32 Conformity measures deployed 11:35 Notice of Conformity issued. 11:36 Agents secure scene and RTB. *** Day 1: Ding... Ding... <DING>... Alex's eyes flickered open, and promptly closed again as light seared a path along his optic nerve, straight into the centre of his brain. "Fuck," he groaned, as his alarm dinged again, "I feel like... huh?" He paused, fragmented memories vying for his attention between the pulsing throb in his forehead. Something... something was wrong, different... he wasn't in bed for one thing, his body protested as he rolled into something hard, the blunt surface digging into his chest causing a gasp to slip past his lips from the unexpected sharp, stabbing pain that radiated from his sternum. He was, he realised, on the floor - How? Had he fallen? Fallen? No, that wasn't right... and that must have been the coffee table he'd bumped, so why'd it hurt so damn much? His fingers twitched into motion almost of their own accord, exploring. Another drawn out fuuuuuck slipping out as they brushed over his tender chest and on to his head, and the egg size lump he found above his right eye... well, he thought, that explained the headache... The incessant beeping of his alarm compelled him to risk opening his eyes again. Slowly. He'd need to find his phone to turn the bloody thing off, it shouldn't be far--if only his body would cooperate. The light, he thought, wasn't quite so bothersome as he squinted through his lashes, at least so long as he avoided looking directly at the window, the light, the... yeah, note to self, avoid bright, shiny things! Eyes barely open, Alex gripped the coffee table's edge and hauled himself upright. The room swayed gently around him, bile rising as he turned his head--only marginally faster than an arthritic tortoise, but apparently still too quick for his battered skull. Swallowing back his nausea, he inched towards the still beeping alarm and-- yes! Fingers closed around the familiar plastic shell -- Phone successfully snagged! Well fuck, he wanted to scream, the screen was spider-webbed with cracks, it had obviously hit something hard, but at least it still responded to his touch. The alarm fell silent and Alex exhaled in relief, closing his eyes to savour the blessed silence, grateful for the apparent normalcy. Eventually, he opened his eyes again, and frowned. The apartment looked... different. Cleaner. His empty bottles from last night were gone, the cushions on his ratty couch had been straightened, just how long had he been out of it and who the hell had cleaned up? And why? One thing stood out in the pristine space that had once been his laundry basket. A crisp, white rectangle lay on the floor--the sort of heavy-duty, official-looking paper that spoke of trouble, and something that definitely hadn't been there before. Alex bent down carefully, his skull protesting the movement, and picked it up. "NOTICE OF NON-CONFORMITY" read the header in bold black letters. Below it, dense paragraphs of legal text swam before his eyes, with certain phrases penetrating his mental fog: "mandatory behavioural modification," "continuous monitoring," "progressive intervention." "Huh? What the..." Alex mused, staring at the document. <DING> - The sound, not his usual notification sound, came from his phone interrupting whatever he'd been about to say. He didn't want to do it. Knew nothing good could come from doing it. But he did it anyway. He looked at his phone's screen. <DING> <System notification log> 08:00 Notification: Shift starts in one hour 08:15 Notification: Shift starts in 45 minutes 08:30 Notification: Shift starts in 30 minutes Work! Work! Work! What? That didn't make any sense... it was Sunday. It HAD to be Sunday. Alex's foggy brain struggled to piece together the last coherent memories he had. Saturday night at O'Malley's, then the Shack... and whats'ername with the smile to die for, and home... then... nothing. Just fragmented images. Flashes of grey, a cold voice and... and... <DING> <System notification log> 08:45 Notification: Shift starts in fifteen minutes 08:45 Notification: Compliance recommended. Work. Right. He could deal with work. Work was normal, comprehensible. Work was something he could handle, unlike... whatever the hell had happened, was still happening to him. Alex shuffled toward his bedroom, each step sending fresh waves of nausea through his battered skull. Fifteen minutes, it wasn't even close to long enough, he'd just have to be late... or... he could call in sick--it wouldn't exactly be lying either, would it? His head felt like it was trapped in a vice, and his chest ached with every breath. He scrolled through his contacts, found his supervisor's number, and hit call. "Yeah, hi Janet, it's Alex. Look, I'm really sorry but I'm not going to make it in today. I've got a splitting headache and-- Janet?" <DING> <System notification log> 08:47 Infraction: Disingenuous language, non-compliance with social contract. 