Messy-Doo

---

Silvertongue

* see A1-A5 in Worry Folder pg6 to pg9 for last brainstorm session

pg6.2

"Nail?" A soft soothing voice came from behind. The familiar sent of pine cologne wafting in, surrounding me like a blanket right out of the dryer.

I pull up the necessary files and click different cells on the spread sheet at random, moving, copying, synthesizing data I'd already done.

Only for the manager voice to return, "As of---'

I turn on a pin and star at him right between the eyes. Its like seeing a mallard fire a gunshot. For the briefest second I hoped that he'd die and crumple to nothing more than mangled bones and sinewy.

My rage clears and the astonished expression of James is left behind.

"I'm sorry," I lower my head in defference before returning back to work, genuinely this time.

I knew better.

It wasn't real, none of it was real.

"It's alright, but you really need to rest.'

Work. I really need to work. Its a test.

"It'll be ready by tomorrow, promise."

"That's not--"

"Sir, I know it was unprofessional for me to act like that.'

"Nail,.please, I don't--

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding. I nod, hearing the wordss but it might as well have been a foreign language.

I must've been working for a solid five minutes when the half-starts of a conversation stopped. Instead, James spoke for awhile, next time I looked back, he was gone

pg 6.9

"Stay, recover. I already regret letting you come in today, don't make me send you home. And Derek, Bromide, get back to work!" James barks. 

The group splits and thankfully it gives me time to duck into the bathroom. It feels like my sheep got sheep got sheep. Whatever time I did sleep in the hospital, it sure as hell didn't do any good for my savings. I'd be lucky to eat anything but ramen noodle and do my internet surfing at cafes for the foreseeable future if I ever manage to pay this off. 

I splash freezing cold water on my face, anything to distract from my thoughts. When, of course, I hear a familiar sigh behind me.

Madeline

I could smell her stink a mile away. (Who bathes in essential oils like that anyway?)

Knowing better than to start anything, I focus intently on drying my face and getting out of there. When, of course, Madeline chimes in. "I thought you were dead when you didn't come in yesterday. That's a relief."

I half expect to see Madeline's cat-like smirk only to see what looked like too-wide smile. I leapt back, eyes wide, ready for a snake to pop out of her mouth like some hideous nightmare. It took me a second to realize that overly relaxed face, the lack of forehead wrinkles in the smile, or hell, much animation in the rest of her body like a puppet with its strings cut. 

I'd seen that face a hundred times on the bus. That's what I looked like when I originally got the implants. All relaxed, like a wet noodle, I miss it. For some reason it hasn't worked the past day, I keep pressing the clicker to no avail.

I bite my tongue hard. I want that shock more than anything seeing her walk around like that, not a care in the world. It could've been me. But how did she have an implant? Weren't they still illegal? Not like I got mine over the table either. 

Should I say something?

My gut drops at the idea of talking to Madeline any longer, even if she was neutralized by whatever she was pumping right into her brain. It didn't matter at the end of the day. She wasn't my problem. 

I rush out of the bathroom and back to my desk. 

I grip the device tightly, pressing the device enough time that it should've killed me with the dose. The habit is maddening, even worse knowing I could have that. I need to have that.  

I could get a payment plan.

Yeah, if I scrounged up enough, I'm sure they could fix it. 

I shove the cursed thing into my drawer.

In the cubicle beside mine, its as if you stepped into a tropical rainforest. Every surface is covered in stacks of horizontal filers topped with bromeliads, spider plants and various other flowering plants

Amongst the foliage, a short squat fellow with bifocals skims over another array of data sheet for the upcoming merger. 

The idea of being alone in my brain anymore than I had feeling unbearable. 

"Bromide, have you---"

"I'll tell you once, I'll tell you again, it'll be ready when its ready--"

"--Oh no, no. I meant to ask if you've noticed anyone changed in the last couple months."

"Shermie got married? Can this wait? i've got---"

"Like... anyone gotten weirdly happy and calm."

"Happy?"

"Like Madeline."

