Time for Sleep

As you quietly sit in the disturbingly bright white reception of the sleep centre, you can’t help but feel uncomfortable in this empty room with just you and the automated receptionist behind the desk. You think back to when you were younger and how this is reminiscent of when you used to go to the doctors with your mother. There was always that nice lady behind the desk greeting everyone with a smile, you can almost remember the smell of her perfume and how, at the time, it was pungently overwhelming but now it’s something of nostalgia to you.

You see, the automation of the workforce was the greatest achievement of the century. Though you might think it made people lazy or made life difficult for those whose jobs were lost, it was quite the contrary. Since practically no one could work, currency needed an overhaul to work for society, so, the credit was introduced, and all your previous earnings were converted to credits. But how did one earn credits?

Well, that was simple, they were distributed to each citizen at a base rate, almost like a monthly ration. Though this sounded like a horrible thing in theory, in practice the ration was enough to live a normal life without financial strain. If you wished to earn more credits for a more luxurious life, you could donate your time to the sleep centre where they would perform dream research and monitor brain activity in participants. To keep participants entertained whilst in the dream machine, the device used to monitor participants, each participant is given a blank slate to create their own simulation, consider it like lucid dreaming. Those who chose to donate their time were known as dreamers, a title you somehow find unsettling as it was almost trying to force a positive outlook over the research itself. No one you could think of had really questioned this world we live in now. Gone were the days where people struggled for food, killed for possessions, raped for lust, you could do it all in the dream machine.

So, what is it that you question? Is it the Insoms? Those who were wealthy before the automation and didn’t have to donate their time for life’s luxuries. Or was it your objection to the deep sleepers? Those who rejected society and stayed in the simulation to live in the world of their choosing. Chasing the answers was what brought you to this blank reception.

The solitary clock ticked and tocked with anticipation as your scheduled meeting with the lead researcher, Mr Abraham Nox, came closer and closer.

“Would a Mr Iccabod Livesly please make their way to Mr Nox’s office, first floor and first office on the right.” Announced the robotic receptionist as if there was a room full of people waiting.

You follow the corridor down to the flight of stairs at the end. As you walk up the stairs you cannot help but find it perplexing that you were asked to attend this meeting by Mr Nox himself seeing as it was you who wanted to ask some questions that only he could answer. You raise your hand to knock on the cold, white wooden door “Come in! It’s already open.” a disturbingly jolly voice chimes from inside. You open the door to a vast room with a desk, two chairs and a large clock on the wall with cherry red carpet and teak furnishings. The room itself feels rather comfortable compared to the rest of the clinically white building. From behind his desk Mr Nox stands up and gestures to the chair in front of him “Please Mr Livesly take a seat, make yourself at home. Can I offer you something to drink?” Mr Nox was a rather eccentric looking man, he was tall and slim with rose red cheeks and though he was a researcher he more resembled a caricature of an 1800’s oil baron with his large, well-kept moustache, parted hair and three-piece suit.

“I’m fine, really, thank you for the offer and please call me Icca.” You say before taking your seat.

“Now I understand you have a few questions of what we do here and the purpose of our research.” Mr Nox sits back down in his seat and leans into his desk.

“Yes but how did yo-“ Mr Nox abruptly interrupts you mid-sentence,

“Here at the sleep centre, we study the mind and use our findings to understand what society lacks, what it needs, what it coverts.” He slowly pours a glass of whiskey from a half full decanter sat on his desk. “Whilst in one of our state-of-the-art dream machines we simulate whatever our participants desire, whether it be spending time with a lost relative or spending a night with your favourite celebrity” he laughs cheekily. You cannot help but feel uncomfortable with the idea of simulating consent.

“I understand that, but what actual discoveries have you made?” you pipe up from your chair “you know, I find it disturbing that no one else questions the work that goes on here, no one really knows what your findings do and is it really humane to keep people in these machines who don’t want to be in society?”

Mr Nox, smiling ear to ear, takes a small sip from his glass “An intriguing line of questions, tell me, is it worse that someone who has given up on society spend their life in a dream or not live at all? All participants in the deep sleep programme are fed, via IV drip to keep them happy and healthy for a lifetime. This is society that works for everyone, even those who don’t want to be a part of it.” He takes another sip.

