A plunger’s edge forced down to its barrel; used needle flung violently clacks against the wall. A man darts across the room in a race to reach the exit before the sharp hits the floor.
Njull-Ix can't recall the passcode. His shoulders shake as if to escape a cold touch; unaware why the benign routine triggers nostalgia.
The greenies had so many things right but were such idiots on this front. It took way too long for people to accept the inevitable. And now it's everywhere. I love a good 'I told you so'. I hate chute stalls. Like last time, stuck between floor 501 and 500. Again.
He scratches his neck at the thought. It radiates with heat. A bright glimpse of the sun invades his eyes as a familiar face smiles down at him; a phantom disguised by white light. Air whispers,
“Thomas”
His palate detects a faint musky smell of chum that’s spent all day on a diving boat. A rocking motion. Nausea sifting up his stomach
That horrid stench; useless leak detector...is that additive necessary? Now everyone’s nose can be assaulted equally. Bravo, transparency! Fuckin’ brilliant! Why do these crap Nuke-Holes only stall in the Eco-Tower’s center. Hours in that cramped space, nothing to do...was a nightmare....
Again the voice rises out above his mental noise; louder, stronger, it refuses to be ignored.
“It’s a silly name, son!”
When trapped with only his mind he’d always drift to memories of his birth parents. He despises sentimentality; the battle to suppress it drains him like a mental vampire, the source of his constant fatigue.
“...name”
The door to the chute opens on his third passcode attempt.
"son"
Njull-Ix changed his name from the Christian one he was given by his parents; from their old-fashioned notions they kept with them from before ‘The Shift’. This name better reflected the Thought-System he worked so hard to perfect; the secret pride he takes in his unique blend of Nihilism and Aestheticism so meticulously cultivated from truth and fable.
I should reread Thus Spoke Zarathustra; I could use the poetic-waxes-philosophical influence. Maybe best to read something completely new. I don’t want anything modern, yet that Ancient Greek shit is boring. Maybe I’ll just speak to the Elders and ask for a pre-Paradeinum myth.
A heavy pressure hugs his body as the pod speeds down. He felt energized with creativity yet annoyed his thoughts were racing.
Must be the new coolant-lubricant. The way that shit blood-chases; killer high, but so distracting
Looking down at his arm the rose-tinted mucoid bubbles up his injection site. Njull-Ix frowns as he realizes his arm leaks more than with the last brand. But as he clenches his Titanium-Inconel fist he smiles at the enhanced fluidity of motion. Glistening armor accented with tightly layered reptilian scales; a gift of pure transcendence.
A familiar swoosh snaps him out of his intellect. He heads straight to the coffee shop as is habit.
Hope this shift goes by faster than the last. If I only learned to code I’d be promoted and assigned my own bots by now. Why didn’t I take that up years ago like I knew I should’ve? My habitual disregard for common sense. Ah, fuck it.
His unmodified arm lifts black coffee to his lips. The warm flavour soothes his disdain for mornings.
Mood refreshed he stops to admire the Dome’s naturescape. Leaves rustle as jittery squirrels race in the underbrush up the trees. Lazy staccato thumps echo from hooved feet hitting dirt. His eyes scan the forestry, admiring the plateau of deer who try to blend unnoticed. The trees gradually decrease in height and volume until only flowers and ivy intertwine with metallic alloys. The end of the forested area marks the start of the Market District. Njull-Ix spots an elegant showcase of new sales at his favourite Mod-Shop.