This time he pauses, humming to himself. "You know what Madeline's into---"

"This is different, I can feel it."

Bromide speaks subvocal, "Closest thing I've seen is with Derek. Each time he goes to the bathroom he's weirdly... content, but probably just.. you know.... you okay? Don't look so..."

I step out. "Fine, fine. I just got to take care of a few reports. Thank you, for the recipes." I bow out, returning to my desk. 

--> pg6.1

--> pg6.2

--> pg6.9

pg6.0

Order.

That's exactly what I was missing.

Meticulously, I set up each and every teddy bear-bear around my desk. There were clay ones, bronze, steel, needled, stuffies (in various levels of disrepair) along with any number of drawings and other knick knacks my co-workers kids would bring in after one look at my workspace from home, like an offering.

I ordered each and everyone of the teddy bears in the way they'd decide this upcoming task. Some would entirely depart the desk, the job and take refuge under the bed. Another set would hold fast and press through whatever was the priority task on the itinerary. While the last would insist on a warm glass of milk, vanilla and honey.

Honestly, the latter was tempting but I knew I wouldn't get a thing done if I didn't get the most irritating part done first, emails.

As one of the few grunt workers of the group, I usually fetched and assembled minow tasks contributing to team leads or break out group. I was luckily on Bromide's team this week. He had a list of things he needed work on.

I must've been working on a basic spreadsheet for an hour when I feel my phone buzz.

[forgor ur clicker.]

A photo of my dopamine clicker shown in all its glory in what looks like a comically small hand or that of a child.

All of my precious ordered thoughts crumble into a disorderly set of desire and compulsions. I'd been ignoring the nagging desire for my hit all the way here.

Every time my vices summed it, I shoved it down. I was sure I'd lost it in some bag or fallen beneath my bed. Sure, I had turned over my entire apartment in an attempt to find it for real, what's the point when I knew I must've left it elsewhere.

If not for being ambushed earlier, I would've had a mental breakdown from the withdrawl.

Now?

Now I'm staring at the only thing that would bring an end to this enslaught of insanity and anxiety plaguing my body is in the hands of some grubby child??!!

At first, I typed.

[_ You selfish little brat! Don't you know better than to steal? If you know what's good for you you'll tell me exactly where you are so I can--]

I kept writing until I had a block of text full of threats and profanity before my anger tapered off like it always did into numbness.

What I wrote looked something straight out of a forum or a video game chat room. I slumped into my chair. A sense of helplessness washed over me like a wave. "Why? Why me?" I mutter to myself, deleting the text and writing instead:

[_ Thank you. Where would you like to meet so I can retrieve it?_]

The more I breathed, the more I wondered, how did they get my number? It has no caller ID and I have everyone's number in the office.

[Heh]

[ wouldn't u like 2 no, bookie?]

Of course, the next image is from the child's perspective. They're pointing with the clicker a delapitated room. Wherever they are, the walls are crumbling with wiring hanging from the ceiling and paint pealing from the walls. Atop a table with a duck taped leg, there was a rusty can.

The next image depicted the same except for yellow flowers appear in it.

[Betchu cant do that! ha!]

I could already feel the earlier nugget lf rage building again.

[_Very funny, kid. Now, tell me where you are. Now._]

[w/ ur mom duhhh ]

Followed by an image of an old political poster of the district representative. A nameless billionaire with a smile only a plastic surgeon could love.

[_If you don't give me your location right now, I'm calling the police._]

"Don't pop a blood vessel."

My head jerks up, dropping my phone. "I was working!" I blurt to James, no, Kai, James's twin.

Kai pokes me square between my nose. "Giving yourself an annerurism." They roll in atop a spinny chair while I struggle not to squawk at the sudden intrusion.

"I-- what are you doing here??!" I hiss, peaking out of my cubicle in case James is nearby. "Aren't you supposed to be--"

"Reigning over my toilet servants?" He smirks, snaping his suspenders.

"No--"

"Fighting dragons with my debinaire good looks," they pose for added affect.

