Chaptr One

ERROR: REM DISRUPTION 

Her hands shook as her consciousness emerged from the darkness. Having never experienced a dream in all her 19years, a color red still lingered mysteriously in her mind’s eye.

“Grayce, get up!” Her mother's tone echoed down the hall, “Fischerd?” Sounding devilish and irrational at the same time, her mother, Sovia, shouted to her husband, “Where‘s the quota? I don't want to do research.”

“What quota?” Her father’s tone floated down the hall.

“For plasma... It’s due.” After a long pause, her mother’s tenor bellowed again from the kitchen, “5playbacks from the past two weeks, you said you would file!”

Fischerd was in their bedroom, his eyes activated-glowing green, receiving five linear playbacks of himself stating exactly that which he could not remember. While shuffling past his daughter’s doorway dressed in his olive-colored coveralls with a navy handkerchief haphazardly stuffed in his chest pocket, he threw a loose grin in her direction. His work uniform was already wrinkled. He was a code sorter, mostly sedentary inside the B.C.C. (Birther Control Compound); a mysterious cluster of buildings that shared zero details with the human collective. Fischerd’s memories of work duties were wiped at the end of each day. Constant resets had greatly degraded his short-term playback capabilities. He could access around 53% of stored information; statistically low.

Her father continued into the living area, sunbeams filtered through the slatted shutters. Reaching for his earbuds off a waist-high charging dock near the front door, Fischerd pushed them into his ear canals with a steady hand while his wife stressed in a quieter tone, “It’s important... We don't want them in our subs.”

Her parents fluxuated the volume of their voices often. No one else’s parents spoke out loud because audible speech was socially unacceptable. Viewed as low class to really make any noise at all, commonplace forms of communication favored were direct head movements with glowing retinal engagement to control holographic exchanges. Citizens interacted mainly through their personal devices. Labor hours were added for excessive auditory offenses, but her parents seemed wholly apathetic to their debts.

Grayce sat up in bed as she scratched the inside of her nose. 

BARBARIC MANNERS

The SnapByt at her left wrist scolded with a volt of electricity. Flesh-colored natal pink, the silicone had never matched her skin. 

Her irises projected a playback of the shameful, unsanitary, nose-picking offense. Timely and predictable, 4D recorded everything. 

THE GUARD PROVIDES

Brightly colored signage projected in her periphery while her eyes glowed green. 

DO YOU NEED HELP UNDERSTANDING YOUR SECTR DHARMA?

The 4D world never slept. Slogans were accompanied by a visual representation of a happy, youthful couple in her mind’s eye. Panoramas of joyous, family units were advertised to give civilians a benchmark for successful procreation; reminding her of the life she wanted and the person she should be.

Her mother appeared in the doorway with auburn waves angled into rolling shapes.. Her lips curled to reveal pearl white teeth while an invisible network of 4D holograms shuttered past her reflective lenses. Her pupils darted left then right, mouth resting in a deep frown of negative tells while shouting to her husband, “Ten!” Sovia turned back into her visuals, out of focus in her holographic peripheral. “Grayce, you need to get up. You have a full day rewiring dirty panels and tired minds.” Her mother paused before disappearing again into the kitchen. 

Most households had zero privacy settings between members. If one member was given information from the collective, that information was automatically shared with the remaining family unit. But, Grayce’s parents had each of their privacy settings turned on and preferred to communicate manually. She was not always so archaic.

Their home’s foundation began to rumble as a vacuum-sealed shipment tram customarily charged past outside. Imported resources came in several times a day hovering on tracks, allocated by six tiers. Starting at the bottom, Maintenance1, Labor2, Bio3, Senate4, Medic5, and Tech6. 

No human could survive beyond the dome without a lifesuit, so all goods came in through an airlock from factories, fully automated on the other side of the purple mountains. Logistics of robotics were a mystery, but Grayce felt grateful for the convenience none-the-less. 

‘On my way,’ swyping the message to her mother silently, her SnapByt projected a live feed of Crowley inside her vision. He was a Tech6, the one she found the most handsome; standing in his kitchen, drinking tea, aware anyone could be watching. Tech6’s were not permitted to procreate, a mandate Sectr1 and 6 shared. 

