The Deep End

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PARALLAX LABS
NAME: THOREAU, REMI
AGE: 33 BLOOD TYPE: O-
SID: HUMAN 36m-XX79
WARNING DO NOT TAKE D-PEN WITHIN 72 HOURS OF THIS TRIAL, DECROSIS REACTION ACCELERATED TO A DEADLY RATE.

These clinical bracelets were always a pain to get off and back on but Remi didn’t want to give an agent any more ammo against– TING a high pitched tone rings out from the taxi’s console. INSUFFICIENT FUNDS flashing across his passenger profile on the windshield. Remi pulls up his bank statement on the passenger window smart glass. The deposit from the clinical trial earlier just went through– just enough for the Foundry license fee but not enough to continue through the next toll. “Driver reroute to May Landing’s Foundation offices with the remaining deposited funds,” he said. If that damn clinical trial didn’t run so late he could have just taken public transport there.

A shape pushes up from the steering wheel forming into a soft face made of its tan pleather material, “Sorry Mr. Thoreau there’s no turn off before the upcoming gate. You need to add more credits if you wish to continue your trip with us.” Remi unbuckles his seatbelt quietly. “Try the card ending in 8634.”

“Declined,” the face says dryly as if it has already played this game with previous customers. Remi inches over to the driver seat, “How about card 7258?”

“Declined. Mr Thoreau I ask that you plea–” Remi’s head bangs against the steering wheel, grasping for the emergency manual override lever located somewhere underneath the dash. “Return to your seat at once Mr. Thoreau! We are approaching May Landing expressway where you will be exiting at once!” Remi finally gets his fingers around the lever, “I know that’s why I need to buy a little more time,” pulling the lever with a loud clunk. Crying out the driver’s face freezes in a contorted grimace and slowly sinks back into the steering wheel.

The blue glow of the taxi switches to a pulsing red light as WARNING flashes across every glass surface. Remi sits back up in the driver seat as the taxi rolls through the toll gate. The emergency manual override is only for vehicle breakdowns or malfunctions but when engaged it can bypass tolls; a little trick picked up from some of his friends back in the day.

Digging through the glove box he finds the dust covered respirator, it will be a miracle if it still functions but he has no other option. Remi is thrown forward into the dash from the taxi’s emergency air brakes kicking on. The console starts chiming, “Please remain seated. Emergency Foundation personnel will be here shortly.” The free ride has come to an end.

Pulling the door release handle with one hand he stuffs the clinical bracelet in his pocket with the other– truly can’t afford being kicked out of another trial especially by something as simple as losing a bracelet. Adjusting the straps, Remi pulls the respirator mask on and steps out onto the expressway. It’s quiet, there isn’t really any kind of traffic since the work shortage began a few years back. The air stings and burns like nettles dragged across his squinting eyes. A dense orange haze throughout the sky obstructs most of the view but he recognizes a couple of the neighboring buildings of the Foundation offices. Those countless past consultations there have finally served some kind of use to him.

Flashing red and blue lights lit up the smog on the horizon behind him. Knowing he’s running out of time, Remi leans over the guard rail. Nothing but particle clouds swaying like swarms of craze starved locust below. A gentle breeze brushes the back of his neck– blowing just enough to push a particle cloud away to reveal a corroded walkway. The rust colored walkway leans a little to its side but it still connects the buildings to the Foundation offices.

Remi trots along the expressway’s edge until he is just above the walkway. It’s about a 20 foot drop– which he could easily make– but it’s the 300 foot drop, if he slides off, is what keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground. Fading in and out the whine of the emergency vehicles sirens are getting louder. It’s now or never. Pushing himself off like a long jumper, Remi’s arms and legs flail as if swimming, hoping the air is just dense enough that he might gain some form of traction.

Slamming into the walkway he kicks up orange dust but immediately starts tumbling forward from the momentum of the fall. Bracing himself, he tries to skid to a stop while he knows he still has solid ground underneath him. Holding his breath and waiting for the feeling of the freefall to rush past one final time. The metal of the walkway is warm against his cheek and his knees are throbbing from the impact of the fall. He made it, a little banged up but better than being a stain of splashed blood and tangled flesh to be scraped up from the street below.