"Kai..."

His grin widens as he frustrates me more, "Careful, gramps, might give yourself a heart attack." He adds a teeny tiny paper hat to the needle felt bear.

"What? Why--"

"James sent me."

" Why would--"

"Just finished for the day and if you need a--"

I stand up, far too fast and stumble into the wall of the cubicle as my head spins as blood rushes to my toes. "Look at the time, my bathroom break! Good seeing, you Kai." I say louder than necessary.

Low and behold, I hear a shout across the office in a brotherly tone. "KAI!!!"

"Snitch." Kai mutters, ducking down an orthogonal hallway.

I rush to the bathroom. My adrenaline pumping like crazy while I feel like my world is falling apart and all I want to do is scream.

I'm about to lock the door when I hear someone from one of the stalls.

Fuck me.

I splash water on my face, the sweat thick on my clothing, clinging to my button up shirt. My bob wig an absolute mess.

I pad my pockets in despiration, only to groan. "Why Kai? Just why?" I mutter.

Wishing for the familiar weight and reassurance of my phone so I could tell off a bratty child, I lean against the sink. My hair still a mess, sticking to my forehead. My pupils shrunken and skin faintly pale and red cheeked.

Stupid pale skin, broadcasts goddamn everything like a radiostation.

I cling to the sink awhile longer when I hear the bathroom door open. I swivel my head around to the entrance of the bathroom.

Nobody is there.

The door swings closed and I peak under the stalls to realize nobody is there either. Something about suddenly realizing I was alone or maybe because it felt like something else was happening, I bolted out of the bathroom to the safety of the breakroom. The secretary sat in the corner while an older man left with his coffee.

I vibrated with anticipation as I pulled out my milk carton. I make my vanilla-honey milk. Not even done pooring my milk, I recognized the set of steps approaching.

Don't you dare come in.

Which of course meant the universe welcomed him in, none other than Derek in all his glory.

Damn it all.

A wannabe manager already wearing his suit and tie, starched collar and perfectly quaffed silky smooth hair. His smile looking straight out of those veneer comericals.

I try my best just to focus on the task at hand. Predictably, the chatterbox opens his mouth. "Say... waves looking pretty gnarly today, aren't they?"

Why can't the microwave go faster!

"Derek, didn't see you there... how's the project coming? You mentioned last week we were over budget."

"Aww, c'mon, Nails. Take a joke!" He pats my shoulder. "Not gonna kill ta laugh a lil."

"It was just a dream, Derek. Let it go."

"Pff, but you didn't see your face. You and others gobbles up that shit. It wouldn't surprise me if tomorrow you'll be talking about the flat earth." He keeps cracking up while I hurry to gather silverwear and my dip for my carrots.

When I turn around, Derek's behind me. No smile, holding out some tinfoil. I sidestep him the moment I realize its a makeshift hat.

"I think you'll need this more than I will."

"Go eat a sock." I mutter, snatching up my stuff.

"So sensitive." He starts to say as the door closes behind me. I lean on the door an extra second longer so not to scream in his face.

For month, I managed to avoid talking to him, why now??!! Returning to my cubicle, something wet slips down my hand. I stare at the yogurt-cucumber mixture sliding down my arm. The little plastic serving cup crumpled in my vicegrip.

Icing on the cake, another buzz comes from my phone. I can only imagine the next place that brat left my button.

What do you know? My button lies in an alley, surrounded by discarded bear bottles and cigarettes, leaning against a garbage bag.

[Needs a ride. He can't drive home.]

[_Neither will you when I find you._]

[You promise?]

Slamming my phone into my drawer, I slam my head on my desk.

What did I do to deserve this?

weeks pass, surgery day,

cravings less bad

strange letters

--> Red + I bump into each other, turf war gone wrong, building collapse

-->pg3

Nothing about today felt real. Not the walk to work, the partially fixed bridge, flooded streets or how my office was somehow open with everything required to use kayaks to come to work long as the power worked.

