The Synergist
[Year 1 | 2253–54]
Artur Simril was born on 15 September at the West Hippocrates Hospital, one of the City’s premiere medical institutions. His birth was rather unremarkable: a healthy baby descended from healthy parents, the cesarean section — which is the only way children are born these days — went perfectly according to plan. A week later, when the tests confirmed that it was safe to do so, Artur’s parents returned him to the hospital, where the medics registered his birth and implanted a Nanny chip into his head. This also went perfectly according to plan, but oh, how little Artur cried.
With his floppy head and limbs, the first months of Artur’s life were carefree. His life consisted of drinking the City-approved NutriMilk for Babies, shitting it out again (aside from those occasions where spitting it up offered a touch of variety), crying, either because he wants more NutriMilk or just because he shat himself, and sleeping off his drinking-and-shitting coma.
At eight months old, Artur’s parents were convinced they created their very own baby genius, instead of your average, run of the mill, everyday little human. After threatening to do so with his attempted push-ups for the last six weeks, Artur put one hand in front of the other, moved a knee forward and then another. He crawled. Finally, this little person was able to move.
By the end of the year, young Artur was sleeping through the night, much to his parents’ relief. He has also mastered the English language, or at least one word from it. Not “Mum,” not “Dad,” but “now.” Artur’s use of “now” was generally associated with his desire for NutriMilk.
[Year 2 | 2254–55]
Early in the boy’s second year, Artur’s parents were less convinced of their son’s genius. On the morning of his first birthday, the Nanny chip in his head was activated, replacing his dreams with educational material about the world and in particular, the City. City-approved music was continuously played throughout his sleep, accompanied by images of animals and vehicles. All this education was designed to increase little Artur’s vocabulary, but the only word that Mum and Dad recognise through their son’s babbling is “City.” And at one year of age, Artur’s pronunciation of “City” simply sounds like “shit.”
Shortly after Artur’s first birthday, he started pulling himself up on the furniture of his apartment, getting used to the feeling of his weight on his feet. Then, at the ripe old age of fourteen months, Artur’s parents brought home the thirteenth generation TreeX, and installed it ready for Christmas. Seeing this gigantic new gadget all lit up in the living room, Artur did the only logical thing his mind could conceive of. He grabbed a branch and used it as leverage as he pulled himself up from the floor. When the tree came crashing down, destroying his parents’ investment in the best Christmas ever, it was not only the first time that Artur walked; it was the first time he ran. It was also the first time that the Nanny chip gave him an electric shock.
“Naughty baby,” Nanny scolded him.
Despite Artur’s irresponsible behaviour, Santa Claus still visited the Simril household that year. Artur was gifted, among many things, the Tab Gogh. Named after a certain post-impressionist known for his mental health issues as much as his art, the Tab Gogh’s parent corporation is committed to mental health. The fact that its parent corporation also owns PharMed, the official supplier of medication to the City, including those designed to maintain mental health, is purely coincidental.
Much of little Artur’s following nine months were spent playing with the Gogh Tab. A simple device, it consists of a tablet, art software and a stylus. Artur whittled away the hours scribbling pictures he anointed as “Mum” or “Dad,” though to the adult eye, these portraits were more akin to Artur’s pronunciation of “city.”
[Year 3 | 2255–56]
The two-year-old’s addiction to his Gogh Tab continued. When not occupied by activities with Mum and Dad (which was far more often than Artur would have liked), the toddler spent his time whittling away the hours drawing images. These still looked absolutely nothing like the subject matter, but at least his mother was now able to make out the circle for a head, the dots for eyes, the line for a mouth and the scribble used to identify hair.
Over the first few months, Artur was now able to listen to, and follow, instructions. Whether the boy chose to, however, was another story. When called, he didn’t come; he was drawing on his Gogh Tab. When dinner time came around, he refused to eat and then cried until his parents passed him his Gogh Tab. When potty training, instead of focusing on pooping, Artur was more focused on his Gogh Tab. On the occasions that he dropped the tab’s stylus into the potty, his parents were quite thankful for his disinterest in the potty.
Come December, Artur’s parents bought the fourteenth generation TreeX, marvelling over the upgrade that waiting a year to replace the tree Artur broke has afforded them. Though they would never admit it to their son, they were rather pleased that they didn’t have to settle for that archaic previous generation. Better still, whether it be the tree toppling last year, or the zap that Nanny gave him, Artur steered well and truly clear of the tree. He didn’t even like being in the same room as it.
On Christmas Day, young Artur was dragged kicking and screaming into the room with the tree. The boy wailed throughout Christmas morning as his parents begged him to get on with it and open his presents. Throughout the morning, the boy’s parents unwrapped his presents for him. The various gadgets weren’t exciting, but the wrapping paper was — it at least distracted him from the seven electric shocks that Nanny gave him for his misbehaviour during the ordeal. At the end of the day, Artur’s parents considered this the most successful Christmas ever: until they received a notification from YutopiCorp, advising them to get their son’s temper under control.
In early January, Artur’s dad was driving Artur to a child psychologist, after receiving a referral from YutopiCorp in the wake of those seven zaps. As they drove through the city, Artur barely noticed the City’s neon lights flooding into the car. He did feel rather unsettled as his dad decided to take a shortcut through the slums, however, as the neon light grew dimmer and dimmer as they ventured deeper into the slums. Suddenly, the car drew to a halt. As gunfire could be heard, Artur looked out the window.
“Nata! Nata!” the child cried.
