He had been sitting here since sunrise. Opposite stood a group of towers. Glazed in dark blue, with pointed tops, and replicas of one another, they seemed to be housing corporations and offices. The entire time, ads and programs were playing all over their walls. Through the 3-D function of the VW helmet, he could not only see three-dimensional shapes but also hear the audio clearly if he would channel it.Most ordinary-looking videos and recordings in the city were like this as far as he could see.Abruptly, a sullen face flashed across the walls, taking over a repetitive commercial. Thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and dark straight hair which was combed too neatly; it was a video clip of his face. He narrowed his eyes wondering when this was recorded. ‘A missing teenager. Mentally ill and had been abducted recently. The kidnapper was dead, but he was yet to be found,’ the texts read. ‘Have you seen Jayson?’They were calling him Jayson now. Through the helmet, Blaise continued to stare
He did think of the possibility that he could be recognized, but he decided he would find out the answer.While the shield was sliding up, he sat up straight from slouching on the road. The stranger stared at him for a few long seconds. “You look familiar,” he remarked, furrowing his brows. Blaise was staring back at him, especially at his eyebrows, one of which was cut in the middle near the edge. It was a small scar, quite faint and inconspicuous. He looked away, appearing to be uncomfortable.Something white and big jumped into his peripheral vision. He almost strangled it until he realized it was a big dog with white short fur--as he did not know dog breeds.Blaise stood up, dusting his pants, and he followed. The dog was sniffing at him. At one point, its nose touched his pants. Nearby, a woman shouted, “Gabe, baby, come back!” “Oh, right!” The guy snapped his fingers. “You look like him, the schizophrenic kid. What was his name? Jonas? Or James? Obviously, you aren’t him. He
***January 6, 3027***“How long have you been—you know, kidnapped?” a tenor voice asked in a hushed tone. “Dunno, man. More than a week or two?” another voice answered reluctantly.“Woah, so long. I’ve been here for two days.”Two men were talking from their bunk beds that sat side by side and were covered with filthy sheets.“Don’t look at me when you talk. Look somewhere else,” the second man warned.“Why?”“They don’t like us talking to each other.”Both were young and appeared in their early twenties. The first one had short brown hair, and blue eyes, and was clean-shaven. Another looked slightly more mature with a short beard and long dirty-blond hair. “Oh OK,” the first one lowered his eyes to the bedsheet instead. “I’m worried about Teresa.”“Your girlfriend?”“No. My cat.”The silence hung in the air. The other man didn’t respond.“Don’t lose hope. I think the cops are going to find this place soon. Or the media,” he continued on his own.“Tsk. What made you think that?”“Is
“What do you want to do about it, Tate? Rat us out? Sorry, you can’t.” The guffaws spilled out from the sky-alley.Of course, he remembered that name. The fake guy: that was how he recalled him. He was pretending to be someone else he was not. “Sons of bitches! You all owe me at least ten grand.”They were talking over the phone. And yes, that was him. Blaise could recall images and voices in detailed precision. Besides, their conversation was clear and loud. There was nobody else around this corner: not above him, not under him. He took a glance at the street on the ground. It was empty except for a long shape on the dirty asphalt near the trash bin. Probably a person, but he might as well be dead.Blaise wanted to take a peek at the four behind him, but they might catch his movement. They were right around the corner.“Chill. Why you have to be so goddamn serious about everything? I’ve already told you like two fucking minutes ago. We searched for him everywhere. He was so slick.”
The plan went south when Blaise tried breaking his thumb and it didn’t work. By that, he didn’t mean his thumb didn’t break. It did. What didn’t work was he could not get out of these cuffs, which had gone tighter automatically after he had snapped his own finger.Needlessly to say it hurt like…‘what was the word for that?... right… hurt like a bitch. Wait, it didn’t sound right. It didn’t hurt ‘much’ but try breaking your own finger with another hand of yours without a tool, and you might have an idea of what it felt like. As they had secured his one hand to the side of the bed, he had to turn sideways for his other hand to reach it while he was acting as though his hands were itchy.He had been here for eight hours. There was no clock or nothing here to show him what time of the day it was, but he had checked his wristband about ten minutes ago. This place was located in a warehouse station, 15 km above the earth. As he had assumed, still in Paradox City.Here, they didn’t starve p
For the most part, the city sky was clear of traffic; few vehicles were racing to get to their destinations through the downpours. Rays of light were waving through amidst the buildings. Fifteen minutes to midnight: while it should be an uneventful hour, a group of vehicles was spotted to have gathered in one particular spot, near the Black Tower. NO TO CURFEW! STOP THE CURFEW! The signs were glowing on the clothing and on the bodies of the vehicles. Despite their shouts, this wasn’t an angry mob; rather they seemed to be enjoying what they were doing.Nearby, a documentary about automobiles was playing on multiple skyscrapers; a late-night program, a boring one, the stuff everybody had known for ages. Hundreds of vehicles flashed one after another, depicting the evolution of transportation over the last millennium. From shapes and designs up to the fuel and the driving systems, everything had transformed. A thousand years ago, people had to take three types of vehicles for land, m
((Playlist: The Sound Of Silence by Disturbed))The gun at his forehead should have frightened him. Death was familiar and almost a numbing face. Every day, he had seen the fear that had rooted in the danger of losing one’s own life. Before, he had been surrounded by the muted and subtle kind despite its horrid nature. After, he had got to see the more obvious kind, like in the eyes of people who were contained and tortured here.“I asked a goddamn question!” The cold muzzle knocked his head.“I hate stupid people.” Someone laughed in agreement. “What do you want to know?” he asked back.The eyes before him narrowed. They looked clouded and red, but the man looked sane enough. He threw a sweeping glance throughout the room, to his subordinates. Behind him, a container covered in unreadable small numbers and letters was gliding, quite close to the building. Somebody in a jumpsuit was sitting on top of it, seemingly aware of what was happening on the other side of the glass wall. “S
((Patient Number 9 By Ozzy Osbourne))The ignorant raindrops tried to fall straight into the swimming pool adjacent to the house till they got prevented by the protective bubble around. Without angles and the lack of reflection from the surrounding lights, the room didn’t seem to exist until the water splashed against it. The rain stopped abruptly, just like when it started. Smoothly, the swimming pool detached itself from the house, floating into the more open space, as a connecting corridor sliding out. Hovercars flew above and beneath the building and the pool area although some of them couldn’t get close, for this was a private zone. As a shape exited the house onto the adjoining corridor, what seemed like liquid silver filled up the clear material. At the end of the corridor, Dr. Aber stripped the bathrobe. Without the lines on his face created by his moodiness, he was still young. At most, in the mid-90s or the early-100s.From the inside, the walls still stayed invisible c