I stared at my data spread sheet for an unreal amount of time, trying to parse out all the symbols as it felt like my mimd was falling apart.

My hand must've gone in my pocket a hundred times for the clicker. How could I even make it a week, much less a day without it??!

I let out a defeated sob and rest my head on my desk.

Of course, I hear a notification. I check my phone, notning. Only to hear another notification, this time my PC.

Any work I'd done goes out the window seeing those 4 little words in blue with a black background. "No solid foods. I'll know, Nail."

I shut it off, and leave the building without a second thought. In the shop across the street, I order a mocha, waiting impatiently as I stare back at the building, occasionally those around me, expectantly waiting for another notification.

I'm derranged. Why the hell would I want to go back there? That program drugged me and threw me out. The least it could do was ask me to leave.

On my lunch break, I find the darkest corner away from the others or any vents. I wasn't hungry, I knew I should be but the idea makes me sick.

I need it.

I've got to go back. Plead with the program or Dr Calamari (or whatever is left of her).

My coffee cup crumples beneath my grip. Searing hot coffee spilling over my hands, if not for my co-workers exclamations, I wouldn't have noticed.

"Nail! Your hand!" Steve rushes over with a handful of papertowels, dapping the coffee off me awhile dragging me to the sink.

"Oh, c'mon its only a little coffee.' I admonish, only to get corralled into soaking my hand in the sink. Admittedly it felt better but not even close as it was to the implant's hits.

"Jeez, sometimes I wonder if you can feel any of this stuff."

"Steve, I'm fine."

Martha pops in, "Uh... looks like a first degree burn to me."

I roll my eyes at the bean sprout of an co-worker with comically small spectacles.

"Of course, I'm sure its very normal for someone to shrug off boiling hot spill." Steve tightens his hands around my wrists.

"You guys are a bunch of whiners, that's why." I shrug out of Steve's grip.

"Nail!"

"Last time I checked it was legal to get burned and walk out." I step toward the door just as James the Manager comes in.

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Nail! Get your hand back in that water this instant."

Feeling more of a backbone than I usually do, I snap back. "Or what?"

For a moment, he looked crossed between a dozen emotion before settling for exhaustion. "You could get nerve damage if jt keeps-- burning."

I steal an ice pack from the fridge and put it on my hand, "there. all better.' I say in a sickly sweet tone before stomping off.

There were a few places known for gossip.

One was the breakroom.

The other the copyroom. Unlike the breakroom which was right next to James' office. The copy room was on the far side of the cubicles, allowing for prime privacy.

I twiddled my thumbs nervously by the copy door. Afterall, one couldn't simply ask for Derek's help.

So, I went about the ritual, going in, pressing a few buttons, leaving, of course, empty handed. After doing this five or six times, I stared at the copier and waited.

Sure enough, said self-proclaimed "Copier-Wiz," came prancing in. "What's wrong now?"

"Oh it's fine! I wouldn't want to distract you from your work. I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Derek stared, deadpan. "Spit it out."

Now, to think of a problem with the copier that would take long enough for me to get the gaul to ask him. Just thinking about it made my stomach churn.

"Uh, well, I was trying to well.. it'll sound stupid when I said it but... I thought maybe it could... staple?"

Derek stared for a long time. What felt like hours could have only been in minutes in disbelief. "Bah! You think corporate would shell out for a built in stapler? Nah, you do it by hand---"

Crap! Crap!

"Uh.. uh, and I wanted to print in greyscale."

To both my delight and horror, his gaze zeroed on me as if I crushed his dog. "Why isn't it in greyscale already? That's the default."

He hurried over to the copier, flipping through the settings.

How the hell am I supposed to ask him when he's already pissed? Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

"Thank fucking god, it's not in color.... did you even print anything at all?" He checks it. "You didn't even send anything. No wonder it isn't printing. If you want to waste someone's time, ask Bromide."

He's about to leave.

SAY SOMETHING!

I open my mouth, blurting. "wait!" In a tiny, pathetic voice.

"What?" He says, voice carefully neutral. The kind he gives when he's about to get snippy again.