Artur’s father was rather impressed that at just two and a half, his son knew what a piñata was. Less impressive to the senior Simril, though, was that his son was witness to bodies exploding as they were filled with laser bolts and their skulls being cracked open by the officers’ energy batons. While he wouldn’t dare say it to anybody lest the Conscience chip in his head reports his words back to YutopiCorp, he doesn’t approve of his sons seeing the City’s version of “reasonable force.”
That evening, Artur’s father received a notification, advising him that by missing Artur’s appointment, he has been served an infraction from the City. As it was his decision to take a shortcut through the slums, he was advised that there is no right of appeal — but when it comes to the City’s infractions, if a right of appeal is offered, it is more than likely little more than a mirage of due process. One more infraction, Dr. Simril was warned, and he would be relocated to a re-education camp.
[Year 4 | 2256–57]
Eight months after Artur was due to have his original appointment, it was rescheduled for the day after his third birthday. Between this and YutopiCorp unlocking the Nanny chip’s neural link, it had been a big week for the youngster. Not being able to afford another infraction, nor being a fan of the idea of his son seeing more “piñatas”, his father made sure to take the long way to the appointment.
One month later, Artur’s parents received a notification about the outcome of his psychological assessment. Artur’s father was not allowed to witness the assessment, and when the report came back advising that while the child is creative, he has anger management and emotional issues, the man had to restrain himself and avoid declaring that the process is a fucking joke, lest the outburst earns him that final infraction.
The elder Simrils’ enquiries about whether the assessment was met with a form response: “The City does not provide information to parents and carers relating to psychological assessments. This is to protect the privacy of your child.” There was no hint of irony, given the City knows everything there is to know about its citizens, regardless of their age.
The more that Artur’s scribbles took shape, the more they looked like multiple shapes. The boy had been spending more and more time on his Gogh tab, which included discovering how to use colours in his art. The boy loved adding neon hues to his work, but one other colour made its way into every piece of Artur’s art: red. Piñata red.
Now that Artur’s neural link has been unlocked, his parents decided on the perfect Christmas gift for him: the Gogh Tab Plus. Including all the functionality of the original Gogh Tab, the Plus connected to the user’s neural link, enabling them to visualise images which then appear on the tablet. Artur couldn’t get enough of the Gogh Tab Plus, but still only grabbed the stylus, which he used to mix neon with red.
Artur spent every free moment over the next nine months scribbling and scribbling some more. A week before his fourth birthday, he suddenly found himself being weaned off his favourite gadget as he was just starting his educational career. He reacted to his first day without the Gogh Tab Plus so well that he only earned seventeen electric shocks over the course of the day.
[Year 5 | 2257–58]
A week into Artur’s year at preschool, he was incredibly excited to celebrate his birthday with his classmates. While bringing birthday cupcakes to educational institutes has been banned for centuries, children were allowed to bring small portions of nutrition bars to share with the class. Approved by the City for consumption, these treats have been engineered to fill the stomach of whoever is eating the bar without any potential issues caused by allergens. Artur opted for rainbow cupcake, ice cream and custard flavoured nutrition bar pieces. Due to three children being absent on the day, he ate those extra pieces and spent the day with a crippling stomach ache.
While still missing his Gogh Tab Plus, Artur started enjoying preschool. In the third week, he learned how to activate his Nanny chip’s augmented reality mode, which let him play with modelling clay and building blocks. While lacking in tactile sensations, the education system’s move to augmented reality meant that no time was wasted cleaning up the children’s mess, and therefore overtime would not be paid to the educators for this work, nor would they need to interrupt the childrens’ learning time to get them to tidy up after themselves.
Artur’s favourite part of preschool was, of no surprise to his parents, art. While the children were not provided Gogh Tabs to use, the education institute had a number of large screens at their disposal. His favourite day of his first year was in mid-April when the children got to experiment with these screens in combination with Nanny’s augmented reality mode, where he could roll around in virtual paint, then use his body to make virtual art. Naturally, the boy went for the red paint, lay on the ground, and shook his arms and legs as if he were undertaking the ancient ritual of creating a snow angel. When his educator looked at his work, Artur advised him that it is a piñata.
Following the end of the education year, Artur, his mum, his dad and his Gogh Pad Plus were on a jet, as his parents had saved for a three-week holiday in the Heart. Unfortunately for Artur, though, he was suffering from a major case of jet ear. Nanny’s diagnostics had not picked up on there being an ear infection prior to the flight, however if his screams weren’t a telltale sign, the seepage from his ear might have been. If people didn’t simply put more faith into diagnostics than their own eyes, that is.
“Shut that fucking kid up,” the passenger in the row infront of the Simril family demanded. “If you don’t shut him up, I will.”
As the passenger moved towards Artur’s row, his dad stood up to protect his son. Artur’s dad was not a small man, but he was dwarfed by the angry passenger. The passenger’s aggression stewing, he attempted to push past Dr. Simril.
His hand being subjected to electric shock after electric shock, Artur watched as his dad punched the passenger in the throat, then kneed him between the legs, dropping him to the floor. As a medic checked on the angry passenger and looked after his wounds, two officers handcuffed Dr. Simril and dragged him away.
Upon landing, Artur’s dad was served with his final infraction, and disappeared without a single word from the authorities. Artur and his mum were unable to enjoy their holiday after that.
[Year 6 | 2258–59]
Three months after that fateful flight to the Heart, Artur still missed his dad. Having just commenced his first full year of education, Artur discovered that he has his birthday off. Not because the City believes such events are worthy of celebration, outside the capitalism of present buying; such a celebration would have earned his mum an infraction.