Standing up he tries to find his breath but the respirator’s regulator isn’t helping. Before he could start cleaning off the orange dust from himself, the siren stops directly above on the expressway. Making a b-line towards the dark canopy of the buildings ahead, he clutches the railing to keep his balance along the walkway’s slope.

It’s much darker between the buildings than he remembers but that’s because they stopped lighting walkways after the pollution became so bad it was impossible to walk outside anymore. As he makes his way down the long corridor the agent’s deadpan voice from their previous visit bounces around his aching head, “If you are to miss your next payment we will have to repossess our property as per the language of our contract Mr. Thoreau.”

Suddenly a bright light flickers down the entirety of the alleyway walls revealing an L-turn to the right at the end of the walkway. The light is emitting from a decrepit plasma billboard that had been triggered by his presence. Inspecting the corridor he recalls the Foundation offices being just a little further after this turn.

A looping video of an ocean beach with clear blue waves gently pushing up against a perfect white sand shore. In big white letters along the cloudless skyline says, TURN BACK TOMORROW LIVE NOW D-PEN. A speaker built behind the ocean image crackles on, “Feeling tired Remi? Let down? D-PEN is available noww at your local Foundation office!” The waves in the video begin to ripple from the sound of the speaker messing with the plasma causing the images to bleed together. “It’s your time to relax, it’s okay to depend on D-PEN!” The video doesn’t loop perfectly so it’s obvious when it restarts. “Turn back tomorrow, Live Now! D-PEN is an approved product of the Foundation Board of Pharmaceuticals.”

D-PEN has been around as long as he could recall. It was released for human use by the Foundation to help cope with the ever changing world they now live in. It wasn’t really an upper or a tranquilizer; it’s more of a settler, it makes people okay with everything in their life or not in their life. Not happy, just tolerable. Remi couldn’t stand the stuff and luckily most of the clinical trials gave him an excuse to stay far away from it.

Shooting out from around the corner a hand grabs a hold of Remi and drags him around the corner into an imposing dark mass. A warm and moist breath hisses into his ear, “You deepen?” Pushing himself far enough back, Remi looks at what exactly has a hold of him. A pale colorless arm covered in gaping wounds similar to gangrene but the tissue doesn’t change color because it isn’t dead it just has simply ceased to exist. Through these voids a window is opened for us to see all the inner workings underneath the flesh– bones, veins, ligaments, and nerves– all churning and pulsing against the pane.

Breaking his stare Remi looks up at the gaunt face of a man with stringy long black hair, well not exactly a man, he’s a MAVI. Usually he wouldn’t be able to tell in this kind of light but decrosis from D-PEN use by an android is quite obvious once their nervous system is exposed. MAVI– man’s greatest invention– perfectly replicating everything human except they couldn’t quite figure out the old nervous system. It left a feeling of the uncanny when you looked them in the eyes; as if they missed the millenias of nature humans endured to gain their right to humanity.

“I don’t have any spare credit,” Remi mutters as he tries wriggling out of the MAVI’s grip. The MAVI’s steel blue eyes move from right to left making a couple passes up and down Remi. The MAVI’s eyes widen looking like saucers in the decrotized pits that once were his sockets. Smirking as if he just found out an old secret, the MAVI pulls Remi up to his sunken and poxed face. “Cmon Remi, is that anyway to treat an old friend?” His tongue clicking against the metal capped teeth as the words slither out with the smell of industrial lubricant.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” Remi strains to loosen the MAVI’s hold. “And even if I did, I can’t help you out because I have an important appointment I can’t miss!” Ramming his elbow into the MAVI’s arm, Remi strains to twist away with what’s left of his strength– all of his exhausted muscles locking into their place for one final push. A strange snapping sound like rubber bands breaking all at once echoes through the flickering alley. Gaping in horror he pushes away the MAVI’s arm which has almost completely broken off at the joint at its elbow. A black fluid starts pooling in the decrosis pits and drips down the shimmering exposed metallic nerve cables, the only thing keeping the arm attached at the moment.