"I well... since um... you're here, I had another question.... not about the copier."

His searching gaze sends goose bumps up and down my arms.

"Have you ever heard of Alevro?"

"no. never heard of it. why?"

"um... it's a good supplier of my anxiety medication--"

"You think I got anxiety?"

"No, no, of course not." I back into the copier as he closes the distance. "I mean... well, you have similar symptoms to my medication. I heard you looked um... relaxed... more than usual, like at peace."

He's leaning over me now. "Yeah?"

"M-my medication isn't work. I thought if you were on the same---'

"Then go to your fucking doc. why you framing me, you fucking crack head."

"I... um.. well, Alvero went out of business, but I heard it still does business, withs some folks. It's been years. So I thought maybe you knew of them or someone like them. I swear, I won't tell anyone." I make myself as small as I can against the copier.

He stands there for a long while. Watching. Waiting. For what? Who was I to know?

And then he left as quick as he came.

It wasn't until I left later in the day I found an address on my desk, along with a "don't talk to me again, dumbass."

The golden lamplight casts the city in shades of sepia, even giving the sharp skyline a softer edge. Discarded pop cans and broken glass rustle underfoot. In the distance, piles of trash in an ally rustle, revealing a mouse with a slice of tomato.

Despite the picturesque lack of people crossing the bridge, whether above or below, I still couldn't help myself but squiver in rage at my stupid manager.

No other manager even cared if I was in until the following day, long as I freshened up at the gym next door. Now this one? Heavens no, of course he has to be control freak! Telling people when they have to go home.

Not for the first time that day, I rolled my eyes. Some people need to mind their own bee's wax.

Emerging from the buildings, it made the bridge feel like a pathway to nowhere. Eeerily, street lights for the cars were bright but barely any of it seemed to penetrate the barrier to the pedestrian side.

I pulled my wool jacket all the way to my cheeks and pulling my bucket hat down to my chill. Next time, I wouldn't wear sandals to work. When did it get so cold at night?

It wasn't long before I had trouble feeling my toes, the water below churned angrily while the wind howeled. It felt as if the very sea wanted to tear apart the bridge as it rocked. Below, I could see the waves crashing over the deck, splashing over unsuspecting monster folk hurrying home.

In a particularly large gale, I saw the water retreat. In fact, it kept retreating to such an extent, I could've sworn I could see fallen ship wrecks poke out of the bag's floor.

How strange?

I muse, watching the water recede further the further. As it did, paradoxically, the wind went silent. The shifting of every rivet and piece of metal became audible, almost eerily so.

By that time, I had reached the end of the bridge. It's then a siren shrieked. I leapt in surprise. Below, several folks screamed.

After what felt like ages, it turned off, whatever the hell that was.

Then the loud speaker's range with a pre-recorded voice. "Warning, Tsunami incoming. You are in danger. Evacuate to higher ground and do not return. Warning,--" followed by a repeat of the message in different languages.

I bolted for the door leaving the bridge only to hear another scream over the siren. "IT WON'T OPEN!"

My heart dropped as I stepped back out. Its from underneath, the underbridge! There wasn't a way to get down there from up here but maybe if I found a way down...

I raced inside. The howl of cars speeding down the bridge echo, nearly disorientating me as they zipped by. Nobody daft enough to stay.

I easily found an access door but there wasn't a handle. There wasn't any other way for them to get on the bridge. I look around, peaking into the guard station built into the wall only to see nobody there.

More cries fill the bridge. There must be more people coming. I grab a piece of loose cement and toss it at the window. It bounces off, easily. I let out a shriek and using my bag I swing it repeated at the window, growing more frantic as each strike barely made a mark.

There had to be a way in, I could see something through the frosted glass I could swear was a key. I kept at it, bashing and bashing at it again until a tiny crack. By the time it shattered, I worried it was already too late.

I scrambled desperately to find the key, overturning boxes and knick nacks, shock battons, magic restrictive collars, etc.

