“Hey! You can’t do that here!”
Ami looked up from the cigarette she was holding. She didn’t remember taking it out of her pocket, but she must have lit it a while ago, as it was nearly at the filter now. She sighed and put the butt out on the bench armrest, twisting it between her fingers on the rigged, painted metal. She must have zoned out, lost in her thoughts yet again. At least this time she was here, at the SimuPark, rather than accidentally lighting things on fire at her apartment.
“Sorry,” she exhaled, flicking what was left of the cigarette in a nearby trash can.
“Wait,” the HoloGuard slowed, catching his breath as he reached the lone bench at the top of the hill. He then leaned over the chrome bin, gripping both sides with his gloved hands. “You didn’t have to throw it away.”
Ami didn’t smoke. The stale, crumpled cigarette pack was a relic, a keepsake of hers she kept in her coat pocket. Every now and then, when things got bad, she would light one of these cigarettes to remember - to ground herself and remind herself that yes, those memories are real. And yes, this is real. Every strange smell, sight, and sound in this bizarre and foreign place. Everything here, though unfamiliar and terrifying at times, was real. The bent pack felt heavy in her duster jacket, though there were only four lone cigarettes left. She’d have to find a new nervous habit soon.
The HoloGuard stood there, still staring into the waist-high metal trash can. Ami watched him as his brow furrowed and couldn’t help but recoil as he reached an arm to grab what was left of the crushed cigarette.
“What is this?” He held the crumpled filter up to his face, then glanced back up at Ami. His amber eyes crinkled at the sides. “I thought you were Saging.”
Sage. The name of a popular synthetic inhalant with psychoactive properties. Ami knew it was rampant in the city, and illegal for public consumption. Advertisements filled downtown; silken ladies whispered “Get Rid of Your Ghosts” with a wink, plastered on the alley pub doors. But Ami saw what happened to those who fell for their tricks. The vacant, smiling faces of its victims lined her walks - a reminder of her fate if she fell under its spell. The sleepless, bloodshot eyes and childlike demeanor of those who inhaled the drug initially made her uneasy every time she passed them. They would tug on her sleeves and whisper in their haunting sing-song voices in her ear. But as she watched them dance and sing with each other, hands held in playful circles, she could help but long for it. They seemed so happy, so blissful in their escape.
But she knew that she could never let herself become like them. She needed to stay grounded, present. She needed the memories that she had left to stay clear. She needed to remember.
“It’s a cigarette,” Ami answered, finally getting a closer look at the HoloGuard’s face.
The HoloGuard was real, Ami decided.
He was young, at least in his twenties, with light sandy hair and unusually bright amber eyes. She couldn’t tell if they were synthetic or not, but they were unlike any she had seen before. Although he had strong features, his face seemed softer than the usual guards who roamed the main road. There was still a little life behind his eyes, compared to the usual hardened, bitter stare she was used to seeing. Maybe he was new.
He was surprisingly natural looking compared to most people who lived Downtown. The street was lined with men and women with modifications of their face or body, whether it was antlers, scales, permanent lenses – anything to stand out. Ami’s personal favorite was the current trend of implanting what she could only describe as “fly-eyes.” They were multi-prismed domes that jutted out from the wearer’s eyes, similar in appearance to a beehive made of crystal.
“A cigarette?” the HoloGuard cracked a smile. “How old are you? I think I’ve heard my grandma talk about these before.”
As his eyes flashed back at her, his friendly tone made Ami feel uneasy. HoloGuards weren’t known for their pleasant demeanors. She watched with caution as he crossed his armored arms. The translucent fabric left little rainbows on the graveled ground, reflecting the sun. HoloGuard armor had the appearance of fabric but hardened into a Kevlar-like protective barrier upon any impact. Ami had no intention of seeing it in action.
“Can’t you tell?” Ami stood up from the plastic bench and straightened her long dark coat, “I’m ancient. Over 70, at least. I stopped keeping track after a while.” She flashed a brief faux smile and walked past the guard, hoping, in earnest, that he would lose interest.
The SimuPark was her favorite place to go in the city. Although Ami knew that everything in the park was artificial, from the tall evergreen trees and holographic robins, to every neatly manicured blade of grass, she enjoyed the quiet.
She remembered the first time she came here, after seeing an ad playing on the side of a building. The modest doorway she found at the advertised address didn’t prepare her for what was inside. The SimuPark offered a “near-perfect” simulation of the nature of yesteryear, including a beautiful seamless blue sky, complete with day and night cycle. Ami remembered when she first absently reached out to touch a bush that lined the gravel path, only for her hand to go completely through. It was all fake. A projection, yet she kept coming back.