“But surely you find it unethical? To keep someone on a machine so long? Surely if you’re trying to better society you’d already know what to do given the years of research. I don’t think you’ve found anything.” You remark as you lean into his desk as you feel you’ve caught him out. “If you were bettering society there wouldn't be people who don’t want to be part of it.” You exclaim, retracting back in your seat to await his retort. Mr Nox smirks and sharply exhales through his nose like some sort of snigger, mocking your remarks.

“Icca.” He grins before taking a swig from his steadily emptying glass. “I can assure you; we are working in the best interest of society, our work here is-” you interject indignantly,

“Your work here is nothing more than a distraction, something to appease people and blind them from the mundane reality we live in. Why is it that if the machines are so important for bettering society the Insoms don’t use them? Why is it just us the dreamers” you spout sarcastically, “we who have to donate our time and lives to this fruitless study! I want to know what you really get out of this as we’ve yet to see results or real changes.” You glare at Mr Nox waiting for his obnoxious reply, but he just calmly finishes his glass of whiskey and places it carefully on the table. You both sit there, the only noise in the room being the metronomic ticking of the clock, after a few moments Mr Nox’s warm grin begins to fade.

“So, you want to look behind the curtain?” his tone changes “The reality we give you isn’t enough?” he calmly rises from the desk, his once friendly eyes now an abyss that your gaze can’t escape. “Greedily, you can’t be content with what is in front of you.” Slowly, he walks around the desk and behind your chair, he rests both hands on your shoulders. “You want to know your... purpose?” his grip tightens as he leans into your ear. “You are nothing. You are but a dying ember in what is the great fire we stoke.'' He relinquishes his grip and goes over to his clock and admires it for a moment. “We know your weaknesses, we know your fears, your fetishes, what makes you tick, we know your biggest regret is when you lost that heart shaped locket your mother left you when she died." He turns to face you and to your surprise he isn't taken aback by the look of horror on your face, instead he analyses it as if he wants to remember it before turning his attention back to the clock. "And best of all we can tell you exactly where you left it. But we won’t.” He turns to you once again smirking, if you had a dictionary in front of you, you still wouldn’t be able to find the words for how you feel, you heart wretches and your brow dampens, a void, blacker than nothingness grows inside of you swallowing your chest as it does. “We know more about you than you do yourself, we’ve watched you grow up, we watched your first love, we watched them leave you, we watched you bury your mother, and we know how often you think about her'' he chuckles giddily before returning to the desk and refilling his glass.

“Do you know what exclusive thrills there are in a world where everyone is included?” He takes a generous sip offering you a moment to answer but you can barely breathe let alone think. “The biggest thrill is watching someone else suffer knowing you never have to. We relish this more than anything else!” Mr Nox slams the now half empty glass on the desk. “You and the rest of the fodder out there are just a form of entertainment for the Insoms. Your memories of pain, love lost, struggles, fear it's all recorded you know, and broadcasted. Best invention since the great automation, because, if you can’t work for us then you’ll live for us.”

You feel lost, your eyes begin to well as you realise the futility of your now daunting situation not just inside this room, but for the rest of society also. “Answers were all you sought but was the truth what you wanted? You could have taken a little white lie and made the most of what you called a mundane existence, we even gave you the tools to make your own, but you still questioned and rejected it.” Mr Nox glances back at the clock before returning to his seat.

He clears his throat “Now, do you know the second group of people who use the deep sleep chambers?” You silently shake your head, the void inside you growing ever larger as you begin to feel hollow and numb. “The second group of people in deep sleep are those who WE don’t think should be in society anymore, those who could cause... issues, if left to their own devices you see. And that’s where things become really exciting.” He pauses for a moment grimacing as he rubs his thumb across his fingers.

“We have the ability to simulate hell on earth. We can torment people for what feels like an eternity to them. And we can monetize it and watch them squirm.” his unrelenting glare feels heavy enough to level a building, you crumble into yourself, hope escapes you and your ideas of reality lay shattered, was society worth it?

Were you really going to change anything? You thought to yourself. Before coming here you’d have given anything to go back to the good old days but now you’d give anything to go back just 10 minutes. “Now, Icca, I dare say it but you have become an issue.” You feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck, a small dart. You look to the clock and notice the miniature robot protruding from it. “Now Icca.” Mr Nox sighs before towering over you, your vision now blurring. “I would say sweet dreams but there will be none of those where you’re going…” Your blinks feel slower until eventually they stop.