Heat-Shaped Locket

Erick Swoldren awoke to sweat and terror. his body shook uncontrollably light tremors accompanied by constant shaking. he wasn't sick, not physically at least. his small habitation compartment loomed over him exactly seven and a half feet tall with 'ample room to stretch.' after a short trip to the sanitation compartment refreshed and finally calmed he pondered over what his morning should look like. the next week was blessedly free of work detail - wait no - blessedly, no he wasn't allowed to use that word. he started shaking slightly, he could feel the eyes upon his back. these things they simply tore at him. No he was not assigned work detail this week. the park was today's destination, air filtration, and oxygen emitters aside it had been months since he had felt nature's caress.

Erick Swoldren was a man in his early thirties, of lean build and average height he was relatively handsome dark cropped hair bright smile, and a light tan, he worked in civic sanitation a routine 'scrubber' as he and his compatriots were dubbed. they regularly ran routes around the city bleaching public surfaces namely as it pertained to public transport. Erick was born to the once American empire and as a result, lived on the east coast of North America, however, it has been many years since the American empire had been absorbed into the 'global alliance' being redubbed trade district 84. by most measures Erick led a good and simple life he would retire in his 60's with a complete compensation package. he was even assigned his very own habitation compartment without being required to share it. If he continued his hard work he even may lead his very own sanitation team in a few years, complete with his own 'deck' as the scrubber's non-terrain vehicles were called. and if he worked hard he might be allowed to rent property one day. between hard work and aptitude, Erick led a blessed life.

Don't look, don't look, don't look Erick silently chanted to himself as he forced himself to maintain an average pace on his walk to the park. the stress was eating him alive, however, he truly needed this. the scent of turf, flowers, and clean running water allured him, and he heeded the siren's call. don't look, don't look, don't look his chant continued. rounding a corner he looked about the megalithic towering skyscrapers and massive compartment buildings his eyes were assaulted with flashing neon signs, massive digital displays, and cameras. attached to every light, every door, and every wall no space was spared. whether it be facial recognition and location tracking services or an attempt to allure you to whatever the latest trends were there was no shortage of sensory bombardment and mental strain. his eyes lingered a little too long and a monitor near him immediately began trying to interface with his PID or 'personal identification device' the small computer he wore in the fashion of a watch began to blink and vibrate. However, Erick was not interested in feminine hygiene and why would he be? Erick's eye twitched, this is going to flag me he began to tense, mortified at the implications, Erick began to run.

It wasn't uncommon for typical consumer class citizens to accidentally ping a register with add boards, in fact, it happened quite regularly. the rampant paranoia also wasn't uncommon, especially among consumer class citizens. Erick was considered a reeducated citizen. unfortunately for him, he found himself on the wrong side of history during earth's unification wars, and like many, he had been sent to reeducation. The initial goal of course was to give those in the wrong a chance to join those in the right. At least at first, as many years have passed what began as filtering the offensive became simple filtering. In the end, there was only one winner, the global alliance, or more importantly its leaders. For as many poverty-stricken multinationals that had been uplifted just as many were crushed into the consumer-based working class.

Erick was shaking again, sweating even. His course had changed he couldn't take this any longer. It was time to pass it along to the next bearer. He made his way to a rougher part of town. The air began to thicken with the smoke of industry. There were few advertisement boards and even fewer people to give witness to their various displays. The few that traversed the rougher edges of the city were typically synths. Outwardly appearing as pale-skinned bald humans their most telling feature was the glint of circuitry beneath their skin covers. Synthetic humans powered by artificial intelligence had been assimilated within common society quite recently. They technically were counted as consumer class citizens but were treated differently, and how could they not? their skin practically glowed, the machines could speak every language and would work 48-hour work details. The synths were truly amazing.

