Chapter Twenty-Five
Jay opened his eyes, and then quickly closed them again due to the striking ache in his head. He was lying on his stomach. His head stung and throbbed and his body was racked with pain. How long had he been lying in the subway? He felt cold, and realised that his coat had been torn from him. His shirt too had been ripped from the neck downwards, and, although it was still buttoned around his waist, it no longer covered his arms or chest. He turned over onto his back and looked up at the flickering strip lights of the subway. His skin and shirt was damp from some liquid. Opening his eyes again he realised it was his own blood. He then became aware of another source of pain, coming from his upper right arm. Feeling it gingerly with his left hand, he realised it was where the blood was coming from. He now realised what his attackers had wanted. They had knocked him out and gouged away crudely at his right arm with a knife in order to remove the implanted smart chip that was his identity, that controlled his bank account, and that was necessary for living the life he led.
Jay could not believe his bad luck. Either it was that, or stupidity. He sursed himself for having left his apartment that night. He glanced at his timepiece, but the display was dead. Even his wristwatch didn’t function without a signal from the smartchip. He closed his eyes again, unable to face the reality of the situation.
Twenty minutes or so later, he awoke. Somebody, or something had just scuttled past him. He managed to prop himself up into a sitting position, and looked around him. He was in a state. His shirt was totally ruined, and his trousers were ripped in one leg too. He was cold, and he reached for the rag of his coat that had been cast aside. At least this was still in one piece, and he shifted his aching body into the coat, grimacing as his right arm eased its way into the coat. He searched his pockets for his mobile telephone, but it was not there. He sat another ten minutes or so, wondering what he should do, and decided his best bet was to make his way back home. He didn’t want to try and report the attack that night: didn’t feel he could cope with a police interview. He would wrap a bandage around his wound, and get it looked at in the morning. Then he would report the incident.
Slowly, he made his way back to his apartment block. There was much less traffic on the tunnel streets now, and the advertising screens were mainly neutral, showing fake sea and nature scenes, although they did pop back to life briefly as and when a vehicle passed by. He thought it strange that they didn’t react when he walked by, until he realised that he no longer had a chip in his arm that told his sensor he was there. He was invisible to them, as if he didn’t exist to this advertising society. As far as they were concerned, he was not important, a non-consumer.
He got back to the door to his apartment block without too much trouble, but then he realised how naive he had been. He could not access the building without a signal from his smartchip. The door was locked solid, and it was impossible to open. There wasn’t even a bell or way of contacting anyone insdide from where he was. Not that there was anyone insdie waiting for him to get in touch either.
He looked up at the window high above him, to the corridoor where the entrance to his flat was, and started to realise the predicament he was in. Even if he gained access to the building, he wouldn’t be able to get back into his flat. And, without a smartchip implant, he would probably cause an alarm to go off if he entered the building. He would then be ejected from the place by security bots. Without knowing where he was going, he turned around and headed off down the street again. Before long he came to the entrance to a bar. The sign flashed with a silvery gold logo - ‘Magic’ it said as it ran a sequence of an old-fashioned magician pulling a rabbit from a top hat. That would have to do for now, and he walked up the steps to the entrance of the bar.
764 words
16,236 words in total
Jay could not believe his bad luck. Either it was that, or stupidity. He sursed himself for having left his apartment that night. He glanced at his timepiece, but the display was dead. Even his wristwatch didn’t function without a signal from the smartchip. He closed his eyes again, unable to face the reality of the situation.
Twenty minutes or so later, he awoke. Somebody, or something had just scuttled past him. He managed to prop himself up into a sitting position, and looked around him. He was in a state. His shirt was totally ruined, and his trousers were ripped in one leg too. He was cold, and he reached for the rag of his coat that had been cast aside. At least this was still in one piece, and he shifted his aching body into the coat, grimacing as his right arm eased its way into the coat. He searched his pockets for his mobile telephone, but it was not there. He sat another ten minutes or so, wondering what he should do, and decided his best bet was to make his way back home. He didn’t want to try and report the attack that night: didn’t feel he could cope with a police interview. He would wrap a bandage around his wound, and get it looked at in the morning. Then he would report the incident.
Slowly, he made his way back to his apartment block. There was much less traffic on the tunnel streets now, and the advertising screens were mainly neutral, showing fake sea and nature scenes, although they did pop back to life briefly as and when a vehicle passed by. He thought it strange that they didn’t react when he walked by, until he realised that he no longer had a chip in his arm that told his sensor he was there. He was invisible to them, as if he didn’t exist to this advertising society. As far as they were concerned, he was not important, a non-consumer.
He got back to the door to his apartment block without too much trouble, but then he realised how naive he had been. He could not access the building without a signal from his smartchip. The door was locked solid, and it was impossible to open. There wasn’t even a bell or way of contacting anyone insdide from where he was. Not that there was anyone insdie waiting for him to get in touch either.
He looked up at the window high above him, to the corridoor where the entrance to his flat was, and started to realise the predicament he was in. Even if he gained access to the building, he wouldn’t be able to get back into his flat. And, without a smartchip implant, he would probably cause an alarm to go off if he entered the building. He would then be ejected from the place by security bots. Without knowing where he was going, he turned around and headed off down the street again. Before long he came to the entrance to a bar. The sign flashed with a silvery gold logo - ‘Magic’ it said as it ran a sequence of an old-fashioned magician pulling a rabbit from a top hat. That would have to do for now, and he walked up the steps to the entrance of the bar.
764 words
16,236 words in total
posted by blog-efl at 22.11.04
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