Anonymity: WH_Zero

Chapter 1

Wake up. It's the easiest thing in the world to do. We all do it at various intervals and occasionally even the comatose get a reprieve on their sentences. I have no cognitive reason to dislike the sensation of waking. It is one of the few things we have in this world that reminds us that we exist, in some form or fashion, that reminds us we are still alive. The concept itself holds no sway with me one way or the other but the sensation of it, that moment just between when the subconscious retreats and the consciousness takes over always feels like being plucked from the air and sent hurtling back towards the earth, bound to leave little more of my legacy than an impact crater. They say it's good to be alive but sometimes I have to wonder.

Alive, in this case, means that the pungent odor of week-old summer garbage wafts up from the riverbed, through the tiny apartment to form the front lines of its assault on my nostrils, bringing me from that half-lucid state of awareness fully into myself. Shit. You'd think I'd learn to go to bed with the window closed.

I sit up and rub my face with my hands, enjoying the few more moments of blackness, but it's hardly silent. The alarm that pulled me from sleep continues in its persistent attempt to keep me out of that void of half-filled memories. I appreciate it almost as much as I hate it as I reach over and silence the thing.

There are another few seconds, hovering between wakefulness and the blissful hell of sleep before my bladder rouses itself enough to remind me it exists as well. I can't really fight it anymore after that, so I get up. I hit the button on the wall to let the toilet unfold itself so I can take care of at least one problem. Naturally, the thing sticks halfway and is only prodded to show itself with a good stiff kick. Make that two problems solved, but one I paid for.

My eyes are drawn to the mirror and I find myself staring into my own face, haggard and sleep-deprived with bags starting to try and form under my eyes.

A soft chime sounds over a tinny speaker while I'm in the middle of taking care of business and a detached woman's voice follows, "You have fifteen minutes remaining on your rent. If you wish to renew, please contact the office. Valid forms of payment include credit, debit account transfers, and verified scrip with partner companies. Failure to vacate the premises at the time of expiry may result in forfeiture of assets, time card credits, or termination. Please consult the office for further details. Thank you."

At least the robots are polite when they threaten to kill you. I finish up and close the toilet again and hold up a hand to go through the day's events.

Russia and the Euro Union are meeting again to discuss the 'Problem in the Americas'. They've neglected to include Canada and Mexico in the talks, yet again. Most of their politicians are bought and paid for by our corporations, so nothing major will come of it. It looks like there were only about 228,412 deaths yesterday, no lottery winners. That's a shame. The downside of using the death toll as a winning number instead of balls drawn is some of the digits repeat. I missed out on the suicide draw, myself, with the final total 4,627 Oh well; it's only money after all, right?

A scheduled spree shooting every day this week at the Woodland mall catches my attention. If they counted the idiots attending that as suicides...Oh well.

A new message that appears in my inbox pulls my attention away from an article about a possible border skirmish between Renulto-Phillips and Rising Sun Oil on the north side of town. I open the message and lay my hand out flat to let it project more fully. For a few moments I'm greeted by a spinning logo for Civic Wireless and the friendly letters 'Please Wait'. While I wait I pull on my jeans and shirt while making sure I wasn't leaving anything behind.

"Hey, if it isn't my favorite auditor, Zero-One-Two-Eight," begins a voice I'm all too familiar with, Bill, my account manager, "I've got a live one for you."