Have you ever wondered
about the multitudes of unknowns in the universe, and how you'll probably never be able to grip any real answers from the torrential downpour of darkness that you're swept up in. If you have, well then It's probably time to hear that none of that is relevant when survival is a priority. You'd rather break into a building or sleep underneath a bridge then wrestle with the depths of your own mind. Awhile back there had been a switching of gears that was only noticeable progressively as it got worse, as the gear when from 1 to 11. People started showing signs of mental atrophy, and it was effecting society in a very negative way.
People were by their lonesome, trying to collect some semblance of sanity among the frayed remains of a social structure that had been broken. There was a movement that was halted and a group of believers in hope that had been thwarted so that the status quo would stay the same, that being exponential growth. More people but less resources, but the resources that were available were swallowed up by greedy corporations. People would spend time on their own in dark rooms underneath blankets away from their peers and this time would be use to mesmerize themselves into numbness through constant audio-visual stimuli, and I think it's getting harder to write something ground breaking and it's not any easier than any previous year to snap someone's attention into being an active part of their perception. It's a lot easier to let your brain atrophy and forget about the things, the things that should make you very sad.
There was a dark figure seated at a moderately dilapidated bench near a shop, near a gas station, near a residential area, which was near a factory. The name of this city has lost it's importance, so recalling what people were calling it at that time is largely unnecessary.
The dark figure was staring downwards towards a line of text followed by more lines of text which concluded in an image of a low-saturation and highly sharpened Seagull, surrounded by bottle caps and plastic and debris, and the caption said that he was in pain but still flew. The seagull was a model example because it simply kept existing in the face of a highly polluted and unusable environment, it wasn't a model of strength, the lesson it taught was one of remorse. The dark figure knew this, if that seagull has to trudge through grey asphalt and stare down at concrete collumns with pale, greyish-white outer lining of dim lights, and he had to too. that didn't really make the fact that their lives were so miserable "Right" in his eyes. As soon as he had swiped away, it seemed, the bus he had been waiting for arrived, and the shadowy figure approached a slanted set of metal steps that slowly positioned themselves from the ground ascending upward to the bus's door.
The shadowy figure decided to provide some amount of information on himself by providing not a bus driver, of course, but the small dashboard with several cold metallic slits emblazoned in it's structure, his name was 00. 00 was walking along the middle aisle of the bus, he was wearing shoes but the cold of the metallic surface underneath him was very tangible. It kept him alert, more so than when he had entered as the drowsiness of staying up late from paranoia had taken more than a toll on 00. There was one person or so he thought in the back of the bus who was eager to meet him, they had scheduled this meeting at a previous date and were expected to meet up together. "Long time, no see" Spoke the stranger in the back of the bus.
" I was waiting for your sorry self to give in to the loneliness. " 00 sighed and began to reach down his pant leg, rummaging around in his pocket for a couple of spare quarters or dimes. He ended up with about 1$ in change and handed the money to the stranger, who he now Identified as his Robot Boss who's name was Deagle. Deagle had been designed far in the past by a manufacturer who's name was awash in the oversaturated space of entrepreneurs that seemed to materialize in a dense mental block, a few years ago.
His sophistication was in juxtaposition with his origins, created by a rich young socialite who also went with that name. Known for having been an important political speaker, but having very little knowledge about that of which he was speaking. Deagle was wise. "Thanks for the change, 00. Might be enough for a spot of virtual gambling, so why don't you sit down a bit?" Apprehensively 00 lowered his posture and slid into the softly cushioned booth. "What'll it be this time, slots, poker, roulette, you name it, friend." Deagle spoke chipperly. "roulette." 00 muttered with purposeful intent, he had a certain job to fulfill and it required some monetary gain beyond his current possession to entertain the idea of this silly mission he had in mind.
"Alright, three balls it is then. You know the drill, red, black, green. Let's see where fate leads our players tonight." Then a slight rumbling sound was audible, visible on the screen that comprised the lcd screen Deagle uses as a face with alterable emotions, switching from one to another with smoothness and clarity, the design of his facial expressions being rounded and soft but with light black outlining. "What number are we betting on, 00?" Knowing full well the answer in store. "13" 00 crooned as he spoke, "Same as always, Deagle." the balls dropped, and soon chance was in control of whether the plans 00 had would come to fruition. The colors seemed to flash, disappearing inward and outward as the balls phased in front of each shade on the roulette wheel.
The roulette wheel did not land on 13. "Oh, well. Sorry then 00. You'll have to come back and play some other time." 00 was holding back a bit of hateful remorse, he knew that he would likely show up again the same time next week in order to meet a quota, but he was not in anticipation of the meetings, he always dreaded them. " Well, all is well as ends well. As they say." 00 slightly nudged the roullete board away, enough for the center-most table to rewind the entire laborious process, until next time. The cold underneath felt like it stung as supposed to jolted him awake in a pleasing fashion this time as 00 practically kicked invisible rocks on his way out in disappointment
There at the side of a street and a familiar flattened plateau lied an inviting structure, for the standards of The City at least, it was concrete brick tiling that stacked about a single story above the ground and had a cubic shape from every side.