08:47 Notification: Communications disconnected. 08:48 Notification: Level one compliance measures initiated. The question died in his throat as a sharp, electric jolt shot through his neck. Not strong enough to knock him out, but startling enough to make him gasp and drop the phone. His hands flew to his throat, fingers wrapping around something that he hadn't noticed before--a thin band, metal of some sort, barely thicker than a watch strap, wrapped snugly around his neck. "What the fuck--" Another jolt, slightly stronger this time, cut him off mid-curse. Stumbling backwards, he didn't even notice the muffled <ding> emanating from the floor as his nervous system tried to recover from what had just happened. His fingers traced the collar's smooth surface, searching desperately for a clasp, a seam, anything that might indicate how to remove it. Nothing. It felt seamless, almost as if it had been slipped over his head and somehow shrunk down to fit. "I... I..." Alex croaked, his voice hoarse. Every instinct screamed at him to unleash a string of profanity that would make a sailor blush but, yeah, he bit his tongue - the memory of that second, stronger shock more than enough to keep his temper in check. Alex stared at his hands, his mind reeling. This wasn't, couldn't be right, couldn't be happening to him... but it was. A notification chimed again from somewhere on the floor dragging him back into the present. Work. Right. If he couldn't call in sick, and every move was being monitored and judged... then he really didn't have any choice. "Oh shit." He whispered, glancing at the clock... tensing immediately in anticipation of a shock that didn't come... Apparently, he thought as he let out a shaky breath, quiet profanity was still within acceptable parameters. Good to know but right now he had bigger fish to fry. The entertainment unit turned itself on as Alex stumbled toward his bedroom. He could hear that blond bimbo from Channel Five talking as he grabbed clothes with trembling hands. Ten to the hour, he was going to be so fucking late... he knew it... no time for a shower, a quick blast from his deodorant and he'd have to be good to go. "...implementation of the Social Harmony Preservation Act continues nationwide," she was saying. "Officials report a significant decrease in anti-social incidents in pilot zones, with citizens embracing the new compliance framework..." Alex yanked on his least wrinkled shirt, wincing as the fabric brushed against his tender chest. The talking head on screen continued undisturbed by his maddened rush for the door, "The Department of Social Wellness reminds citizens that the monitoring systems are designed for everyone's benefit, creating safer communities and encouraging positive behavioural modifications. Remember--compliance is not just a requirement, it's a privilege." A privilege. What a fucking joke. He stopped, hand resting on the doorhandle, frozen by the sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging beside the door. The swelling around his right eye was turning spectacular shades of purple and yellow, and his hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with some heavyweight bruiser before taking a bath with his hair-dryer! The voice droned on as he stared at himself, wondering how he was going to explain all this at the office... Janet wasn't a bad boss, but yeah... "Citizens experiencing adjustment difficulties are encouraged to embrace the learning opportunities provided by our dedicated Compliance Officers..." Alex shook his head, this had to be some sort of mistake... He snatched the official notice from the floor, folding it hastily and shoving it into his jacket pocket. Maybe he could read it later, when he had a moment to breathe and figure out who to speak to, how to get this mess sorted out. The walk to work felt like a death march. Every step sent fresh waves of pain through his skull, and he could feel the weight of stranger's eyes following his every, hurried step. He really didn't have time to stop and worry about what they were thinking, but other than the few who looked concerned, more did so with what looked to Alex disturbingly more like approval. Did they know what the collar meant? Was it some sort of scarlet letter, marking him as one of the non-compliant? He was twelve minutes late clocking in. <DING> The sound seemed to emanate from all around him, yet nobody seemed to react... nobody so much as glanced up from their desks, good little robots that they were. "I didn't," Janet's voice preceded the clacking of her heels as she drew nearer, "expect to see you... Jesus," her voice became softer, "what happened, you look like... oh, I see," voice suddenly cold she turned away from Alex, reaching for her phone, "better shape up Rodriguez, you've been a good employee, I'd hate to see you go." Alex watched, stunned, as her office door clicked softly shut behind her. She hadn't looked