Interaction [Dreamnotfound]

7 | Tracked

Attention everyone. We are now in lockdown. All citizens of London, England are restricted to their residence. There will be no further travel, regardless of the cause. Thank you for your cooperation.

George stared at the new message displayed against his formal black screen. Lockdown. They were in lockdown.

He didn't even need to know why. He already knew.

They had traced his call.

Although George had taken care of the more precise location tracking techniques when he used the phone program, his general location could still be traced. They had first traced it down to England. Now, London.

George sighed, flopping on his bed and staring at the message, wishing it would just disappear. This whole thing was ridiculous. He couldn't call anyone, nor interact with anyone. That was the way it had always been.

But he had found ways to get around it.

Now, with his call system jeopardized, he had no chance of being able to use it again, which meant he had to actually stick to the rules. He couldn't talk. To anyone.

The loneliness was already beginning to set in.

And now with lockdown, he couldn't even go outside. Couldn't breathe in the fresh air if he wanted to, or he'd be arrested.

It would just be eat, sleep, and work. A daily routine more than 80% of the population regularly followed, at least in England.

But not regular for him.

George's eyes seemed to suddenly weigh... a lot. Like a lot.

Lying down on the bed, the world seemed to blur. He was so tired.

No. No, he couldn't sleep, not now...

But the darkness took over, and he fell into a world of dreams.

Vibrations from George's wristband woke him up. Cursing inwardly, he sat up on the bed. What now?
From the time, it seemed he had slept a good half hour. Damn it. He had woken up a mere hour before that - why was he so tired?

Groaning, George flipped his wristband and observed the message.

A pristine white envelope.

An announcement? Again?
This would be... what, the third that week? Two yesterday, and yet another today? Crazy.

George grabbed his phone, typing in password09, and then remembering that it was in fact September, not Eiron.

Password10 was typed in, and an envelope displayed. George swiped up to view a new message:

This message is for the two parties involved in the forbidden call made yesterday.

Turn yourselves in and you will survive.

Ignore this message and we will track you down.

You know who you are.

Lockdown will continue until further notice.

George's heart began to race, and he scrolled down, dismissing the message.

They were talking to him.

His Dad had undoubtedly received the same message. He wouldn't turn himself in...

Would he?
George wouldn't. He didn't believe the message for a second. There was no way they wouldn't kill him, and even if they didn't, he would be imprisoned for who knew how long.

No, it was settled. He wouldn't turn himself in.

They probably couldn't track him, anyways. They wouldn't have enough information to locate him specifically, so as long as his phone program was left unused...

He was safe.

Probably.

George sighed, and then got himself up off his bed. He should probably do some work... it was only the beginning of the day, and there was always something new to do. Some problem to fix. Some code to be revised.

George moved to his desk, booted up his pc, and checked his emails. A bot report, and nothing more.

George frowned, opening the email. It had been reported yesterday, in late afternoon, by a higher government status. The name given was "Darryl".

Darryl? One of the big names? Wow. Impressive.

George squinted at the text printed. The problem identified was apparently "issues with location identification using microchip".

That was what they had been using to test location tracking, right? The microchips? Darryl must have been one of the testers.

George read some more of the email. It had been sent out to many others of his status, the goal being to collectively fix the issue.

Apparently, the microchip had been displaying fake information, telling them that they had been outside of borders, when they supposedly hadn't. Darryl, the reporter, had said that he suspected the reasoning for this had something to do with the extra location tracking attached to another band - or something like that. Darryl was rather hard to understand.

George skimmed through replies from other workers, but nobody had found the problem. Huh. Interesting, especially since it had already been a day since the problem had came up.

George shifted in his seat, opening up the code for both the new microchip and the latest wristband. He examined the location tracking carefully.

There didn't seem to be anything out of place, at least not as far as George could see. The code looked normal, and the wristband shouldn't have interfered with the location tracking on the microchip, not if it had received the latest update.

Maybe that was it - the band wasn't properly updated?
No, it couldn't be... Darryl was too large a name to have a later band edition. It had to have been updated.

So then what was causing the issue?
George worked at it for hours, to no avail. At last, having skipped both breakfast and lunch, he closed the code, left a short report with not really anything to say, and went downstairs to grab a snack, still thinking about the problem.

It just didn't make sense. What was causing the interference?
Unless they were lying, and there was no problem. That had happened before, but never with someone as important as Darryl...

And why would they lie?
George finished his snack, went back upstairs, and found he had no motivation. He didn't want to work, he wanted to... go outside. For once.

But of course, he couldn't. Stupid lockdown.

George dropped his head into his hands. Lockdown, a mystery coding issue... and his Dad had never called back. Probably for the best, but George still had no idea who had been at their door. It worried him.

And so George sat on the edge of his bed, alone with his head full of thoughts, wondering what would come next.

He stayed like that for a long time.

He was still lonely.