Ami heard heavy footsteps hitting the gravel behind her. He was following her. Why was he following her? In fact, what was a HoloGuard even doing here? Usually, the only other people at the park were elderly couples or, on the rare occasion, packs of students on field trips. It was strange seeing a HoloGuard in a place like this. The SimuPark was a sanctuary - her sanctuary, and to have such a symbol of authority and instigation stepping his heavy boots all over it…
Ami made a sudden stop, and the HoloGuard nearly knocked her over from behind.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She bit her tongue as soon as the words left her mouth. You don’t talk back to a HoloGuard, no matter how friendly he may act. Her hand tightened into a fist, and she let her nail dig into her palm. She had made a mistake, acting out on her frustration. She braced for the consequences. But, to her surprise, the man looked startled, scared even, as he took a few slow steps back from Ami.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...” he started. The amber-eyed Hologuard then looked down at his shining gloved hands. “Sorry…”
Sorry? Never had she once heard a HoloGuard say Sorry.
HoloGuards were supposed to be the mean, brooding, contracted security force patrolling the city. Hired by faceless corporations, powerful government entities, who knows. One wrong look and you were sent away to the towers. The streets were teaming with them, shouting orders and grabbing people, seemingly at random, to send them away. They were bullies. They don’t apologize.
The HoloGuard must have recognized her puzzled expression. He straightened up, looking Ami directly in the eyes. He was a little taller than her, with wide shoulders that were made larger with the bulky armor. He had a strong, dark brow and brooding features, but they were softened by his bright eyes. If she had seen him on patrol on the streets before today, she might have felt intimidated. But his demeanor, his tone. It was all wrong.
“Not sorry. I am not sorry. You are acting very...” His eyes frantically wandered the trees around them. “Suspicious? Wait – No…” His posture slackened again as he covered face in his hands. To Ami’s surprise, she could see a wide smile crossing his face.
“Are you sure you weren’t the one ‘Saging’?” she asked.
She couldn’t help herself. In the back of her mind though, she knew that the more time she engaged with this man, this HoloGuard, the more she put herself at risk to be locked away in some anonymous cell on the coast. She took a step to the side and turned again for the other side of the park.
“Okay, maybe not ‘suspicious’,” he started, quickening his pace to catch up with her. “But it really is silly, isn’t it? But I guess I have to keep up with the HoloGuard image. Right?” He put his hands in his pocket, and glanced at Ami, seemingly for approval. “I mean, I see you here a lot at the park. I like it here too, to be honest. It’s a little dated, but I like the quiet.” He looked back at Ami again, expectantly. “My name is Charlie by the way... Sorry, I know this is strange, but I feel like we could have a lot to talk about. I always see you there by yourself, alone on the park bench, and I feel like you might need someone to talk to…”
Ami stopped walking, and she watched as this HoloGuard, “Charlie,” fumbled to a stop and turned around. His smile faded as he saw her expression.
“Stop talking to me. Stop following me. I do not need a friend.”
She let her words be direct, concise. No need to be polite, no need to worry about hurt feelings, and no need to leave any opportunity for miscommunication. He was a stranger, and it’s best for everyone if he stayed that way.
“Oh,” he nodded. He leaned back on his heels and was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “My mistake. It was nice to finally meet you, though. Have a good rest of your day.”
He gave a polite smile, nodded again, and started in the opposite direction.
Ami couldn’t help but feel relieved, but didn’t let it show on her face.
She is a stranger, he is a stranger, and it’s better this way.
Ami knew who she was. She knew what she became at night, and becoming a “stranger” was a small sacrifice to not only preserve the safety of those around her – but to keep herself intact as well. But she hadn’t always known, no. In the early days, it was different.
They had placed her in a flat, gave her a new identity and a fresh start in this new, foreign world. She was free to explore all of the new tastes, sights, and smells, and so she did, to the point where she started to forget how and why she was here in the first place. But God, it felt so good to finally sleep. The first night was incredible, sleeping in a real bed instead of forever awake, suspended in the cold clear blue gel. She had let the dark embrace her, and it pained her to remember how long she had let it go on. She hated herself for it. It was selfish, vile even, to forget why they had locked her up to begin with – Why they locked all of them up.
Who knows how many innocent lives, how many victims…
She stopped herself. She knew better now. She took precautions.
The door to her apartment was locked both ways, rigged on a tamper-proof timer, only to release at daylight. It was expensive, but worth it. This way she could let herself sleep without worry, knowing that the monster that took over her body at night would be trapped, left to pace the small room until finally crawling back into bed, defeated. Or at least, that’s what she assumed it did. The only evidence left in the morning was slightly sore legs and bruised arms, possibly from failed attempts to break open the door by force - a small price to pay.