back from her phone once. The team's digital bulletin board flashed twice, before starting a slow scroll through employee names. Green entries dominated the list, a handful showed yellow, but there at the very bottom, unmissable in dark red, was 'Rodriguez, A. (53 pts)'. The screen flashed once more and the list disappeared with a familiar <DING>, a new message taking its place, "Infraction: Employee Rodriguez: Tardiness: -1 point" and then, almost immediately: <DING> "Infraction: Employee Rodriguez: Poor hygiene / appearance: -1 point". People were definitely looking now. Alex could see them glancing from the board to him and back again, his cheeks burned with humiliation as each head turned his way. Sure, some of his coworkers looked sympathetic, others merely curious but a few--and this bothered him most--nodded with what seemed like satisfaction when the board reverted to the employee list, his entry now reading 'Rodriguez, A. (51 pts)'. Head down, Alex wound his way through the office to his desk. Dropping wearily into his chair he flicked on his computer and started his day. The normally noisy office was quiet, and grew quieter with each ding from the bulletin board as the morning passed. Alex didn't dare look, he just wanted to survive until lunch - when he planned to find a quiet moment to read that compliance notice properly and try to figure out what the hell he could do to escape this nightmare. A bright red flash filled Alex's computer screen, text appearing in stark white letters: "Your 27 minute lunch break will start when this notice closes." Twenty-seven minutes? Alex stared at the message, confused. It was supposed to be forty-five minutes, wasn't it?... The message vanished after exactly ten seconds, leaving him blinking at his desktop. Around him, he noticed other screens flashing their own messages--most green, a few amber. Alex caught glimpses of different time allocations as he gathered his things: "51 minutes," "48 minutes," "35 minutes." Christ, he thought bitterly, it was like school all over again, the naughty kids were getting a shorter playtime. Alex followed the crowd towards the canteen, and headed for his usual table. As he approached the serving area, however, one of the canteen staff stepped in front of him, her hand held out in an unmistakeable gesture meaning 'stop'. "You need to sit over there," she said without meeting his eyes, gesturing toward a cluster of small tables set apart from the main dining area. Two others already sat there--a somewhat familiar middle-aged woman picking at a sandwich with mechanical precision, and a younger man who kept glancing longingly at the main dining room where people hunched over plates of meat and vegetables. A tray was dropped carelessly in front of him as Alex sat down. Hungry though he was, the sight of what might, once, have been meat, and some steamed vegetables that had lost all their colour held little interest. The small timer, counting down from twenty three minutes, a further reminder of how far he'd seemingly fallen - though he supposed it would keep him from being late again, stop him from accidentally 'earning' himself another bloody infraction. Alex pushed the grey brick around his plate with his plastic fork, stealing glances at his tablemates. The woman continued her mechanical eating, never looking up, while the younger man kept shooting envious looks toward the main dining area where people were actually talking to each other--quietly, but still talking. "So," Alex ventured, keeping his voice low, "why are you two sitting over here?" Neither looked up. The woman's chewing didn't even pause. Alex tried again. "I mean, I don't mean to pry, but what did you do to end up--" "Shh." The younger man's eyes darted nervously around the room before settling back on his plate. "Look, I'm just trying to understand what's happening here," Alex pressed, frustration creeping into his voice. "Yesterday, I mean Saturday, everything was normal, today I've got this thing around my neck and--" The woman's fork clattered against her plate. "Will you just shut up and eat your meal?" she hissed, her face flushed. "Some of us are just trying to..." <DING> The familiar sound echoed from speakers Alex hadn't noticed before. The woman's face went white as a message flashed on a small screen mounted to their table: "Infraction: Employee Matthews: Incivility in workplace dining facility. -1 point." "Oh, that's just perfect," she said, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. She stood abruptly, grabbing her tray. "Thanks a lot, Rodriguez." The other guy, Alex still couldn't place him, shot Alex a withering look and followed the woman out of the canteen. Alex pushed the tray of 'food' aside and pulled out the document that had been burning a hole in his pocket all morning - perhaps, he hoped, it would help him make sense of this strange new world. Alex unfolded the crisp white paper, smoothing it across