Artur had the day off from learning because it is time to have an infraction light implanted in his hand. While this would ordinarily only require a brief visit, the corresponding update did not download properly. Because Artur had now reached the ripe old age of five years, the City considered him a big boy with another important milestone: eligibility to receive infractions from the City.
As children’s brains are not yet fully formed by this age, their infractions are less serious than their parents, educators, or any other grown-ups (unless said grown-ups have the right connections, obviously). For those aged under fifteen, infractions are designed to simply monitor their behaviour, and teach them the consequences. Unless, of course, the City had identified that child as a person of interest, which is usually due to them questioning the City. Too many questions, too many infractions, and the child would find themselves in a re-education camp.
During the procedure to replace the Nanny chip, it updated successfully. Having an updated Nanny chip and lights in his hand frightened the boy, reminding him of how he recently lost his own dad to a re-education camp. Artur was shuffled into a waiting room with nobody for company and nothing to entertain him, as well as nobody to tell him what was happening. Three hours later, he was reunited with his mum, who had spent those hours being forcibly interrogated about the state of her son’s chip.
Artur spent the remainder of his education year going through the motions, minding his Ps and Qs, and barely interacting with anybody, unless he absolutely had to. His Gogh Tab Plus went untouched, as he only spoke to Nanny when he didn’t have any other options.
As the anniversary of his dad’s removal arrived, Artur finally asked Nanny for assistance. “Hey Nanny, connect me to Dad.”
“I am sorry, Artur. I am unable to connect you to Dr. Simril.”
“Hey Nanny, where is Dad — Dr. Simril?”
“He is in a re-education camp.”
“What re-education camp?”
“I am sorry, Artur. That is classified.”
“What do they do at re-education camp?”
“They reeducate enemies of the City.”
“How?”
“I am sorry, Artur. That is classified.”
“Why?”
“Because you do not need to know.”
“But my dad’s trapped there.”
“I reiterate, you do not need to know. Please cease asking for classified information.”
Upon Nanny’s final words, Artur feels an electric shock in his hand. More painful than the ones he had received earlier, he looks at the palm of his hand, and sees a red light blinking: his first infraction since the update, and a major one.
[Year 7 | 2259–60]
“Congratulations, buddy!” At six years, he could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “You got your one hundred and fiftieth major infraction today. On your birthday, no less!”
Artur shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s going on, Artur?”
“I’m trying to find Daddy.” Artur’s face sank as he let out those words, his missing father playing on him each and every day.
“The Nanny chip isn’t going to tell you where he is, no matter the number of times you ask, you know.”
“I know,” the child responded. “But if I ask enough, maybe they’ll send me there with him!”
Oh, how Mrs. Simril’s heart broke for her son. “I miss him, too,” was all she could muster. She wanted to tell her son how she has spent the last year and a half looking for her husband too, trying to find him, trying to bring him back from the re-education camp. But she had been being careful not to end up in a re-education centre herself, leaving Artur without either parent. The last thing she wanted was her son to talk to the wrong kid at the institute, have her activities recorded and for her son to wind up a ward of the system.
Over the course of the year, these discussions continued. A month later, when Artur received his two hundredth infraction. Another three months later, when Artur received his three hundredth infraction. Another six months later, when Artur received his four hundredth infraction. And at the end of the year, when the child ended the year at four hundred and seventeen infractions. He was improving, at least.
[Year 8 | 2260–61]
A week after Artur’s birthday, Mrs. Simril was driving her son to a psychologist appointment. Like the original appointment, Artur was referred by YutopiCorp. The pattern of behaviour noted by the City back when the child was two has escalated to the point where at seven, he is questioning the system and the location of his father. Granted, these reduced over the course of the prior twelve months, but as far as YutopiCorp is concerned, four hundred and seventeen infractions is still four hundred and seventeen infractions.
Mrs. Simril was left in the waiting area while Artur partook in the discussion. While she desperately wanted to support her son, the City does not allow parents into such discussions, a risk mitigation strategy in case the parent prejudices the discussion.
“Why are you acting out, Artur?” the doctor asked.
Artur shrugged his shoulders.
“Why do you not believe in the City?”
Again, Artur shrugged.
“Are you trying to find your father?”
Artur did not shrug his shoulders. Instead, he found himself frozen, unable to respond, unable to acknowledge the doctor.
“It’s only natural for a boy your age to want to find his missing father, Artur. You lost him at a young age. He was taken from you.”
Feeling slightly more at ease, Artur looked up at the doctor, who gave him a smile in return.
“I’m here to help, Artur. If you let me.”
After some consideration, Artur opened his mouth. “Where is he?”
“That’s classified, Artur.”
“But you said you could help.”
These sessions continued every week throughout the year. And each session covered the same ground.
[Year 9 | 2261–62]
Artur had made it through twelve months without another infraction to his name. His mum found herself relieved at her son’s safety, especially because the appointments with his doctor were all that stood in the way of her son being declared a person of interest. More powerful, though, was Mrs. Simril’s worry that Artur had lost a large piece of himself. It had been more than three years since Artur had seen Dad; more than three years since the boy felt whole.
Continuing their weekly sessions, Artur’s feelings were never addressed. Certainly, he was asked why he felt so compelled to find his father (“He’s Dad,” the child would answer), and why he was so important to the boy (“He’s Dad,” the child would answer). However, at his latest session, he was instead provided information.
“You’re father is a criminal, Artur,” the doctor said. “Do you know what a criminal is?”
Artur silently shook his head.
“A criminal is somebody who breaks the law and must be punished.”
