Athena
“It just feels so...real,” I say, as I trace the smooth skin on his cheek. I study the amber-gold freckles on the bridge of his nose, making a map of his features with my fingers. “You feel so real.”
“What do you mean?” Jake asks, punching my shoulder. “This is real. I am real.”
I look away from him, my lips pursed over my teeth. I miss him. I miss him while I’m with him. I scrunch my face up at the sun, squish the blades of grass in between my toes. It feels good. I feel good.
I smile softly at him. “I just wish I could stay here forever.” I say softly.
“I don’t understand,” he says, his voice breaking. “Where else would you go?” I lean over and press my forehead against his.
“I’m sorry. I need to go. My time is up.”
“Wait, Athena. Where are you going?” He asks frantically. I don’t listen.
I take the chip off of my forehead and set it onto my bedside table.
“Good Morning Sunshine,” says the room. I don’t respond. I stand up and stretch. I walk to the shower and turn on the faucet. I let the warm water fall over my body and I try to forget. I stare at the white tiles on the ceiling and I try to forget. I brace myself on the edge of the ceramic tub and I try to forget.
Another day passes. I watch behind glass as the food carts make their rounds. I eat my breakfast. The room drones on with it’s daily announcements and e-news, always finishing with; “Remember, the superbug is very, very dangerous. Do not leave living quarters under any circumstances.”
I lay on my bed most days. There’s not much else to do. I scroll through my socials to the last day I saw Jake; March 13, 2020. It’s a video- he’s dancing on one of the school cafeteria tables. The camera flips and I’m laughing. Everything about me is different. My face, my body, even my voice. My hair is longer now, and darker. My face is less round and my figure smaller. I study Jake’s curly ringlets, his gap tooth. I remember how firm he was, how he smelled sort of sweet, like laundry detergent. The simulations feel real, but they’re always a little bit off.
My mom calls and I don’t answer her. She leaves a voicemail. I don’t open it. She sends another. And another. I don’t open them.
“Ping from: ‘Dad’,” says the room. “Would you like me to read it?”
“Yes.”
“Happy Birthday Athena. 30! That’s a big one,” It reads in an electronic sounding voice. “Your mother and I both miss you every day. I love you, kid.” The voice pauses. “Would you like to respond?”
Jake
Athena tells me I am not real. She tells me that I am part of a real life simulator for people who are having difficulties adjusting to their lives after the pandemic. It is very hard for me to understand. I feel real.
Athena tells me there was a superbug a few years ago that killed about half of the human population. She says she hasn’t talked to the real me- the human I am meant to simulate- in a very long time. She doesn’t know if he is still alive or not.
It is very uncomfortable for me when she is away. Everything is dark and I do not know what is happening or if she is okay. I do not know how long I will be in the dark place. It is very quiet.
She tells me that it is very sad in the real world. That she likes coming here, where she can live how she used to. She can breathe fresh air and touch other people and see me again. She tells me it is the worst feeling in the world to be stuck and not be able to leave.
I understand how she feels.
Athena
I pull my boots on and pull a cloth mask out of an old backpack. I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie I’ve had since I was in high school. It’s too big for me and the hood comes down over my eyes. Good- the less I look like me the better. I’m going to find Jake. I need to see if he’s alive.
I pull the door shut and start walking. The world is much brighter than I remembered, even with a sheet of gray clouds overhead. Warm rain comes in thick drops and sticks to my face and eyelashes. The streets are empty, but as I get closer to the center of the city I will be at a much higher risk of being caught. Only around 3% of our city’s population is considered “essential personnel.” They have all been relocated to a set of apartments in the center of the city, near their work. Everyone else has been either terminated or relocated to an online workspace. This set of apartments have been appropriately nicknamed “the hive.”I pull the drawstrings on my hoodie tighter and keep my head down.
I turn the corner of Hawthorne and the street is filled with people. Everyone is in clear plastic safety bubbles-designed to keep people six feet apart- and masks, with the exception of one or two who wear only masks and walk with a wide gap from the flow of traffic. I stick to the opposite side of the street. They all drone forward, not looking anywhere in particular with blank expressions on their faces. I avoid making any eye contact that could give me away, and match my pace to theirs. 5 blocks to go.
Street sweepers in white gear stand behind protective screens every few blocks to make sure only hive workers are leaving their residence. All they have to do is scan my chip and I’ll be labelled as a threat to society. Everyone who sees me will be alerted of my warrant for arrest. I quicken my pace. 3 blocks.