the tabletop with trembling hands. The timer showed twenty minutes remaining but, looking at the dense legalese, Alex had to wonder just how far he'd get... "NOTICE OF NON-CONFORMITY Issued under authority of the Social Harmony Preifservation Act Subject: Rodriguez, Alexander J. Compliance Score: 53 (Critical Non-Conformity)" Alex's breath caught. Fifty three - He'd seen it fall to fifty-one on the board upstairs just a few hours ago. How the fuck was anyone supposed to 'rehabilitate' themselves against a system like that? "Citizen Rodriguez, Your recent behavioural patterns have been flagged by our Community Wellness Algorithm as demonstrating significant deviation from acceptable social norms. The following infractions have contributed to your current non-conformity status:" The list of 'infraction' was longer than Alex expected. Much longer. OK, so maybe he'd had one, or two, too many at O'Malley's but it was the weekend for fuck's sake, he needed to let his hair down after a long week sat in this office, reading others' tales of woe, and so what if he went to the Shack afterwards, yeah, ok, you weren't meant to touch the girls, but she hadn't complained when he slipped a twenty into her thong... And what was all this bullshit about 'non-compliance'? When? Where? With what? The speaker on the table chimed, drawing his eye back to the clock - five minutes until he had to be back at his desk. He looked back to his meal briefly, and decided against it as he skimmed through the rest of the document - there had to be a contact number, an email, something he could use to... A second chime, the clock ticked over to two minutes remaining. Growling, Alex threw his head back, pulled himself to his feet and hurried back to his desk. The afternoon passed, that was the best that could be said of it. Alex worked on, mind constantly flicking between the cases he was supposed to be processing and his own situation. He didn't notice the windows darkening, nor the office slowly emptying around him. It was only when his stomach protested loudly, a 'Hey, I think your throat's been cut' kinda cramping that he'd never experienced before, that he actually looked up from his screen. Nearly eight, no wonder the office was empty and his stomach was protesting so vociferously. He logged off, mind already focussed on the possibility of a greasy doner on the way home... assuming pennies would allow. He reached for his phone, and nearly, oh so very nearly swore. He'd left the fucking thing at home in his rush to get out this morning hadn't he... great move genius! At least he still had his wallet, he mused, if all else failed he could put it on the never, never. A few quick keystrokes and his computer started its familiar shut-down routine before pausing. Alex's breath hitched as the temporarily forgotten red splash screen filled his view - "Is that," he muttered, "different than..." His words trailed off as text slowly began to fill his screen: "Daily Log: Rodriguez, A Infraction: Wasteful consumption practices: -1 point Infraction: Creating social discord in designated eating facility: -1 point Notice: Daily quota met. Notice: Daily hours exceeded: Voluntary contribution of 138 additional minutes demonstrates positive behavioural modification: +4 points" Alex didn't have long to try and work out what the hell he was reading for, no sooner had the words disappeared from his screen, the digital display board sprang back to life. Pixelated fireworks and crackly explosions heralded an announcement: "CONGRATULATIONS: Rodriguez, A - Exemplary work ethic - +4 points!" With a final synthetic pop, as it had that morning, the board returned to the employee list. Alex still the last man on the totem pole - his entry once again reading 'Rodriguez, A. (53 pts)'. *** <DING> <System notification log> 21:17 Notification: Elevated blood pressure detected 21:17 Notification: Elevated pulse detected Alex stared at the words on his phone, wondering why he'd bothered picking the damned thing up... the non-stop chiming that commenced as soon as he walked through the door, and every time he put the stupid thing down again might, he allowed, have had something to do with it though. He slammed the fridge door still fuming from his experience in the kebab shop. Of course his bloody blood pressure was elevated! How dare they? And why? He was a regular, he'd been in there on Saturday night for fuck's sake, and now? His 'type' wasn't welcome any more, what the fuck was that supposed to mean? So here he was, reduced to hunting through unlabelled containers in the refrigerator that had appeared from fuck knows where and wondering where his beer had gone... Why wasn't there anything good to eat in there? Come to think of it, when did he last go shopping anyway? Oh fuck... shopping, they wouldn't... no, they couldn't, he had to be allowed to shop somewhere, right? But, he thought wryly, if the canteen was anything to go by, maybe getting cut off wouldn't be such a bad thing? Fuck it, maybe a coffee would make that green gloop a little more palatable. Alex walked to the dispenser while his 'dinner' heated, glowering at the row of red lights indicating the chance of a coffee was lower than his mood. <DING> <System notification log> 21:19 Notification: Stimulant consumption contra-indicated. 