Transciety
by HardeeBurger
We are many. We are one. We have seen what has become of this world, and who is responsible. We demand punishment. We demand repayment. We do not forget.
Bob stumbled down the street as if he were a drunken fool. Thanks to his training in security maintenance, he was able to avoid the oversight drones that surveilled the city from the sky. He had no knowledge of DoorVue or StreetLite cameras in the area, if any, but since Seth lived in the Warehouse District, Bob was hopeful there would be few.
We celebrate the glory of the Purification Directive. We live in a world now secure from contradictions to the truth.
Bob wished he could dig in his skull, through his ear holes or his eye sockets, or perhaps by clawing open the surgical scar on the back of his neck. Anything to pull out the brainboard he had installed at the insistence of his wife, Cecilia. She had one in her head too, of course, atop the cortex of her brain. Their longstanding use by psychologists proved them to be safe and effective, and so more recently, marriage therapists were allowed to put them in their clients as well.
Bob hoped and prayed with all his might that Cecilia's brainboard hadn't been hacked, as his so painfully was.
Our unification of thought is more powerful than any army, more devastating than all their weapons. We are a people with one will and one purpose, and with a single cause.
"Leave me alone!" Bob cried, hopeful that no one had heard him.
The streets were all but deserted, as few ventured out this late at night in an area that wasn't residential. Seth was a stained glass artisan, and lived in a studio apartment above his shop. By walking to Seth's residence, instead of driving by car, no GPS tracker would divulge Bob's whereabouts to the authorities.
He struggled with thinking clearly as the hack scolded him in his mind.
The unclean will pay for their filthy deeds. Their perverse logic and lies have cost us for too long.
Did Gulf Street come before Ogden? No, it was Ogden, then Hunter, then Gulf. Once there, Bob turned left and followed the building numbers until they reached the 900s. He had been to Seth's apartment only once before, and that was in the daylight while driving, to fix the lead glass in a transom window. The business portion of the shop was sure to be closed at this hour, but Bob planned on pounding on every door until one of them led him to Seth.
They are the ones responsible! We've seen and heard what they've done, and we'll bury them for their dishonor.
"I have done nothing wrong!" Bob moaned, as if the voice in his brain could hear him.
We demand repayment!
"You'll get nothing from me!"
Bob truly believed, with what little he had left of his sanity, that he was an innocent man. Like many other couples, he and his wife got brainboarded to help save their marriage. It had been a boon at first, allowing them to mesh their minds. They shared their thoughts and hopes and dreams, intimately, for an hour or two twice a week, under the guidance of their therapist.
YOU ARE READING
SmackDown: Back to Our Roots
Science FictionOur previous two SmackDowns were both massive successes, and it's high time for another. You might remember the last one was heavy on the "game" elements, maybe even too heavy. This time we're going back to the basics and keeping it simple. It's jus...