Still nothing. It wasn't until I sat down on one of the chairs that I heard a little jingle. Of course not in the locked glove boxes. Lazy assholes.

I race leap through the grass, and practically run as fast as I can down the stairs. The last lock was the hardest, it was like it had rusted over. I jammed the key in only to realize something was stuck in there.

Are you SERIOUS!!??

More pounding came from the other side of the door when I noticed something. The hinges were rusty too, picking up my trusty bag I beat the hinge, beating the thing into oblivion as the door slowly creaked open.

Just as I see a crack, I start pulling at it, on the other side, a dozen hands came through to push. Someone was shouting. I couldn't tell what. The next thing I knew a horde of monster folk stumbled through the door.

The force of their entry sent me flying back, colliding with a concrete slab. The next thing I remember, I wake up and the people are gone.

My head hurts like an elephant is stomping on it. In the distance of the bridge, I see a human child hobbling along on crutches.

I force myself up, races back out the door at the kid. Their eyes barely acknowledge me, as if accepting their fate as I scoop them up. Through the pounding and the dizziness, I race up the stairs. The only thing I can here being the siren shrieking in my head. The roar that was once distant seems too close.

"Not gonna die. Not gonna die. Not gonna--" I stumble, dropping the kid who yelps.

"Shit." I hiss, clutching at my ankle. I must've landed on it wrong and twisted it. "Goddammit!" I howl, forcing myself to my feet. Every step is agonizing, even work as I throw the kid over my shoulder, using their punny crutch, forcing myself forward.

"Don't you die on me now." I mutter.

"Heh heh," the child giggles in ammusemrnt.

It's uneasy as being underground during the tsunami. Behind me, I could hear more running but after awhile, that went quiet too.

The next memories come in bits. I'm not even sure how I got to those places . An underground city. Full of monster folk.

A goat monster wearing dusty old robes cradling the child. A smell like butterscotch wafted off of them.

The morning sun was jabbing my eyes. I groaned, reaching up, feeling someone else take my hand. "Yer gonna be a'ight, sunshine."

I remember holding on tightly whispering, "don't leave."

I don't know why I'd say that. Something about the stranger told me they were safe. The feel of their rough hands, covered in bones. I remember feeling between their knuckles.

A deep baritone chuckle reminded of me of salted caramel, sweet and rich. "hmm," they hum, their fingers taping along mine. "on one condition."

This time, my eye lids momentarily opened. I can't remember their face, only that they had the warmest smile I'd ever seen. "You're not fucking this wet noodle without a little commitment." Not that I'd actually thought I'd see them again. It felt like a game of cat and mouse with hypotheticals that would never come to pass.

They laughed again, this time, they threw their head back. "Nah, just dinner."

"Dinner? Why?" I remember asking, as my mind began to fade. Whatever they said next, it didn't make sense. "Pardon...."

It all started when Stag wanted to create the best soup the world had ever seen. Seeing as she was in the middle of town and far from the natural abundance of the forest, she had to get creative.

By day, she'd play the role of the good little beetle: dancing on the desk, throwing other beetles off the table and in general being a delight to be around.

By night, her lust for power would drive her to do unspeakable things. She'd steal from the fridge. Little things, a tomato there, carrot here, slice of ham, etc. Then she'd smuggle a gas rig into TRIO, along with a bunsen burner.

She'd cook in the vents, occasionally enlisting her chipper friend Mar the Grass Hopper.

If you ever smelt a decadent tomato, suculent cheese brocoli or miso soup in the TRIO room yet mysteriously couldn't identify the source, it was them. Many a bug around the building came to fiest on these delicacies. This granted Stag untold influence in the Bug Elections held in Heiner. This granted her the position as Chairman of Heiner, the second heist bug congress position, second only to The President.

Unfortunately for you, Stag the Beetle's lust for power didn't end there. She sought to be president, to rule over the academic bugs with an iron fist and destroy all culinary dishes except soup.

Nickname: Bug story

pg1 --> pg2

Dear Gim,

We, Stag the Beetle and Mary the Grasshopper, humbly appologize for our earlier attempt to requisition your writing impliment without your approval.