21:19 Notification: Relaxation exercises suggested. 21:20 Notification: Compliance recommended. Alex was saved from himself by the ping of the microwave. Hot, the green gloop reminded him of that jelly-like seaweed he'd brought home when he visited the coast as a kid - God had his parents been pissed about that! The car smelt of the stuff for weeks! "Christ," he muttered, pausing after only a couple of spoonsful, "that is... vile! What," he continued after the next small bite, "Mustn't waste it, right? But what I wouldn't give for a beer right about now! Or juice, anything..." <System notification log> 21:27 Notification: Stress levels remain elevated 21:27 Notification: Intervention required 21:27 Notification: Nutritional supplementation authorised Alex looked up from his meal when the dispenser started spluttering, amazed as one by one the row of red lights flashed green, to be followed by the hiss of liquid being dispensed. He approached cautiously. A tall glass had appeared beneath the spout, filled with what appeared to be... milk? No, hot milk - the pale, ivory-coloured liquid sat there with a faint steam rising from its surface as the dispenser locked up once more. "Milk?" Alex said aloud, staring at the glass. "Seriously?" He picked up the glass, sniffing it suspiciously. It smelled... pleasant, actually. Sweet, with hints of vanilla and something else he couldn't identify. Desperate to wash away the taste of the green paste, he took a tentative sip. It was warm, creamy, with a subtle sweetness that wasn't cloying. "Huh," he said, taking another, larger gulp. It was better than the slime, certainly. Much better, "that's not bad, actually." The tight knot in his stomach began to loosen as he ate and drank. His shoulders, which had been hunched with tension all day, started to relax. For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt... not good, exactly, but better. Calmer. Calm enough that he didn't jump when his phone chimed. <DING> <System notification log> 21:35 Notification: Zero food waste detected: +1 point 21:35 Notification: Compliance with wellness protocol: +1 point "Maybe," he said softly, settling into an armchair, "maybe, I could just... let's take another look at that bloody notice, see what I'd have to do." The slightly crumpled compliance document drew his eye. Alex picked it up, determined to read through it properly this time. If he could understand the system, maybe he could find a way to work within it, get his score back up, get this collar removed. The legal text was soon swimming before his eyes, focus becoming harder and harder. There was something about "graduated intervention protocols" and "behavioural modification pathways." His eyes felt heavy, but he pushed on, squinting through drooping lids until he found a sub-section that he thought might hold some promise "Community Reintegration standards: Acceptable social parameters." "Rehabilitation... through... voluntary..." he read aloud, his voice slurring slightly. The paper trembling in his increasingly unsteady hands. Alex's head nodded forward, jerking back up as he made one, last effort to read... The warm, comfortable feeling in his chest had spread, his limbs felt heavy and disconnected. He tried to stand, to move to the bedroom, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. *** Day 2: <DING> <System notification log> 08:30 Notification: Shift starts in 30 minutes 08:45 Notification: Shift starts in 15 minutes 09:00 Notification: Shift commencing 09:05 Infraction: Tardiness (II): -2 points 09:10 Notification: Compliance enforcement authorised. Alex's eyes opened wide, the "Fuck" coming out as a hoarse scream as his hands flew to his throat. His voice lost in the cacophony of competing noises echoing around his apartment. The room fell silent around him as his voice slowly died, until only the steady drone of the news anchor on the entertainment unit remained, "It's a quarter after the hour, next up the weather with Bob after these short messages--" His neck ached, his mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died, and every joint protested as he hauled himself upright. The compliance notice lay crumpled on the floor where it had fallen from his slack fingers. He glanced at the screen, nine-fifteen. Already late. Again. Alex's first instinct was to rush, to grab whatever clothes were closest and sprint for the door, but he stopped himself. That damage was already done, he knew, but he remembered the embarrassment of the second penalty he'd got yesterday morning. "Might as well shower," he