Simulations Evolve

Uno

As he heard the toilet flush, Matt sighed with relief. He had been attempting to remove a blockage for an hour now with little success but had finally managed to dislodge it in one way or another. The cubicle was grimy, odourous and festering with mould; he was trying his hardest not to gag but could feel the familiar sickness that came with having to endure such an environment. He replaced the toilet brush in its holder and breathed in the ever-so-slightly fresher air of the sink area. The tap spluttered to life as he turned it on, waiting a couple of seconds for the water to warm. Ridding his hands of all of the germs they had collected throughout the day, he then rinsed his face and turned the tap off, looking briefly at his reflection in the mirror.

His skin was pale, almost to the point of being translucent. The sallowed cheeks and sharp jawline made his face very angular and a little cold-looking. His small lips were slightly cracked from the dehydration of working all day but his eyes looked as alive as ever. A light blue so intense that they almost looked out of place next to his skin. Wiping his face down with a paper towel, he quickly ran a hand through his dyed red hair - spiked up just how he liked it. His boss had never been a massive fan of it but hey, they were understaffed and Matt was cheap labour. He adjusted the collar of his uniform and, just before he left the bathroom, rolled down his sleeves so as to not expose the drawn-on-with-Sharpie veins that covered his skinny arms. If anyone here saw them, he'd be done for.

Jumping down from the truck housing the portable toilets, Matt checked his watch and started to make his way across the gargantuan field. His job as a cleaner at Teignmouth's biggest festival ground came with its perks - he got to see glimpses of the performing bands setting up their equipment and even soundchecking their material on occasion. Ever since he was little he had had a passion for music - neither his guitar or keyboard ever managed to gather even a speck of dust. Smiling to himself, he remembered the first time he had heard Nocturne No. 2 by Chopin and had always dreamed of writing his own songs with a prominent classical influence like that.

The sun had already started to set on the small Devon town and Matt sped up to a jog. As soon as the sun disappeared below the horizon, the cold would begin to set in and he didn't have a warm change of clothes. As if to remind him of this, his body involuntarily shuddered but he kept his eyes on his destination - his boss's office just metres now in front of him. The building was small but uninviting; the paint on the walls was slowly peeling and the tiles on the roof were beginning to erode away from the wind damage that came with living on the coast.

He opened the door which always gave him a little squeak, almost as if it was telling him to 'squeak off'. Following the narrow hallway, he looked briefly at the photos on the walls, each from a different concert. Oh, how he had dreamed of touring the world. But as what? His A Level in Music meant that he had a wide classical background, but he wasn't sure he fancied just playing classical piano. Maybe he would fuse genres together and tour as a rock pianist or something.

He knocked the door at the end of the hallway and waited for the familiar dry 'enter'. No response. Frowning and cocking his head slightly to one side, he tried again, this time a little louder. Still nothing. He had to be here; he was always here at this time. Plus Matt needed to collect his paycheck and he was not leaving without it. Rent had been tougher than ever this month, what with fewer and fewer ticket sales at recent concerts. Taking a deep breath and wiping his now clammy hands on his shirt, he pushed on the door to his boss's office and it swung open.

Nothing could've prepared him for what he saw. The man was slumped over his desk, body twitching and spasming. Each time he moved he would 'glitch' and disappear for a second, almost as if he was in a video game. He scanned the room, rubbing his hands together nervously, looking for what could have possibly caused this when something caught his eye from outside the window. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he crept towards it, closing his eyes for a split second. What if he was next? Or, if he wasn't killed, he'd surely be a witness in court. Maybe even the murder suspect!