“Why?”
“Because your father is a bad man, Artur. You’re better off without him.”
“He’s not a bad man! He’s Dad!”
For the first time in more than eighteen months, Artur’s anger got the better of him. He yelled. And for the first time in more than eighteen months, Artur was served another infraction. At least this one was only minor.
The questioning lasted until the eve of Artur’s ninth birthday. To the boy’s amazement, this appointment went slightly differently.
“Artur, I don’t believe you’re letting me help.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t trust me, and that’s okay,” the doctor reassured him. “I understand.”
“I don’t trust you because you said Dad’s a bad man.”
Ignoring the response, the doctor pressed on. “Would you like to see him?”
Finally, this was a question that Artur was willing to enthusiastically answer. “Yes!”
“Consider this an early birthday present.”
[Year 10 | 2262–63]
Artur’s tenth year was a blur. The child was simply not sleeping; every time his body started to drift away, his mind pulled him back from the brink of sleep, thanks to vivid nightmares. These were no recurring dream, but they all followed the same pattern: a person one was strapped to a chair. Guards kicked and punched the defenceless man whose face was torn, broken and swollen. Sometimes the nightmares showed Artur his dad; other times, his mum; and occasionally, random people in the slums that Artur has no recollection of. Regardless of who he saw in his nightmares, at the tender age of nine, Artur knew that these nightmares were inspired by his dad’s torture the boy bore witness to.
Each and every week, Artur still met with his doctor. He has not told his mum what he saw; he was given a stern warning that his Nanny chip would report such conversations to YutopiCorp. While he still believes that if he were to end up in a re-education centre, he could find and somehow rescue Dad, it was pointed out that Mum would be more likely to suffer the consequences of such a decision. Artur does not want to be left alone.
[Year 11 | 2263–64]
Two months after Artur’s tenth birthday, he had what would turn out to be the final appointment with his doctor. Artur was not the least bit disappointed by this turn of events: after three long years, he was finally done; Artur simply wished she had passed him the original generation Gogh Tab earlier. Maybe not three years earlier, but at least a year and a half, so, suffering or not, he was still able to see Dad.
“Artur, I want you to draw me a picture on this.”
“Why?”
“You used to love these things, Artur.”
“Yeah, back when I was a kid.”
“You’re still a kid.”
“Fine, a little kid.”
“Well, you might still love it now,” the doctor advised him. “Take your time, draw the first thing that enters your mind.”
Artur spent the entire hour-long session drawing a woman standing under the City’s neon lights, basking in their glow. The light is refracting from the puddles caused from the rain pouring down from the sky. Red runs into the puddle, pouring from the woman’s face which is covered in injuries that mirror the ones he saw on his father’s face. As the session was about to end, Artur slid the Gogh Tab back to the doctor, who picked it up and examined the art.
The art was wonderful, particularly from an artist as young as Artur. The neon lights were vivid, and the boy has a knack for drawing realistic anatomy. The way the blood pooled over the rain-soaked ground brought an uncanny vivacity to the image. But most stunning of all, the subject of the image was unmistakable: the doctor.
“This was the first thing that came to your mind, Artur?”
Artur nodded his head. He contemplated telling her about how, years ago, she told him that she wanted to earn his trust, but has only betrayed it since. About how he knows that she must work for YutopiCorp, and she has done nothing to help him about his dad. About all those nightmares stemming from his dad’s torture, and how he has been enduring them ever since. He didn’t; his mum might end up in a re-education camp, and then he’d be alone.
“I…I think we’re done here. There’s nothing I can do for you.” Artur’s doctor was visibly rattled and Artur liked it.
Over the next ten months, Artur was a much happier boy. He was still besieged by nightmares, but these happening every other night was a marked improvement. He actually began to engage with his peers in class. He laughed at his mum’s terrible jokes. And over the course of those months, when he arrived home from the institute, he fired up his Gogh Pad Plus.
[Year 12 | 2264–65]
For his eleventh birthday, Artur requested the one thing he had never been interested in before: a party. The boy and his twelve closest friends spent a few hours on a different world, Tamboraxu. Kitted out in their augmented reality headsets and plastic guns, the children entered the virtual world, with one mission: to kill, or be killed. Artur opted for option A, and took great delight in murdering his friends over and over again. He soon learned how to disable his opponents without killing them, just so he could return later and execute them slowly.
Following the party, Artur’s guests were no longer his twelve closest friends. Not that it mattered; on his first day of the education year, the boy was escorted to the headmaster’s office for a discussion.
“Artur, I can see here that you like art.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re very good. This image of your doctor is incredibly realistic.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Can I ask about the colours? There seems to be a lot of red in your drawings.”
“It’s blood.”
“Do you like blood?”
Artur shrugs his shoulders. “It’s inside us. Sometimes it makes it to the outside.”
“What about death? Do you like death?”
“No!” Artur was shocked by the question.
“You seemed to enjoy it at your birthday party.”
Artur paused as he slowly realised that of course the educational institute would have access to the results of the games they were playing. “It was a fun game. I liked winning.”
“I see. Report to the top floor. You’ve been accepted into the Extension Program for Talented Students.”
Upon getting home from the institute, Artur eagerly told his mum about his acceptance into the program. She gave him a big hug and told him how proud of her son she is. She followed this up with some simple questions: “What are you learning?” “How different is it to normal education?” “Was there an application process?”
Artur’s response to each of these questions remained the same: “Sorry, Mum, that’s classified.”