muttered, padding toward the bathroom-- A wash, some clean clothes, and a shave--he might even start to feel human again and hell, if he was going to be late, he'd at least look presentable doing it. *** He clocked in thirty-seven minutes late. There was no announcement, no 'DING', hell Janet didn't even look up from her screen as he passed her office. He didn't look at the bulletin board, didn't want to see his life being reduced to a number. The morning crawled by. Alex buried himself in case files, processing claims with mechanical precision. Each completed file felt like a small victory, a tiny step towards his quota and, maybe, redemption. At lunch he made his way to the segregated tables without being directed. The same canteen worker dropped his tray with the same careless indifference. Today's meal was brown rather than green, but equally unappetising. Not that he let that stop him, he ate silently, forcing one forkful down at a time, wishing for some milk to help with the aftertaste. He returned to his desk, the afternoon stretching out endlessly before him. He had a plan, and he was going to stick to it: Overtime meant points. Extra effort, dedication to the company--all the things the system seemed to reward. Alex worked steadily, methodically, letting the work lull him into a sort of meditative state. Other employees filtered out as five o'clock approached, then six. Alex remained, fingers clicking across his keyboard. By eight-thirty, the office was empty other than for a security guard making his rounds. Alex's eyes burned from staring at his screen, but he pushed through one more file, then another. Finally, at nine-fifteen, he logged off and gathered his things. His computer screen flashed its familiar red warning, and Alex held his breath as the daily assessment loaded. "Daily Log: Rodriguez, A Infraction: Tardiness (Repeat Offense): -2 points Notice: Verbal infraction(s) detected: -2 points Notice: Daily quota met Notice: Work hours exceeded: Voluntary contribution of 188 additional minutes demonstrates positive behavioural modification: +2 points" There were no fireworks tonight, no synthetic crackles and pops. The display board simply updated once his screen had blanked: 'Rodriguez, A. (53 pts)'. *** Alex rushed home, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. All that time, hours, screen burnt into his eyes after everyone else went home. And for what? To end up exactly where he'd started. Fifty-three points. Still fifty-three bloody points. He slammed the cupboard door and dropped the plate beside the crumpled compliance notice. He'd wasted enough time with that this evening, and still hadn't found anything. No way out of this nightmare. To hell with it. Alex crumpled the notice and tossed it aside. His stomach cramped with hunger as his eyes drifted over the microwave. He'd picked something red today, tomato maybe... well, he could hope. He looked longingly at the dispenser, would there be milk tonight? Something warm to help him sleep? Maybe, he allowed, it might be for the best if there wasn't... although, he had been exhausted last night, and if that tasted as bad as it was smelling, he'd be grateful for anything that... The dispenser hissed into life, wisps of steam curling from the nozzle as something dark and rich pooled in the waiting mug. The scent of chocolate, real chocolate drifted across the room distracting, tempting, teasing. <DING> <System notification log> 21:49 <Notification: Littering detected - dispose of waste correctly> "What the Fu--" <DING> <System notification log> 21:49 <Verbal infraction detected:-- "You're fucking kidding, I didn't fucking say anything!" <DING> <System notification log> 21:49 Notification: Elevated pulse detected, Relaxation exercises suggested. 21:50 Notification: Compliance recommended. 21:50 <Verbal infraction(s) detected: -2 points> Alex snatched the hot chocolate, ready to hurl it across the room... looking for a target for his rage and realising he'd only end up having to clean up any mess he made, and would likely get dinged again. This was so fucking unfair. The taste of the red gloop turned bitter in his mouth, the sweet, rich chocolate promised relief. He barely tasted it as he swallowed it in three quick gulps, it was hot, too hot really, the slight tingling on his tongue easily dismissed as he sucked on an ice cube straight from the freezer. *** Day 3: <DING> <System notification log> 08:15 Notification: Shift starts in 45 minutes 08:30 Notification: Shift starts in 30 minutes No, no, no, not again... why, he wondered, was he finding it so hard to wake up in the morning... it was loud enough in here to wake the dead for God's sake! It wasn't great, but at least he had enough time to shower and chew one of the cardboard-like breakfast bars as he strode purposefully work. He wouldn't be late, couldn't be late, not again... Day 5: Alex stared at his phone, refreshing it compulsively--The number