However, in our defense, we had just cause to do so. You see, that is not any mere pencil but the Silver Spear. Legend says its so powerful that merely wielding it for an entire day will give the wielder rule over all of mother nature. Not only that, but unscrupulus characters had the intention of not only stealing said spear but using it for less than benevolent purposes.

Contained within this letter is a translation of our tale of wowe. We understand if you harbor a grudge and wish not to hear us out but if you have a single forgiving bone in your body, please listen.

Whatever you do.

Sleep coddles me like a new born babe. I know I shouldn't sleep. I'm on a bus, I'd never been fo this area before but it was so late, the gentle rock of the bus was so relaxing and who was I to deny the call of sleep.

Thankfully, the bus driver must've hit something as my head careened to right, smacking into rhe window. I jolt awake, anxiously looking for any recognizable landmarks before I realized where I was, leaning my head back against the cool window.

Still on the bus, but this time I was on the fire side of town where the cops don't go without a swat team. It looks nothing like the pristine labs of yester-year. I'd be amazed if any lab could survive here without being stripted for parts like a rotten carcous stripped of meat.

Maybe Derek had given me the wrong adress? Or he was screwing with me. What was I supposed to even do? Its not as if I had any leads.

I cover my mouth as another bout of nausea washes over me.

"Last stop before we go back to the station." I looked around the bus, realizing that the nobody else was there. The bus stop in question was packed.

Reluctantly, I thanked the driver as I left. At this hour, the bus was dead silent and the guy didn't say a word back. Though, he did wait and call "You sure about that?"

I turned back, noticing the sullen bus driver leaning out.

"How do you know I don't live here?"

The bus driver grumbles, "your funeral."

Still the bus remains where it was, even when I was a block away, the bus driver kept staring into the darkness of a nearby ally a moment longer.

Not a block from the bus stop and I already started feeling my own reservations about this plan. Many of the businesses had metal covers over their storefronts. A bar and a 24-7 market still open had bars overing the windows with someone sitting outside perched on a stool. The look out's eyes always on a swivel.

The few people outside congregated in tight groups. Some wore the same color, while others worked with hunch shoulders, goods exchanging hands. It's hard to tell, everything covered as it was.

Gone were the bright colors of the buisness districts, everything turned a muddy grey and black, whether the people's clothing or the streets themselves. The only scrap of bright color from a faded sign or candy wrapper.

I pulled my coat collar over my ears as the wind howled straight through me.

What should've dawned on me an hour earlier, crept in like an unwelcome house guest.

This had been a bad idea.

A really really bad idea.

I chattered as any semblance of warmth was stolen from me. In the shadows, I could swear that eyes were following me. Once, I tripped on an old pipe and saw a hand dart out from a pile of garbage.

I threw myself back, barely evading long fingernails and beady red eyes. There was a person in there, at one time. Now, all I saw was hunger.

I shouted back, "HEY!" As if I could stand any chance in a fight. I could smell the scent of decay on the boney, gaunt skeleton of the human staring back at me. The way his body was curved as if he'd been born in the trash rather than a hospital.

As suddenly as the stranger came, they fled.

My heart beating right out of my chest. I could've sworn they had a knife. Not that it would matter, but the glint of something metallic made my blood run cold.

I shouldn't have come here.

Still, that stupid lizard part of my brain lead me on. A couple years ago, I would've said it'd be crazy to come to this part of town alone. Now, I could feel a guiddiness rise as I grew closer, street by street, to my destination.

The further I went, the more decrepit the buildings got. Apartments went from pealing paint and poorly patched holes to entire walls missing. The only thing making them seem vaguely like a home being the array of colorful tarps covering said parts.

The trash got thicker, I had to be careful where I stepped. It was like a thousand winters had passed in this part of town. Every couple feet there was a new sink hole in the cement. No car stood without something missing. Not that that was too surprising, I doubted any car drove down here in ages.

