10 Minute Tales

Feb 1 - Cyberpunk Mystery, Pt. 1

Inspector Queenson stood in the fake cold, staring at the scene around him. The wind howled as it sung its way through the trees, trees that bowed and shook in its wake. Ankle-deep snow snapped his warmth, already trying to get into his shoes. He shivered slightly as he brought a cigarette out, getting a lighter from his other pocket.
"Damn, I hate this place." He grumbled, flicking a flame into life. Despite the biting wind, the flame barely flickered. It wasn't until he moved it to the cigarette that it faltered.
"Pardon, inspector." A voice echoed, its calm monotone cutting through the wind with unnatural ability. "Please refrain from smoking within the Experience Chamber. Doing so may-"
"Yeah, I know, I might damage the projectors. You just want me to quit."
"Quite astute, inspector. Would you like to proceed with the simulation?"
"Nah, I've seen enough." He turned around and walked. Around him, the snowy landscape vanished, breaking down into the errant particles of light that had formed it in the first place. A doorway opened with a hiss, breaking the monotony of the black tiles that now surrounded him. He walked through it, back into the world he knew. The receptionist bowed her head in acknowledgement as he passed, frowning softly at the sight of the cigarette in his hand.
"If I may enquire about your choice, sir, why do you select unpopular Experiences?" The voice from before asked, now projecting from his phone. "You rarely spend more than two minutes in them, and you have still clocked the most viewing time. It appears to be unusual behaviour."
"Earth ain't all people make it out to be." Queenson shrugged. "Sure, it's got some nice places, but it wasn't a paradise."
"I require additional information."
"Well, think about it. If it was so perfect, why'd we leave?" He left the building, looking up at the orange sky. It was partially hidden by the biodome's projector, casting what looked to be a clear blue sky, broken only by a scattering of wispy clouds. Around him, the city buzzed with activity, vehicles rushing around on invisible roads, the hammering of feet pounding the irregular pulse of the city. Biodome 32-A was the only home he had known. It was his job to protect it. He sucked on the cigarette again, sighing as a plume of smoke drifted out of his mouth. "This place ain't much better."

     Later that day, he was riding back to the station.