As Erick half jogged down the streets, not a soul, machine, or otherwise took notice of him, most shambled about with their heads downcast many looking through semi-VR headsets half watching whatever their favorite shows were. The occasional pedestrian would interface with an ad board or even provide a check-in with a camera. The further away he got from the cities center the thicker the air would become, an off-white haze littered the streets, and oxygen emitters were scarce. The buildings would become wider and squatter mostly factories and machine shops. The majority of which were automated or mostly synth ran. Traffic had all but disappeared with only the occasional unmanned transport lumbering - or humming by.

Typically referred to as slums the outskirts of the big cities throughout the world would be all that separated civilization from the harsh wastes. The wastes were where the world's bio farms soared over the horizon massive biodomes producing the populaces nutrients, otherwise, you would find craterous strip mining operations both of these essential processes were fully synth-driven deemed far too important for the touch of mortal hands. The slums themselves were home to an odd bunch of consumers the many who lived in squalor often formed miscreant 'gangs' however they were quite harmless, they had to be, the global alliance was the sole provider of essential goods, and such was the nature of these gangs they were primarily a fashion statement for the youth, typically first on the list for reeducation. Blessedly the reeducation of minors was considered inhumane, and what little dissent was proffered by malcontents was typically extinguished via reassignment.

Arriving at the rundown building that was his destination the large burly man at the door simply held out his hand and said "PID", Erick hurriedly gave it over and went inside the strange nightclub. Passing by the milling crowd in the cramped confines of an abandoned factory he found himself a seat on a crate at a makeshift bar. A synth casually walked up to him from behind what was once part of a railcar, cut to size with a plasma torch no doubt the 'bar' likely weighed thousands of pounds. The synths eyes glowed a pleasant turquoise color and it smiled " Why hello Erick, what would you like to drink?" the synths eyes returned to a dull grey color, Erick fidgeted slightly and asked

" Do you... Uhm, have any juice?"

"Why yes we do, fresh lemon, strawberry, and grape."

"But is it artificial?" Erick returned awkwardly.

"Ohhh, well then, for that you would need to see Sarrah."

The synth winked a little too perfectly and pointed to a corner not far off.

Erick made his way to a haphazard series of tables and sat down. Not long in waiting a woman likely in her sixties who looked utterly out of place in her patched leather jacket and multi-colored latex pants sat before him.

"You're very early Erick," she stated flatly, she looked disappointed. Erick simply placed a heart-shaped locket on the table. He said nothing, he looked ashamed and also frustrated not a minute had passed and his shaking began " I can't believe you let that thi-" Erick began to say.

Sarrah growled distastefully at him " you have done much for the resistance Erick, but you will not speak of nine-oh that way, you know as well as I do he doesn't exist upon the grid like ordinary synth and is likely the most trustworthy among any in this room."

"I'm done for good this time." Erick stated, and as Sarrah began to protest he simply got up and left. He recovered his PID at the door and went home.

Erick rested, he truly slept better than he had in many many days. A large burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Carrying, hiding, and preserving a tiny data crystal enclosed within that necklace. It was said to contain zettabytes worth of information, primarily books, tens of thousands of them, the earth's old history, all contained in one place. when he awoke in the morning he didn't shake, he smiled for the first time in many days. He had always wondered why they didn't just bury it in the ground somewhere. There was a sharp knock at the door to his habitation compartment followed by the statement " Alliance enforcement!" Erick frowned.

Subject 5734-J was sent to his fourth reeducation. He died there by the way of seizures, mostly caused by the combination of harsh methodology and extreme mental fatigue. It was considered common for many consumer class citizens to receive at least 1 reeducation, roughly half. However, it was found that the majority of those that received a second would often receive a third and fourth and almost always died before or by the fifth. The alliance's civic design and control units simply could not fathom why people would be so willing to endanger themselves often on these half-baked "resistance" plots they manufactured, but so many did.. a frightening number. It had been determined that what reeducation did was frighten these citizens into compliance rather than anything else and in some, it even provoked them towards further action. The alliance had a stranglehold on the population and as such its leaders had little to be concerned about however they maintained their confusion as to why exactly that heart-shaped locket passed through so many hands.