Ty, a shift manager with an alcoholic wife, creates a female replicant in a dystopia veering toward full mechanization. For Ty, the surreal drudgery of working in a retail environment is interrupted when robotic interfaces are installed at his job...
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Martine rinsed her hands in the basin, faintly aware of a static charge lighting the air.
Though the room was dimly lit, darkness flashed in the clear water which soon clouded over.
"Not today. Please." Her plea came automatically.
She backed away, groping for the nearest rag. While she dried her hands, she noticed the water returning to a normal color.
Martine sighed deeply. At least she wouldn't have to worry about The Shadow following her around. Not for a few hours at least.
If only she hadn't been so sick, so different, she wouldn't be stuck here. All the rallies, billboard ads, and television rhetoric should've clued her in. Her best friend had warned her, but Martine hadn't listened.
The chip in her wrist buzzed, compelling her to join the others in the meeting hall. On her way, she searched every face for Sam, but like the day before (and every day before that), her new friend was nowhere to be found. No one looked familiar. The only familiar part of the encampment was the yellow walls, the cheery color at odds with what occurred inside of them.
"You are not prisoners. You may leave once you are ready to accept your proper role," a voice from the wall-interfaces assured them all of their rights, at odds with the armed bots who accompanied them to various meeting halls.
Martine wished to know someone, anyone to share in her fears. Everyday, the prisoners were rotated into new barracks, to prevent factions and fraternization. No one saw the same face twice.
Her third week in the barracks, a hand took hold of hers on the walk to the meeting hall, squeezing reassuringly, then letting go. She followed the hand to the face, and couldn't fathom the luck. It was Sam! Seeing her friend both disheartened and excited Martine.
Apparently unhindered by other-worldly ties, Sam pawed at her throughout the day when not under the laser-watch of the bots. While her passion was welcome, it denoted desperation as well. Outside the yellow walls, she had turned Martine down. Inside, under fear of death, they clung to one another.
That night, Martine participated in the first rotation. A voice piped from the speakers, instructing the application of blindfolds. Properly blinded, prisoners grabbed onto the unforgiving husk of the bots, as they were led to their new rooms.
Same room size, same bathroom space, same sparse metal furniture, except Martine's window faced north and not south.
TheShadow visited the new room after hours, whispering her name as it had before.She clutched the wool blanket, pictured Sam, and the whispering ceased.
