DYSTOPIA - A Series Chapter 2: The Glitch in the Machine

 (Originally drafted and first published in June 2014)

Ever was slowly becoming one of the nightfolk, her compulsion to escape driving her out of the safety of the Comfort Zone, a sterile, monitored expanse where every breath was accounted for, every thought potentially logged. The wind, however, paid no mind to the omnipresent gaze of the public-viewing algorithms. It played with her thick black coat, billowing it out behind her, a rogue gust intent on causing havoc in the sleeping city.

Ever dashed down dark alleyways, her Doc Martens plowing through the bio-waste left behind by day dwellers with little regard for the automated cleaning drones that would soon sweep through. From 8 AM to 7 PM, 360 days a year, citizens toiled in the Market Zone, their every movement optimized for maximum output. Sundays had long ceased being sacred in an era where data, not divinity, dictated all.

The city clean-up usually commenced in the small hours of the morning; Ever reckoned the schedule worked; the council’s sanitation bots could do their jobs unhindered when the Market Zone was cleared of crowds. She had the quiet streets to herself for at least two more hours before she needed to head back home to suburbia, to the meticulously planned and constantly surveilled domestic units.

"Let's meet at midnight," he suggested in his communicade, his reply flashing instantly across her retinal display. The dark hour, it seemed, was the best time for clandestine affairs and dodgy dealings, especially when the ubiquitous AI surveillance network, known as EKom 2.0, often suffered minor "glitches" during these off-peak hours. It suited her well. Bankers and other money traders had little difficulty doing their dirty deals in the bright, unforgiving light of day, shielded by their encrypted data streams and corporate firewalls. She, however, preferred the tactile, dangerous cover of darkness, especially when she went to meet him. Meeting him was an emotional high, a dangerous, exhilarating surge that made it a struggle for her to keep her mask in place. Strange, really, when she had been conditioned since birth to keep emotions in check outside of the Comfort Zone. Emotional displays weren't just frowned upon in the Market Zone; they were flagged, analyzed, and often resulted in mandatory re-education sessions. It was even included on the agenda of the next Council Meeting following an unfortunate occurrence at the annual meeting of the shareholders of SAACorp, when a high-heeled boot had been flung at the CEO by an irate shareholder in the back row – an act of raw, unadulterated emotion deemed a Class 3 Social Disruption.

Ever was needing him more and more as her job became more stressful; her mandated twelve hours of daily labor as Mayor just weren't cutting it anymore.

TO BE CONTINUED...


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