These responses perturbed Mrs. Simril, encouraging her to split her free time between not only trying to locate her husband, but to find out what, exactly, this education institute is teaching her son.
[Year 13 | 2265–66]
At the dawn of the new education year, Artur’s mum still had no idea about what her son was learning at the Extension Program for Talented Students, but doubted that he was learning maths and English. As her investigations into the program were not bringing up any information (though when you buy off-the-grid technology from the slums and a dampener for the enhancements the City has installed in your body, your options are limited), but she hoped that he was learning something useful, like A.I or robotics.
In his off-time, Artur continued to do what he loved. With his Gogh Tab Plus firmly in hand, he was mixing neon palettes with blood-red. One afternoon, almost nine years to the day that he was given his Gough Tab Plus, he finally decided to test the neural link. He looked at a holo-image of Mum and Dad, taken from their wedding day. Oh, how happy they looked! Then closing his eyes, Artur imagined the picture in his mind’s eye. The Gogh Tab Plus recreated the image through a twelve-year-old’s lens, bringing a vivacity that twenty-third century cameras just cannot muster.
Artur didn’t understand why his mum was crying after seeing the image, but after that day, he vowed that he would never use the tablet to recreate images of his dad again. Instead, Artur’s work would be reserved for characters from his favourite games, buildings in the City, and, one time, a guess about what his crush looks like naked.
The plan to avoid drawing images of his dad worked splendidly, even if if his nudie art resulted in an awkward conversation with his mum, a lecture from his headmaster about the appropriate use of neural links (“These are not designed to indulge your mastubatory pleasure, Artur Simril,” he said in a humiliating address to the entire Extension Program for Talented Students), and a major infraction from the City. That is, until the eve of Artur’s thirteenth birthday, where he forgot to log out of his Gogh Tab Plus. Besieged by nightmares about his dad’s torture: the kicks, the punches, the spatter of blood; Artur inadvertently recreated the grizzly scene again and again. Artur created so many versions of the image that the Gogh Tab Plus created an animation, recreating in full the torture the once witnessed by the then-eight-year-old.
[Year 14 | 2266–67]
Artur’s first day as a teenager did not go as the boy had anticipated. As he slept in, his mum, still tidying up after her son, collected Gogh Tab Plus with the intent of putting it away. However, upon discovering that it was left on, Mrs. Simril was treated to reconstructed footage of inside an interrogation room, where her husband was being violently tortured by guards. As the terrible sight assaulted the woman’s eyeballs, her skin went absolutely white and her heart skipped a couple of beats.
Shortly thereafter, Artur emerged from his room, disheveled from his active on-again off-again sleep, gave his mum a quick wave and opened the refrigerator.
“Happy birthday,” Artur’s mum muttered, completely emotionless.
Artur gulps down some milk. “What’s up?” he asks.
“Do you know where your dad is?”
“Uh, only that he’s in a re-education centre.”
“Really?” His mum shows him the Gogh Tab Plus.
Artur froze; it was now his turn for his skin to turn absolutely white while his heart skips a couple of beats. As he looked for some words, the Gogh Tab Plus reconstructed another image. Not of Dr. Simril’s torture, thankfully, but of a doctor standing next to an almost nine-year-old boy, showing him a projection of his father’s torture.
Mrs. Simril looked at the image, then showed it to her son. “Your doctor showed this to you?”
Artur nodded.
“Did she give you any more information?”
Artur shook his head. “I think she was trying to fuck with me.”
“Language!”
“I think she was trying to mess with me. In the most fucked up way imaginable.”
Without saying a word, Mrs. Simril stood up and left the room. She returned shortly thereafter, holding a dampener. After placing it on the kitchen table, Mrs. Simril switched it on. As the dampener let out a quiet buzz, Artur suddenly struggled to focus due to the interference with his Nanny Chip.
“Artur, Why didn’t you tell me about what you saw?”
Artur looked to the floor, refusing to speak.
“Artur, I have activated a dampener field. The City can’t hear what we’re saying.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure, kiddo. The City hasn’t picked up the work I’m doing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the doctor told me that if I said anything, YutopiCorp would put you in a re-education centre. If it were me, I could at least help dad, but — ”
“But what, Artur? You don’t think I could?” Mrs. Simril began. “I’ve been trying to dig up what I can find about the re-education centres. I haven’t found much, but I do believe there’s one in Sector Miami. It makes sense he’d be there, it doesn’t seem like there’s one closer.”
Artur nodded, taking some reassurance from his mother’s words.
“And there’s another thing. I can’t find much information about your Extension Program for Talented Students, despite everywhere I’ve looked. What are you learning there?”
“How to serve the City. Apparently I have a bright future ahead of me.”
“I really don’t like the sound of that,” his mum answered with a sigh.
Due to his conversation with his mum, Artur arrived in class three and a half minutes late. Unfortunately, this was a rare occasion where his birthday coincided with the first day of the education year.
“You’re late, Mr. Simril,” his educator said with a scowl. “If you’re tardy, you won’t be able to serve the City.”
“Understood.”
“Why were you late?”
“Oh, birthday stuff; you know how it is.”
“It didn’t have anything to do with the dampener? I can only assume that’s why both you and your mother went offline. Did you know your mum’s been making a habit of that?”
Artur did not return home that day, he did not get to unwrap his birthday presents. Artur did not return home at all that year.
[Year 15 | 2267–68]
As Artur walked through the streets, he was inundated with neon colours clashing with kawaii culture in an assault on both the eyes and ears that put the garish colours of the City to shame. This represented the teenager’s second visit to the Heart. The first cost him his Dad; and this second, with no end in sight, had taken him away from his Mum. It was his birthday, and all Artur wanted to do is call his mum, hear her voice, and tell her he’s safe. Artur hoped against hope that his mum was safe; that is what his instructors led him to believe, at least.