We‘ve accessed Crowley’s data for 9,672heartbeats. 

‘Do not engage,’

Her inner 4D guidance calculated as she raced through his positive attributes; aquamarine eyes, shiny white hair, handsome square jaw. She’d fallen hopelessly devoted to Crowley‘s content. Oxytocin surged through while she re-experienced a projection of his digital presence. 

Lingering attention 5, 6, 7 seconds. Dopamine hit. Laze.

‘Oneness brings us together in a way no one else can understand.’

A match with Crowley–probability registered 0%. He was a Tech6, and the Guard was watching. She bowed her head slightly. The match was not realistic. Her romantic desires would never reach full eligibility. Accepting her solitude while re-wiring the concept through her mind's eye, Crowley’s visuals dissipated as warmth bloomed in her plexus, spreading throughout her lymph nodes, all-around her temples. Her inner 4D guidance offered directives for longevity, most efficient gameplay possible, most heartbeats processed, the optimal dopamine released. Everyone benefited from the connection.

7level UV rays streamed in through her windows, heating an old dresser cluttered with old obedience plaques boasting mostly good achievements, scattered amongst metal unicorn figurines. Catching sight of her reflection, Grayce stared back as a short, young woman with broad shoulders and strong thighs, surrounded by well-timed health stats. Her Intel flecks glowed behind freckles and patches of uneven skin tones, soon to be hidden beneath clay pigments, highlight and contour, all beneath a thick layer of UVblock. No human could go outside without UVblock, not even under the dome’s protection. True protection was assured only by staying indoors. 

THE FENCE PROTECTS 

Serotonin surged through her frontal lobes, numbing the back of her throat. Throwing off her microfiber blanket, laying her feet on the rock-slab floor, she repeated the mantra; only a singular prayer was spoken aloud; “Each action is a possibility meant for this continuation of moments. There is a greater purpose to our origin.” Her hormones leveled as her Byt vibrated around her wrist. 

By performing each action in the same predictive pattern, heartbeats created a rhythm for her productive lifestyle. And inside the Centr8 dome, another cycle of scheduled service had begun.

***

An egg-shaped Toggle cruised along the open track while Grayce leaned against the inner padded wall. Her shoulders were tense in anticipation of her last client confrontation. After letting out a long exhale, stomach acid was brewing under her esophagus as she watched a slogan pass. 

COMMUNION = SURVIVAL

The glowing advertisement flashed again in her periphery, reminding her of the life she wanted and the person she should be. 4D slogans appeared so frequently, she barely consciously considered them anymore, but her mind's eye comprehended as she took a small drink from her bottle and the water tasted clear. 

Her chest jolted from a sudden hiccup as her Toggle halted just shy of the last client's dome. Water dripped down her chin over her grey coveralls. Her Byt vibrated as she wiped her mouth and her bag's strap fell from her shoulder, the buckle hitting her wrist just right to spill the remainder of the water over the seat, dripping down to the corrugated metal flooring. 

Her SnapByt scolded with voltage up into her arm. She shook her hand while licking the last few drops on the bottle’s rim awkwardly, because water wasting was a punishable offense, served by hard graft labor. A system of pumps at the outskirts recycled urine, run-off, condensation into crystal clean H2O, allotted by Sectr rank. Water consumption was a mindful practice. She and her parents resided at the lowest SectrI, allotted only 8gallons each per week, barely enough for a steam shower. They relied on scented wipes.

    THE GUARD PROVIDES

Clicking her tool belt around her waist, Grayce strode up the cobbled path, her earbuds immediately activated ready to assist. Her hands felt weak as she rolled her spine and grounded her hips. A thick ponytail of brown tangles shadowed her collarbone tag; 2.6D.

Vibrating again, her Byt indicated her mineral count—LOW. Covering her mouth, she yawned while reaching for her Vitaspray, an inhaler formulated for quicker split cell division. Pressing the spout into her nose, synthetic herbal compounds shot straight through her sinuses. The back of her tongue stung with the essence of ginger and lemongrass. 

The client’s dome slid open as she took one more pump of tincture into her nose, exacerbating the dryness on her tongue. An elderly, bald man stepped forward through the doorway wearing a navy blue sleeveless shirt and green half pants pulled up high. 

One more job.