I turn onto Hemlock and a tall figure in a hazmat suit stops me in my tracks. He’s watching me. I can tell that he’s a sanitation bot because his movements are only a slight bit slow. If he has an automatic chip reader I can’t tell. All of my limbs go totally numb and my breath hitches in my lungs. “Shitshithshit”, I think. It’s too far to turn back without raising suspicion. I cross my fingers and start forward.
Every step is agonizingly slow. I hold my breath and my pulse is ringing in my ears. 500 feet-just on the other side of that building. I see the sanitation bot out of the corner of my eye. 400 feet-almost there. Please, please, don’t notice me. His movements quicken and he turns in my direction-but only momentarily. 300 feet. He’s scanning my chip. He sees me.
The alert comes as a standard ping. It’s a picture of my face above a red badge that says WANTED: PUBLIC HEALTH THREAT. Below it lists my name, age, height and last seen coordinates-only it’s just been broadcasted to every person and bot in the city.
I decide to make a run for it. I turn into the closest street, just as a blaring siren barres all my senses, sounding directly into my brain. I dive forward onto all fours in total debilitating shock and cover my head with my shaking hands. I frantically check my profile, which is frozen on unanimous ping: PORTLAND CITY WIDE AIR RAID DRILL. The sirens are not because of my criminal status. Every chip and device in the city is being flooded with alert badges and sirens for the drill. This is my opportunity.
I start running. My legs are shaking and jello and I don’t have my map open but I run anyway. I remember well enough to get me close. I run and I have to double over because I am coughing and I can taste blood but I keep running and I don't stop until I get to 135th street.
I remember the house-the tree in the front yard and the baby blue paint. I take the front steps two at a time and burst through the front door.
---
I groan at the bright fluorescent lights over me. I’m in a white room, with no windows or decorations- only the chair I am tied to which sits tilted back in the center of the room. I don’t remember how I got here. It smells like bleach, and I am reminded of trips to the dentist when I was little with my mother. I look down at myself. There are a few bruises on my arms and legs, and there is an IV taped to my arm filled with some kind of clear liquid. My head is throbbing, and my arms and legs have restraints that are digging into my skin. I try to twist my right arm out, and cry out in pain.
Just then I hear someone open a door behind me. It’s a doctor. He walks around in front of me and I see he’s wearing protective equipment and a mask with an animated smile decal over it. He studies me for a moment, and then speaks.
“Miss Mooney,” he coos, and his voice is low, almost amused. “You are aware you violated the city’s Public Safety Regulations, which is a criminal offense?” I just glare at him. He continues. “This particular offense is considered a felony, Miss Mooney. Punishable by prison, or in some extreme cases, execution.” He pauses on the last word, the fake smile on his face a sick mockery of my fear. I glare at him and I wait.
“However,” he adds, “from what we have observed, you are a perfect candidate for what we like to call a ‘clean slate’ procedure. I have never been one for executions, myself. Too messy, and such a waste.” He waits for me to respond. “In this procedure, we will wipe your memory. You will then be downloaded onto a database with other criminals, where you can be accessed and sold as a hyper-realistic digital simulator to your friends and family. It’s completely painless.” He finishes.
I try to speak but my throat is hoarse and no sound comes out. I want to scream, I try to pull against the restraints but my limbs have all suddenly gone numb. “There is no point in trying to resist, the procedure will begin momentarily. You are currently being injected with a form of general anesthesia, which will put you in a sort of comatic state. You will be able to see and hear and think, but will not be able to move.” He removes my chip and replaces it with a smaller, square one. “Have a delightful time, Miss Mooney,” I get one last look at his sadistic animated face before he turns and walks out the door. I get out a groan, and half-sob into the room. I picture Jake’s face. His curls, his gap tooth, his amber-gold freckles, his scent, his smile, his voice. If I remember anything, I want it to be him. I picture how scared he must have been when they caught him. I wonder if he was caught looking for me. I wonder how long he has been stuck in there. My mind races and hurts and it’s hard to think and I can’t remember. I try to remember but I can’t and it hurts and I’m cold and I can’t remember who I am.
---
My mother is running her hands through my hair, singing softly to herself. “Welcome home Sweety,” she says, smiling. “This is crazy,” she adds, twirling a lock of my smooth dark hair between her fingers. “It just feels so real.”