Creatrix

Chapter 3 - SomaSync

The mirrored building blotted out the sky on the south side of the river. It looked ominous, reflecting the greyness of the day. Richard Larkin’s synthetic office on the fourth floor looked out over the Thames, just above the enormous letter Y of the word SOMASYNC. 

The view of the vast London landscape was of no concern to him today; he was slumped over his desk holding his head in his hands, while screens buzzed at the edge of his vision. His desk was littered with empty foam cups, strewn with reports and papers he had no time or inclination to read. His nerves were jangled. He snorted, slammed his fist down on the desk. 

‘What the hell is it? I can’t bloody find anything!’ He jumped up from his seat, and paced the small room. ‘Nothing at all! How am I supposed to work this out?’  He rubbed his eyes; they were sore. He'd been searching for the problem all night. 

The team was looking to him for direction, but he didn’t know where to start; he knew no more than they did, he didn’t have a clue. He didn’t want to be here, but as much as he loathed Somasync; the building, the politics, and the board meetings, he was committed to this project. He had to stay with it; he wasn’t about to abandon Creation to their control. 

Through the window that looked over the programming suite, he saw a host of programmers and neuro-scientists trying to locate the problem, data flashing across their blank faces. 

A couple of Regulators were in trance, searching for signs from within the game, checking whether the players had come across any kind of anomaly. The neuro-scientists were hooked up to the bio-response interface. They monitored the brain and body responses of the regulators and players carefully, but the world was just too vast and they couldn’t reach everyone. Richard scanned the scene for any excitement, a clue that they had found anything –  for now, it all seemed normal, apart from the edge of panic that hung in the room. 

Richard's digi-com bleeped, he jumped back; there was no pause, no warning; his boss had flickered into the room. Roger was too self-important to announce his calls and would just ‘arrive’. The image was full size, as if he was standing there.

‘Larkin! I need you in my office right now! We need some answers.’ Roger’s image held his hands on his hips; the voice was sharp and demanding. He aggravated Richard beyond belief. 

‘Okay! I’ll be right there.’ He said.

Roger flicked out and Richard cursed before leaving his dim cluttered office. He frowned and blinked against the sunlight as he entered the foyer. He preferred to work at home where he could create his perfect environment - but Roger said he had to be here; his physical presence was needed at Somasync. 

Richard Larkin looked out of place in the lush surroundings, shuffling along in his canvas shoes.  His tired eyes and a shadow of stubble, accentuated his pasty expression. His lilac collar-less shirt clung to his skin, damp under his arms, and he wore his jeans too loose and too low; you wouldn’t expect to see such a character in this spotless environment. Roger often complained about him being unkempt. Richard Larkin’s life was computers, he was untidy, and his bleached complexion hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. His appearance didn’t matter to him.

He stopped in the lounge for a strong coffee before facing his boss. Shoulders hunched, neck tensed - he walked past the chocolate leather settees that stood square against the walls. At the chrome counter he poured himself a cup of strong black coffee, took three sugar sachets, tore them open and poured the white grains into the cup. Media control had got the story and, yet again, it shimmered on the plasma screen high on the wall. Stirring his drink with a plastic stick he stood and watched. 

The boy had been sectioned and sedated. They linked his bizarre behaviour to Creation. When he collapsed – screaming - in a crowded shop, he was arrested. The police were baffled, they’d called a doctor who sent him to Fairfield Hospital. The thin, puffy eyed mother said her son was terrified of something, she didn’t know what. The boy’s father looked hollow, he explained through shadowed eyes how his son was addicted to the game, how he’d been acting strangely for weeks - They blamed Creation and the Lightcrystal technology. Why didn’t he stop the kid playing it if he was that bothered?