Panicking, he tries to apologize but before he could get the words out he bolts, making a break for light at the end of the alleyway. The MAVI whips around yelling to Remi’s back, “Beware the water you wade through Mr. Thoreau!” Squatting down he cradles his torn arm, “For it’s the water that will weigh you!” Throwing his head back his stringy hair bobbles limply with his laughter bellowing from deep inside of him.

Remi stops when he thinks he can’t hear the MAVI’s laughter– the Foundation building’s silhouette looms just a few hundred feet up the deserted walkway. A hiss breaks out right by Remi’s ear, he whips around expecting to see the MAVI again but he’s nowhere to be seen. The hiss continues as Remi starts feeling around his respirator until he finds the culprit– a hose from the respirator has a small tear just big enough to corrupt the air he’s breathing. No time for repairs, Remi quickly jogs to the imposing tower on the fading orange skyline.

Above the entrance is a large obsidian block carved with the word FOUNDATION. Slamming through the glass doors, Remi pulls the respirator from his sweat-covered face, gasping at the cool fresh air of the vacant lobby.

The 30th floor lobby was empty, no chairs or benches, none of those decorative fake plants in oversized pots; even the reference desk in the corner appears to have been vacant for quite some time. Looking down at the granite floors he finds the compass that points the way to the nearest elevator. It was a cakewalk now he knew how to get around this building better than a piss in the dark in his own bathroom.

Pushing the call button, a shower head sized metallic red eye wrapped in coiled wire sprang to life from just to the right of the elevator–the Recall eye. It scans his face then chirps, “G-g-g-good evening Mr. Thoreau. What floor will you be visit-ing?” Catching his reflection in the lens of the Recall eye, Remi haphazardly fixes his hair– there was nothing much he could do to get the rust and MAVI blood stains out of his jacket. “Floor 63 please.”

The elevator door opens with a dull ding and Remi steps out into a poorly lit oblong room. To his left a handful of pastel colored plastic benches sitting in rows and columns facing towards a wall of resistant security windows; setup for congregation with the holy Foundation. Only one of the altars has its warm light on, standing in front of it is a disheveled middle aged man, screaming and ripping at his oily blonde hair. Remi takes a seat on the yellow faded bench along the far back wall; nothing out of the ordinary here.

“How can you expect us to survive on these rations you keep giving us?!” the man screams at the young lady seated behind the window. “I know you are not happy at the moment Mr. Fulmen but as I said, I have no control over these issues.” The clerk pushes her glasses up, although they haven’t slid down her nose a centimeter. “If you wish to file a complaint to the board, I will gladly make sure it is notarized and submitted at once.”

Pressing his finger on the glass as if it could push through and hit it’s target, “That’s just what you repliCANS want, more work! It wasn’t enough you dustbins stole all the work from us now you want to rub it in all of our faces!” The man gestures back to Remi as if to include him in his protest. Spinning around the man picks up the nearest plastic bench and lifts it above his head, “Notarize and submit this you HEARTLESS BITCH!” Slamming the bench as hard as he can against the security glass, it makes only an unsatisfying muffled thunk leaving not even a trace of a mark.

Unmoved, the clerk stares coldly back, “Is that all Mr. Fulmen?” Letting out a guttural scream, the man punches the window then turns back for another projectile. Scanning the room he and Remi make eye contact– his shoulders slump, he lets out a breath realizing the pointlessness of it all. Making his way to the elevator he flips a few more benches that are in his path just for good measure. “Good luck buddy,” he mutters as Remi stands and bows his head as if a funeral procession is marching past.

Remi turns back to the window as the woman moves to close the shutter behind it. Running forward and tripping over some of the tipped benches Remi yells out, “Nononono, wait! I’m still here!” The woman pulls the shutter to the side just enough to peep out, “I’m sorry sir we are now closed for the evening.” Remi tries a different approach with her. “Please, I made it into the office in time before the elevators automatically locked. According to company policy I am a client needing assistance. Are you refusing your assigned duties as a clerk of the Foundation?”