hadn't moved. Fifty-three, still fifty-three. He'd made it into work on time every day since Wednesday, was working harder, and longer than ever before, and yet... Day 9: "Maybe," he wondered, "there's a bug in the software?". The red mark he'd got from the shock lasted all day, brighter than the band of inflamed skin from where the collar had been rubbing. Day 17: Even the other 'non-compliants'--he could spot them now by their nervous energy, their careful movements--were avoided him now. As if his prolonged failure was contagious. He wanted to scream at them, ask what more he could do but... Day 25: The milk tasted different again. Yesterday it had been chocolate, sweet and comforting. Today it was bitter, herbal, leaving his thoughts thick and sluggish. He drank it anyway--consumption was mandatory, monitored by the kitchen sensors. Sleep came easier now, dreamless and deep. Sometimes he forgot what he was worried about until the morning alarm reminded him to check his score. Day 38: "Rodriguez?" Janet's voice was careful, distant. "HR wants to see you." The meeting was brief, clinical. Productivity concerns, they'd said, social integration issues. Colleague complaints about "unsettling behaviour." They moved his desk to the corner, behind mirrored glass--a quarantine box where anyone could look in, but he could never see out. Day 45: The apartment felt smaller. Or maybe he felt larger, more aware of every surface, every angle where cameras might be hidden. He'd long since stopped watching the one channel available to him--too risky, what if he reacted inappropriately? What if his facial expressions were wrong when that stupid cow parroted the government line? Tonight he found himself talking to the screen again. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, "What am I missing?" The woman didn't reply, she never did. The number remained unchanged. Day 53: Alex's hands tremble as he pulls the regulation grey shirt over his head. The fabric catches on the collar's edge, and he winces--not from pain, but from the reminder of what he's become. In the mirror, a stranger stares back: hollow cheekbones casting shadows, eyes that have forgotten how to hope, and that telltale red ring of irritation where metal meets flesh. Fifty-three days. The number haunts him, displayed on every screen, whispered by every device, embedded in his consciousness like a splinter. He knows the rules by heart now--He's memorized every regulation, anticipated every possible infraction, yet the counter remains frozen in digital amber. His apartment has become a tomb for one. The walls seem closer each day, the windows smaller, the air thicker. Sleep offers the only respite from the constant monitoring, the endless calculations. But even his dreams are numbered now--fifty-three sheep jumping over fifty-three fences, fifty-three steps down a corridor that never ends. It's during one of these restless nights that he finds it--the crumpled compliance notice that had started everything, peeking out from beneath the couch. His hands shake as he smooths the wrinkled document, reading with eyes that have learned to see past the bureaucratic veneer. The words swim into focus: Community Reintegration Protocol. Below them, a blank space where standards should be listed, where benchmarks should be defined, where hope should live. But there's nothing--no criteria for success, no way out. Laughter erupts from somewhere deep in his chest--not the practiced social laugh of his former life, but something primal and unhinged. It starts as a chuckle but grows, filling the apartment with its bitter echo. Tears stream down his face as the laughter consumes him, a broken symphony of recognition and release. Every screen in his apartment blazes to life in synchronized alarm: his phone, his television, his coffee dispenser--all flashing that damning number in urgent red. Fifty-three. Fifty-three. Fifty-three. "Citizen wellness check initiated," the entertainment unit announces in its calm, modulated voice. "Compliance officers dispatched." Still he laughs, counting aloud now: "Ninety-nine... ninety-eight... ninety-seven..." When he reaches fifty-three, he starts over, caught in an endless loop that mirrors his existence. Epilogue The institution is everything his old apartment never was--warm, spacious, welcoming. Patient 2847-53 laughs and rocks, comforted by the tightness of his jacket, soothed by medication that tastes like vanilla dreams. "Delusional episodes following psychological trauma," a doctor states, writing in a file. "Subject believes he was monitored by a social compliance system. No such system exists in our records." <DING> <System notification log> Notification: Clerical error detected Notification: Subject mid-identification confirmed Notification: Rodriguez, Alexander J. ≠ Rodriguez, Alexander C. Notification: Case dismissed. 6881 Words: Prompt ▼ |
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