Out of the crumbling apartments rose a shoulder high fence. No barbed wires or "smile for the camera." Rather, anywhere nearby the fence was spotless. You could see it in the asphalt.

Far from fence. Cracked, potholes, grass and shrubs forcing their way through.

Close to fence. Black. Blacker than black concrete so smooth that you'd have thought it was a skate park.

I could even see the fresh asphalt steps of someone walking momentarily off it, then back on, as if the unkept concrete jungle too scared them.

What made my heart drop below the dirt was the building beyond. It looked cut from the same cloth as all the other apartments and businesses down here. The same popcorn walls with a billion layers of paint all of over it. Compared to the others who gave up covering the graffiti, down here, it's as if no one had ever touched it. The concrete smooth, several cars parked closer to the building, nothing nearby the outskirts.

Instead, tall towers with huge dragon-fly-Esque cameras are spread, one every couple hundred feet, lining the inner fence. At one point, I heard a scream on the other side of the fence. Someone hoping the fence. They barely reached the jungle before they fell. It was as if their body itself had given out.

No guards needed.

Only the countless eyes watching from above, like gods watching the boring lives of mere ants.

Long as I get in and out fast, it doesn't matter if it looks like Count Dracula's castle.

It's about all the time I get before I get a notification on my phone. Somehow my doctor, who old school only using email and snail mail signed a text with her name.

Fishing around in my pockets, I found a crumpled up note, that weird handwriting like on the envelope.

#1 No questions about equiptment

#2 Get in, get out

#3 keep your eyes and your buisness to yourself.

It's then, I watched a segment of the fence right in front of me part as if it had always been a piece missing. I stare at the fence that only a moment before felt as real as I was.

A day after you came back, you acted like it was a joke.

His words hang over me like a harbinger.

Every uncharistic snicker, smile, etc. observed down to the smallest upturn of my lips. I record them in a notebook. I don't remember most of them... certainly not as many as Madeline with all my "losing tolerance" days but still...

It seems more and more I got the defective chip.

I even went to a doctor to get it checked and removed. They denied even scanning me for it. They said there was no record in my file of the procedure.

They would know.

It was a medically necessary intervention, not something they'd do for someone like me. There wasn't even a scar.

It took me badgering them to x-ray me before they finally shot me with radiation and they could tell something was there.

Distant thud and honk of traffic whisper into my ears. I snuggle closer to the warmth. Why did I have to leave the window open again?

A cold breeze tickles my feet.

Did I forget socks too? What had gotten into me last night?

Groggily, I reach for my bedside table on the vain hope that I'd left a pair there. Upon the shift, a sudden blast of memories hit me from the previous day.

Barred windows, silence, Dr Calamari and collapsing in the lab. I shove whatever is holding me, sending me crashing to the ground. I blink ferrociously, attemtping to see my kidnapper.

"Dr Calamari?!" I exclaim at the scientist staring down at me.

The earlier blank expression she had was wiped away, leaving behind her thick eye brows glowering at me behind huge spectacles.

"About time." She brushed herself off and prompty turned around. "Next time come with an empty stomach if you want something invasive."

"In-- wait, how are you-- you're supposed to be brain dead!"

But she'd already turned a corner.

Alone. On the wrong side of town. No clue where I was in only the clothes I came in. No phone, no bus fair and definitely no coat against the frigid wind.

I tried to chase after her but she'd left like the wind, leaving me only two options, go back and badger her until she returns my belonging or die....

Or come back later, get the implant fixed, not die and probably get my belongings back.

Unless whatever happened to Dr Calamari happens to me and I'm just some weird doll with my personality shutting on and off at will?

For the first time that day, I paused, considering all that I'd done between wanting the implant back, all the way to this moment.

I stare up at the smoggy clouds and wonder aloud, why the hell did I come out here?

Sure enough, the bus came. I explained my situation. While the bus driver waved me on, she didn't look like she believed me.

I curled up in my seat, waiting for the last transfer until I'd be home again.

Late into the morning, I cursed the sun rising.