“You try to contact your Mum and it’s game over for the both of you,” his instructor told him. “We have shinobi tailing your every move. Any further dampeners, any effort to reach your mother, any effort to find your father, and you can kiss both your, and your mother’s, lives goodbye.”
Despite the cacophony of sound and vision, his missing parents, and the fact that he was presumably being followed by an assassin that could likely kill him with a single finger, Artur didn’t mind it in the Heart. Based in New Tokyo Sector 1, where the atmosphere was lively and the people seemed genuinely happy to be part of the thriving region, Artur was even provided some money to replace his Gogh Tab Plus. Between this having been superseded years prior and the Heart being a different market to the City, a direct replacement was not possible. Instead, he replaced it with the Hiroshi Block 7.0, a far more modern device, enabling him more control and colour options than the Gogh Tab Plus ever had. It is also what was used by the professionals in YatopiCorp’s Synergy Department.
As the year continued, Artur took his Hiroshi Block 7.0 with him everywhere he went. Despite generation upon generation of cross-pollination between the City and the Heart, he still felt like a stranger in a strange land. During his rare breaks from his study, the teenager was more comfortable sketching an image than engaging with other human beings, or A.I.
Artur’s instructors were unable to grasp his love of art. When he turns fifteen, he will be able to choose his major, and they all feared that he would choose the pacifist route, rather than the bloody violence he drew during those innocent times of yesteryear. But, alas, should he win the challenge, which his instructors believe he should, it would be his decision.
[Year 16 | 2268–69]
“Artur, you are now fifteen.” It was exactly midnight; Artur had just been shaken awake by one of his instructors. It was a big day set out for him: first, the removal of his Nanny chip, to be replaced by the Conscience chip, which effectively does the same job but with the added benefit of more usability for adults, along with harsher penalties for misdeeds. Second, he would need to determine which cybernetic upgrades he wanted. And, third, Artur must pass a test that he knew nothing about, other than if he passes, it guarantees him a future with YutopiCorp; if he fails, it ensures that he has no future.
The medic put Artur to sleep for the procedure. While the swapping of chips was generally a seamless process, the Conscience chip does plug directly into the brain as a wired connection leaves less room for error than a wireless one. And his requested upgrades before his mystery challenge require a little more finesse than simply plugging them in.
Artur’s first request was for a pair of tetrachromat eyes. While ocular upgrades and enhancements are pricey, leaving most people to choose which eye to replace, all costs for those enrolled in the Extension Program for Talented Students are covered by YutopiCorp, enabling them to upgrade both eyes. With this upgrade, Artur will be able to see a range of one hundred million colours, instead of the single million available to those with standard eyes. Other added benefits of this upgrade include night vision and infrared sensors.
The second request was for the steel nerves. A complicated process, and one that is out of reach for the common person, this upgrade would line all of Artur’s nerve endings in nanoparticles. While this was designed to prevent nerve damage, it is most commonly used by medics and shinobi needing to enhance their fine motor skills to enable clean slices. While many augmentations are allowed for the use in professional sports, the nerves of steel had been banned long ago, due to the fluidity of movements and pain reduction inherent with protecting the nerves.
His third and final request, and the only one to receive tacit approval from Artur’s instructor, was for metacarpal blades. Illegal for anybody without an exemption, the installation of metacarpal blades requires the user’s fingers to be detached, allowing the metacarpal-phalangeal joint knuckles to be replaced before the fingers are reattached. While Artur’s thumbs were unaffected, the knuckle between each finger and the hand can extend energy blades which easily slice through objects, as well as people.
That afternoon, Artur awoke from his anaesthetic slumber. Still groggy, he was escorted to a secret location where his instructor and a number of people he didn’t recognise. As he was ushered into an electrified cage, he asked his instructor what, exactly, this challenge was.
“Kill, or be killed. It’s simple, really: just use your enhancements to destroy the biodroid before it destroys you.”
Artur watched as the restrained biodroid was led into the cage. By all appearances, a hulking beast at seven feet tall by two feet wide, Artur didn’t have a clue how he was going to defeat it, or even where to start. But he had learned enough through his studies to know that somewhere under all that muscle and fat is a robot that can be destroyed.
The biodroid clenched both fists together and swung at Artur, who blocked it with his arm. He could feel the impact of the blow, but didn’t feel any real pain. The biodroid hit him again. And again. With the same result. Finally free of the attacks, Artur scanned the biodroid’s body, to find the robot deep inside its fleshy shell. As the monster rushed at Artur, the boy clenched both fists, pointed them towards the biodroid, and rushed towards it. As soon as his fists made contact with the biodroid’s blubbery belly, Artur pushed forward with all his strength, and then extended all eight energy blades. As blood and lard exploded and then oozed from the body, the biodroid shorted out with a fizz.
“Wow, just as smart and aggressive as your dad!” his instructor told him.
“What?” This was the last thing Artur had expected to hear. “What was about my dad?”
“Uh, shit, sorry, kid. It’s not often that we have a second generation come through the program,” the instructor responded. “I take it that you’ll begin your wetworks training this year?”
Artur shook his head. “No, thank you. I was planning on enrolling in art.”