The clerk narrows her beady brown eyes hidden behind the wire frame spectacles (they must be assigned as part of the uniform) measuring the challenger encroaching on her domain. Pausing for a moment, as if considering, she relents and slides the shutter back open. “Before your facial scan do you agree to the company’s terms and conditions.” Straightening his stance and trying to hold his head level, Remi does his best impression of the clerk, “I, Remi Thoreau, accept the terms and conditions of this interaction.”

The clerk pulls over the Recall eye from the wall to the right of her, holds it up the glass, and just as precisely pushes it back on the swivel. “Thank you, Mr. Thoreau. What can we do for you this evening?” Pulling his bank card out, he slides it into the receiving receptacle. “I’m here to pay my yearly Foundry licensing fee.” The clerk withdraws the card and slides it into the base of her transparent jade keyboard, “Give me one moment as I process your transaction.”

Ejecting the card she pushes it back through to Remi, “This card doesn’t contain sufficient credits.” Panic grips his chest, she continues, but he’s not listening. “Do you have any other form of–”

“That can’t be right! I know I had just enough saved up. The money’s there!” Pushing the card back to her, “Run it again!”

Frowning, the clerk reinserts the card for him; knowing it’s pointless. “I’ll pull up your card statement.” The bank statement flashes onto the security glass in front of him, “You have a charge to the Foundation right after your facial scan this evening– regarding an emergency call from your taxi.”

Remi’s knees buckle, clutching the counter he pleads, “Please ma’am give me an extension. Just this one time.” The clerk’s pinched face tightens more as she pushes her keyboard to the side, “I’m afraid we can’t do that Mr. Thoreau as you have used all your allotted good faith extensions in your previous billings.” Remi slams his fists against the security glass, “What about my children?!”

Pushing her glasses up just as she did to the previous man, “As you know both you and your partner accepted the risk when you rejected the termination service offered for your Gemini. The birth lottery only allots enough funds for one child, but you chose to take the Gemini anomaly to term, after ignoring our warnings.”

Pulling himself back from the glass he whimpers, “Both of them? Lose both of them?” His lip quivering, he imagines what is about to come, “Hoping that maybe, just maybe, one day our number will be called in the lottery again?” Straightening her back, the clerk folds her arms and states, “Remi Thoreau by the power of the Foundation I hereby declare that you have failed to make your Foundry license payment. Your children will be repossessed and put to auction to recoup the Foundation’s lost funds.”

Crumpling to his knees from the weight of the clerk’s words he manages, “You can’t do this…you know we will never be able to beat the corps’ bids.” Tears streak down through the rust. The clerks face softens for the first time, “Maybe if they’re lucky a MAVI coupling will adopt one of them.” Realizing this did nothing to comfort Remi, the clerk pulls out a small pen from a drawer and pushes it through to him. “We at the Foundation understand these difficult times you are going through and would like to offer you a complimentary dose of D-PEN.”

With an effort Remi pulls himself up gripping the counter. Remi picks up the green translucent pen from the receptacle, rolling it in his palm, he watches the strange fluid rock back and forth. Turning away, he leans against the counter– alone, with the pen. As he considers, Remi reaches into his pocket touching the clinical bracelet– he can almost feel the words like braille.

Uncapping the D-PEN, Remi jams it into his tensed forearm which buzzes as the bubbling seafoam green fluid injects into his bloodstream. For an instant Remi is aware of his blood, churning through his veins like marbles on a track, then a sudden loosening–the vein walls collapsing. Fluids surge from within his arm into his chest cavity, pulsing in devastating waves, it flows through the folds of his organs, dissolving. The slosh of his liquifying entrails sway inside of him, Remi looks up at the clerk for help, but only the cold blue steel eyes of the MAVI stare back. Mustering a faint smile, Remi crashes back to the floor with a splash like a scarlet wave scattered into a mist by a rock on the shore– leaving nothing of his existence.

Luke Safely is a letter carrier who has too much time on his hands (after being cleared of mail that is) and fills it with film. Holds a bachelor’s in film production with a minor in philosophy from MSUM.