When Challenging Perceptions

Log #1

The following messages are part of a series collected and compiled the day before. In The Collective, our members are allowed to make audio files containing their thoughts. The Collective has agreed to make the following recordings public for educational purposes. These are the accounts of the individuals formerly known as #2245 and #6804 during their time as part of our facility. We ask that these tapes not be redistributed as they are the property of The Collective. Anyone seen harboring any illegal copies will be subjected to harsh penalties. Thank you.

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August 1st, 2105. 09:45

Warm morning, about eighty-two degrees. At least, that is what the giant symbols above my head indicate. Almost time to wake up. The alarm will wake us up in fifteen minutes, and if we don't comply, we are helped to our feet via the ejection method.

I yawn, stretch, and scratch my lower back through my baby-blue pajamas. If I shower now, perhaps I won't be restricted to the fifteen-minute rule. We typically get five minutes once we are ejected from bed to get to the bathroom. 

Once inside, I disrobe and step into the shower. A pressure sensor activates and the water starts adjusting to reach the proper temperature for the individual. Personally, I want it much hotter, but there can be no fussing with a computer. After the allotted time, the water shuts off, and a bell dings like dinner has just finished cooking. Shit! Surely fifteen minutes haven't passed already.

I step out of the shower, and look in the mirror, still clear as though brand new. The barcode on my chest is reflected in the mirror. #2245: my designation, my calling card of sorts. 

Just then, a robotic voice chimes from everywhere in the bathroom; it is my informant known as "AI"*. "Citizen Number Two-Two-Four-Five, your breakfast is waiting in Cafeteria Room Number Three."

"What is the special?"

"Oatmeal with fruit, and orange juice."

"Thank you, AI." I would have preferred eggs and sausage, maybe some toast, but pickiness is frowned upon nowadays.

I go to my closet, and a holographic display beams out at me. I see myself in a white short-sleeved shirt and shorts. It would be appropriate, given that it is summer. I shouldn't be scheduled to be outside for exercise until Monday. Today is supposed to be "Her Day". So, we males are required to stay inside until our turn comes. I wonder what the females do when they are outside. For us, we walk out and enjoy the air outside the facility. Sometimes, I also have a look at the lesser communities known as "Colonies", housed by those known as "Individuals". I don't like thinking about them though. These places are often filthy, and the people in them look miserable.

I walk toward the cafeteria, walking briskly, yet cautiously. A metallic voice reminds me to tread carefully, watch my breathing, don't slouch. I nod in compliance. The hall is white, devoid of personality and I feel empty looking at it. Soon, I am distracted by the smell of oatmeal in the air, accompanied by apples, peaches, and blueberries. 

Once I enter the cafeteria, I see several clean-shaven men, much like me. In The Collective, these men are referred to as my "brothers". Some are taller and fitter than I am. Even when sitting, I can tell who's been gifted with genetic superiority. They see me enter and some smile before resuming their food. I walk down the rows of men to find my seat. 

A light blinks at an empty spot, the seat flashing my number, right between two men of similar build to my own. I take my seat. "Morning."

"Morning, Brother," says a man with a darker complexion and a buzz cut. "How goes it?"

I am still not used to being called that. "Oh, you know," I say, "Same old, same old."

The two men smile, eating carefully portioned kinds of oatmeal. Soon, a bowl of oatmeal rises from the table to greet me. Three slices of apples rest on the side of the bowl with some blueberries arranged in the center. I begin to dig in, but a red X stops me. Too fast. I slow down, carefully scooping up the blueberries and cutting a piece of apple with the spoon. Luckily, the apples are baked, which makes them soft enough to do so.