[Year 17 | 2269–70]
It had been a year since Artur discovered that there is, in fact, no art class. Not only in the Extension Program for Talented Students, but not in any educational institute in the world, or at least those receiving any funding from YutopiCorp. Art, according to the educational institutes, was considered primitive; all of it considered in the same league as paintings on cave walls. An archaic way for people to express themselves, when each and every person has a Nanny chip implanted at birth, which is then upgraded to a Conscience chip on their fifteenth birthday. These chips tell people how to express their emotions, rather than leave it to these “artists” to offend with their imagery.
In lieu of an art class, Artur had just started his second year of Corporate Synergy, the closest thing to art offered by the program. Artur’s previous instructor had enrolled the boy in this class as a form of punishment for deciding upon a more empathetic vocation than YatopiCorp had in mind for him. Artur didn’t much mind this, he was still drawing and designing, using colours, and using his artistic skills. Granted, his lessons consisted of creating corporate logos and propaganda imagery for the Heart, but it let him fly under the radar in a class with less oversight, and he did request steel nerves and tetrachromat eyes to assist him in bringing his art to life.
It wasn’t all drawing for the boy, however. Throughout the year, the Corporate Synergy class had learned the history of the ancient artform, and how it compares to what is available now. All forms of art, whether it be visual, audio, performance, writing, whatever, was considered dangerous. It may include themes of discord, disunity, or disloyalty to YutopiCorp and its empire. As such themes cannot be abided, all art, regardless of the type, must be vetted and approved by YutopiCorp prior to release. However, the process to lodge an application is one so arduous that very few even attempted it; if they did, the request would likely be denied after a number of years’ silence, as the majority of this work is allocated to the professional synergists on YutopiCorp’s payroll.
However, the artistic community within the slums was thriving. Due to their lower socio-economic status, artists in the slums were less educated, and, according to the Corporate Synergy department, unaware of all the good that the City and the Heart has done for its people. Pirate stations run from the slums are constantly being shut down by the authorities, fearful of the social implications should the people be led astray. Those caught running these services were transferred to re-education camps, if they’re lucky.
“The unlucky ones,” Artur’s class was told on the last day of the education year, “Are those who are stupid enough to attempt to fight back. They are always outmanned, outgunned and outmanoeuvred.”
Throughout the holidays, those words were stuck in Artur’s head. It took him a couple of weeks to realise why, when his dreams became filled with his two-year-old self shouting “Nata! Nata!” while he watched their slaughter at the hands of officers. As his holidays continued, dreams of his dad’s torture at the re-education centre intertwined with those of his forgotten memories.
[Year 18 | 2270–71]
Prior to the break, Artur was tasked with an assignment: Revamp YatopiCorp’s brand. As any sixteen-year-old would do, he held off as long as possible, and didn’t complete his project until after his seventeenth birthday. Upon wrapping the assignment up, Artur’s hand buzzed with a violent electric shock. Turning it over and looking at the palm, he had been served with a major infraction.
As YutopiCorp had a strong distaste for art that goes against everything they stand for, Artur wasn’t surprised by the infraction. He did, design, after all, create propaganda posters for “PiñataCorp,” with officers gathered around his dad. In the image, Dr. Simril was hanging from a noose while a blind-folded officer beat him with a plank of wood with a rusty nail in the end, and the others eagerly awaited their turn. Artur was surprised, however, by the knock on his door within fifteen minutes of receiving his infraction.
Artur also discovered himself surprised by the lack of discipline for his actions. Apparently, being chosen to partake in the Extension Program for Talented Students has its perks. YutopiCorp invests heavily in the students, so it is more cost-effective if they can be redeemed.
As Artur zoned out of the headmaster’s constant waffle, he played around with his tetrachromat eyes, playing with the different light frequencies. At one point, he could see that the headmaster had dangerously high blood pressure, but at another point, Artur spotted a cloaked shinobi standing behind the headmaster, ready to strike Artur down, should he prove to be a problem. Artur decided to take the unintended warning, and vowed to get through the remainder of his education career without further issue. “Only two more years of this shit,” he would remind himself.
[Year 19 | 2271–72]
Now eighteen years of age, Artur was legally considered an adult. He could now enter clubs, and he could now partake in synthetics in said club. All he needed to do was get through the upgrade scheduled for his birthday, and the night was for him and his friends — or acquaintances from the program — could party the night away: one last hurrah before Artur’s final year with the Extension Program for Talented Students. Artur’s chosen education stream had limited his options for his latest hardware enhancement, but he requested a holographic projector be installed, which would enable him to project reference images for his work.
Still sore from the procedure, Artur and his friends entered the Heart’s hottest nightclub. The ElectroKitty Spot was known for its sheer size, its lighting, the music, and particularly for its wide range of sinthetics: legal drugs which impact both the brain and digital architecture. As the industrial pop played in the background, Artur swallowed a synthetic pill. Within minutes, the neon lights were bouncing around with the music, before becoming a whirligig of rainbows.
Artur was truly convinced that he could feel the colours and music through his very being. His recurring nightmares, memories of his dad, memories of his mum, hidden shinobi tailing him at every corner, all forgotten over the course of the night. As Artur projected holograms featuring celebrities of the day in various crazy outfits dancing along with the music, the crowd went absolutely wild. Even Artur’s Conscience chip appeared to have fun, even telling the new adult “Artur, this is fucking awesome. Dude.”
“Ugh, where am I? I think I fried my chip.” Looking around, Artur is lying on a strange bed in a strange apartment.
“You’re at my place,” the strange woman told him.
If Artur could have leapt out of bed, he would have. But he was still feeling the effect of the previous night’s synthetics. “Do I know you?”