Ami looked up at the swirl of dark clouds slowly circling the virtual park sky. It was starting to move to the evening cycle – her cue to head home. She made her way to the smooth, curved chrome archway exit. She held her metal bracelet, holding her ID chip, to the gate and waited for it to open, avoiding her own reflection in the shining pillars that framed the doors.
One of the first things that Ami did when she moved into the appointed flat was remove all reflective surfaces. Spending years, decades, in the cryogenic tank had written its reminders on her face. Her hair, skin pigment, eyes - all permanently bleached due to overexposure. Her eyes, sunken and darkly ringed from ages suspended without sleep. The tanks didn’t exactly stop time though, only slow it, and she watched herself in the reflection of the glass gradually age along with those stationed next to her. She watched her hair and fingernails grow uncontrolled. The long, white hair often got tangled in the plastic tubes that provided oxygen and nutrients to her body. Nails grew unrestricted and sharp. She shuddered as she remembered the little cuts they left, covering her arms and legs. The light blue gel stung every minor wound. Now, free from the tank, she kept her hair and nails short. She knew what she looked like. She had spent years studying her own face in the tank’s reflection. She didn’t need any reminders.
The gate chimed as it recognized the chip on her bracelet. The slim, silver chain on her wrist held her information: her name, address, location, funds, everything. She noticed that most people had the chip implanted in their wrist since they were children. Ami was content with the chain.
The doors opened with a hydraulic hiss and Ami was assaulted with the smells and sounds of Downtown. It was a familiar foggy grey outside. It was always the same dim smog-grey down here in the bottom alleys. The dull haze left everything looking soft and gave the holographic ads lining the alley walls a fuzzy glow. It was full of these ads, for body modifications, new clothes, Sage, everything.
There was the same steady hum of delivery vehicles overhead, drones crisscrossing between the claustrophobic steel and ancient brick buildings. The streets were filled with the usual crowds, moving in packs for safety. The smoke-filled passages were always crammed with people here at the bottom, and it was always a shock to her system when she left the open and empty park. There were no cars, no trucks, down here, only the foot traffic sea of Downtown characters roaming the main road. The crowds were flanked with tightly-packed buildings, old and new, most reaching heights of 50 or more stories. These buildings mostly housed residents, with small shops and restaurants lining the street levels.
The city had different districts: industry in the north, commercial off the main central road, sleek nightlife to the west, and residents crammed in wherever they fit. These three sectors were labeled “Downtown” by the residents. The east was supposed to hold the luxury gardened dwellings of the well-offs, guarded and gated off from the rest. She knew of fabled “detention towers” of the south coast but wasn’t brave enough to venture that far. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back before dark. The entire city was water-locked by dark and cold water, and signs filled the cliffs with warnings of harm should anyone be tempted to go for a swim.
Ami passed people wearing subdued canvas garbs and heavy air-filtering metal masks. Next was a group of young girls in shiny leather-like clothes, each sporting the jarring Fly-Eye modification. There were the familiar shouts of HoloGuards down a side alley to her left, dragging an antler-headed teen off to some unknown punishment. She kept her eyes forward, weaving her way home.
It was then she saw something less familiar - she saw herself.
Down the alley, a smiling young woman spun in a circle atop a silver utility box, her long white hair danced around her in glowing strings. Her alabaster skin glowed in the light of a nearby shop sign while her long white lace dress flowed with the smoke of the city billowing below. Her face wore the signature sunken dark eyes, but unlike Ami, these eyes were vacant and warm. The smile was unmistakable. Ami had seen the same absent expression many times on her walks to and from the SimuPark. This woman had been Saging.
Ami began to push through the crowd. She needed to grab her, get to her, talk to her, something, anything. Her heart quickened with her pace as she darted between any open space she could find, squeezing herself through where she could. No, she couldn’t let her get away.
Someone else like her.
Ani was frantic as she shoved people left and right, clearing a path. Her shoulder knocked into a man selling black market ID chips, spilling them onto the street. Mechanical hands grabbed the tail of her jacket, slowing her down. She gripped the fabric and pulled hard, turning free from their hands. There were shouts behind her, but she ignored them. Please, please be there.
But, as she finally approached the utility box where the dancing girl stood, it was empty. She waved her hands, frantic, clearing the plumes of exhaust smoke, but it was too late. She was gone. Gone. Ami’s breath turned harsh and hollow in her chest. The air was thick in the bottom alleys.
There was a sudden flicker of light above her. She watched as the shop sign flashed and cycled through another ad. A high-heeled woman walked onto the screen. She made a slow, dramatic turn, then began to crawl to the camera. Wine-red nails inched her closer. Her poreless face pressed close to the screen, black lips parting. “Get Rid of Your Ghosts,” she whispered.
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