Palimpsest_Features
25th Feb 2004, 15:21
Last train to Tran-central.
.
“Another virgin suicide.” Coranna looked at the body of the young man on the cold steel table one more time, before pressing the button which would take him into the anti-cohesion suite.
Kshunk. Aaah. Shhhhht. The door of the suite opened to release the constituent particles of what had once been John Brown, technician, second class out into the atmosphere.
“John Brown, dematerialized at 19:00, on Friday 7th March”, she spoke into the microphone on the panel above her head. Despite the advances in technology the bureaucracy of death never got any more appealing.
“Oh well. See ya then John” She closed the door on her way out, typed the code that locked it and continued up the escalator to the main exit.
The security guard waved. “Got anything nice planned for the weekend”
“Just a quiet one, I expect” It was always a quiet one, since Kellaha had gone.
“Oh right. Enjoy yourself!”
Coranna nodded. After all, he meant well. “You too”.
He opened the door and she walked out into the bracing cold air of the street, raising an already raised collar, and pulling down an already pulled down hat. Another week gone by. Another hundred nobodys that nobody would miss, brought in, investigated, and then recycled. How long would it be before they were wheeling her in, with no-one but a GM simcat to mourn her passing, and after a while even the simcat would find a new owner, after all simcats don’t really care who provides for them.
Needing something to stop herself sliding into the abyss that evenings and weekends seem to consist of these days, she stepped into a bar. The resident drone clocked her immediately.
“Ah, Miss Coranna, so nice to see you again. Are you well?”
Coranna grunted a non-commital mm.
“No worries, we’ll have you sorted out in no time. Oblivion perhaps, Nirvana. Sweet Release. Mortal Coil” He pointed to the twisters on her left, jacking up, jacking in, their bodies convulsing to imagined realities.
“No thanks. Just skotch”
“Ah yes, for our more discerning clientele we have genuine 12 year old...”
She cut him off before he got into his spiel.
“Just the regular replicated stuff will do fine”
The expensive stuff was just replicated stuff poured into old bottles anyway.
“Yes, of course, Miss Coranna, a most excellent choice.”
He snapped his fingers and a skitter brought over a plastic bottle of golden liquid and a glass. Another snap and a table and two stools appeared.
“One stool.”, sitting down.
He looked at her with that questioning expression that dogs use. She in turn looked back like a statue. The second stool opposite was removed. The drone poured a measure into the glass and then went off to look after a party of radiation tourists who had just come in.
She considered them briefly, but just because they were in her field of vision. They could have been a particularly bland form of wallpaper.
After a few minutes and a few glasses, she began to feel the 80% proof working its way around her system, loosening her muscles, stretching her synapses. A few minutes more and she felt almost human. Or drunk enough not to care which came down to the same thing.
A few minutes more and the world exploded.
.
.
“Another virgin suicide.” Coranna looked at the body of the young man on the cold steel table one more time, before pressing the button which would take him into the anti-cohesion suite.
Kshunk. Aaah. Shhhhht. The door of the suite opened to release the constituent particles of what had once been John Brown, technician, second class out into the atmosphere.
“John Brown, dematerialized at 19:00, on Friday 7th March”, she spoke into the microphone on the panel above her head. Despite the advances in technology the bureaucracy of death never got any more appealing.
“Oh well. See ya then John” She closed the door on her way out, typed the code that locked it and continued up the escalator to the main exit.
The security guard waved. “Got anything nice planned for the weekend”
“Just a quiet one, I expect” It was always a quiet one, since Kellaha had gone.
“Oh right. Enjoy yourself!”
Coranna nodded. After all, he meant well. “You too”.
He opened the door and she walked out into the bracing cold air of the street, raising an already raised collar, and pulling down an already pulled down hat. Another week gone by. Another hundred nobodys that nobody would miss, brought in, investigated, and then recycled. How long would it be before they were wheeling her in, with no-one but a GM simcat to mourn her passing, and after a while even the simcat would find a new owner, after all simcats don’t really care who provides for them.
Needing something to stop herself sliding into the abyss that evenings and weekends seem to consist of these days, she stepped into a bar. The resident drone clocked her immediately.
“Ah, Miss Coranna, so nice to see you again. Are you well?”
Coranna grunted a non-commital mm.
“No worries, we’ll have you sorted out in no time. Oblivion perhaps, Nirvana. Sweet Release. Mortal Coil” He pointed to the twisters on her left, jacking up, jacking in, their bodies convulsing to imagined realities.
“No thanks. Just skotch”
“Ah yes, for our more discerning clientele we have genuine 12 year old...”
She cut him off before he got into his spiel.
“Just the regular replicated stuff will do fine”
The expensive stuff was just replicated stuff poured into old bottles anyway.
“Yes, of course, Miss Coranna, a most excellent choice.”
He snapped his fingers and a skitter brought over a plastic bottle of golden liquid and a glass. Another snap and a table and two stools appeared.
“One stool.”, sitting down.
He looked at her with that questioning expression that dogs use. She in turn looked back like a statue. The second stool opposite was removed. The drone poured a measure into the glass and then went off to look after a party of radiation tourists who had just come in.
She considered them briefly, but just because they were in her field of vision. They could have been a particularly bland form of wallpaper.
After a few minutes and a few glasses, she began to feel the 80% proof working its way around her system, loosening her muscles, stretching her synapses. A few minutes more and she felt almost human. Or drunk enough not to care which came down to the same thing.
A few minutes more and the world exploded.
.