“What? I thought we had fun,” the stranger answers. “I mean, you’re definitely a novice and were impacted by some pretty heavy shit, but you still managed to finish okay.”
“Hopefully my memory of last night returns soon, then.”
“Doubtful. I dosed you on triple the legal limit of synthesis.”
“What? Is that even safe?”
“Eh, it fucked you up a bit, but nothing that will do any lasting damage. Or your toys.”
“Are you sure? My head’s full of static.”
“That would be your Conscience chip,” the stranger said. “It’ll be back online within hours. The synthetics I gave you have taken you offline for the time being. They mask the effect, so YutopiCorp will be none the wiser.”
“Nice. Have any more?”
The girl hands Artur a handful of synthetics. “Keep these hidden, okay?” she says. “Look, I was sent to find you by Dr. Simril. He asks that when you graduate, you request a placement at the Wasteland’s head office.”
“My dad’s alive? And he wants me in a dead-end job? And he sent you to fuck me?”
“Artur, one: Yes. Two: If he wants you there, it’s to keep you safe. And, three: No, I decided to do that when I saw that you’re pretty cute.”
Following his final exam, which he aced, Artur made a request to be located at the Wasteland’s head office.
“Nobody wants to be stationed there, Artur,” the headmaster informed him.
“What’s your game?” his least-favourite instructor asked.
The headmaster looked up from his screen. “On 15 September, you went dark.” Artur reacts with shock, having been found out. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt; sometimes people get slipped more powerful synthetics. But then we found these in your room.”
While Artur enjoyed a bit of time with his illegal synthetics, he was saving some for his time at the Wasteland.
“How did you find out that your father’s at the Wasteland, Artur?” the instructor asked him, as Artur spotted his hands beginning to glow: that is never a sign that you aren’t about to have the absolute crap beaten out of you.
In a panic, Artur leapt from his seat. Extending his metacarpal blades, Artur launched himself at the instructor, stabbing him through the throat with one fist, and through the chest with the other. As blood poured from the instructor and dripped from Artur’s hands, he turned to one of the two concealed shinobi in the room. As Artur launched himself at the first, the headmaster shook his head at the second shinobi, whose katana was drawn, ready to strike.
The first shinobi revealed himself, blocking each of Artur’s attacks. Artur knew that he had no way of winning the fight, but if he was going to go down, he was going to do it with style, causing as much damage to YutopiCorp as possible. They took his father; they separated him from his mother. Now that they were coming after him, it was time to pay.
But pay, they didn’t. The second shinobi grabbed Artur’s back and unleashed intensified electricity into it. As Artur’s head hit ground, he heard the headmaster’s voice.
“Oh, you’ll be going to the Wasteland, all right.” As Artur faded from consciousness, he somehow suspected that this still wasn’t going to be what he had requested.
[Year 20 | 2272–73]
“I’m sorry, Artur.”
Artur groggily opened his eyes and saw his dad for the first time in almost fifteen years. His dad was older, more frazzled, covered in scars, missing an eye which had been replaced by a glowing red orb, and walked with a limp. Artur could barely speak, but despite the state of his dad, he still managed to smile warmly. As he looked around, it appeared that he was strapped to a bed in an operating theatre. His dad was wearing surgical gear.
“When I was a kid,” Dad explained to his son, “I was enrolled in the Extension Program for Talented Students, though it was just the ‘Student Extension Program’ back in my day. Like they did to you, they had me sign a binding contract at eleven, signing my life away to them.”
“Dad…” Artur finally mustered, “Not now. They’ll hear you.”
“They won’t. One benefit of surgeries is they all come with dampener fields. It’s an unadvertised safety measure, in case an enhancement is accidentally triggered,” his dad explained. “Anyway, as I grew up, I saw how corrupt YutopiCorp is, and found a way to leak some information. I blackmailed my way to freedom, met your mum, and that was that.
“Or so I thought. I was free, but YutopiCorp was waiting to lock me in a re-education camp. They had scheduled my execution, but I cut another deal with them. I return to work, and you and your mother get to live. Did you know that she was looking into YutopiCorp?”
Artur nodded slowly. “Yeah, I learned about it before they removed me from her. Haven’t been able to reach her.”
“I got a message out to her last year. She knows we’re here, and when we can find a way to bring her along, we will.”
Dr. Simril picked up a syringe and gently slid it into Artur’s neck.
As Artur faded from consciousness, he heard his father’s words. “We’re here together, Artur; I’m just sorry it’s not under the circumstances either of us had fought for.”
[Year 21 | 2273–74]
Artur could not recall anything between his twentieth and twenty-first birthdays.
[Year 22 | 2274–75]
“I’m sorry, Artur.”
“I am…Artur?”
“You are. And my name is Dr. Simril. Do you recognise me?”
Artur shook his head.
A tear welled under Dr. Simril’s natural eye as he looked at what remained of his son on the operating. After more than two years of work, less than half of Artur’s face remained, and approximately seventy-five per cent of his son’s body has been converted to machinery. It was a work of art.
Artur started his j“I’m sorry, Artur.”
“I am…Artur?”
“You are. And my name is Dr. Simril. Do you recognise me?”
Artur shook his head.
A tear welled under Dr. Simril’s natural eye as he looked at what remained of his son on the operating. After more than two years of work, less than half of Artur’s face remained, and approximately seventy-five per cent of his son’s body has been converted to machinery. It was a work of art.
Artur started his job with YutopiCorp the next day. A Corporate Synergist, designing propaganda for the Wasteland. Artur used to love art. Now, Artur doesn’t know what art is.
