this world will break your heart

Part 1: Garbage City - Chapter 13

It's Hakeem who comes to the door. I recognize him from a flyer I once saw on the edge of a computer, advertising a good time. What has Fred got himself into?

Hakeem is dressed in boxer shorts and wears an electronic sash with retro LEDs that declares him "Mr. December". He looks at us for a moment before tapping behind his ears. "Are you seeing these two? Okay." As he taps, I notice the distinctive Neufchatel glow emitting from him. Hakeem's implants are designer and for real.

"Fred says you can come in." Taking a minute, Hakeem adjusts his sash, clearly only now realizing that he's half-naked in front of strangers. We nod and follow him down the hallway. Tessa is clearly impressed by what she sees, although I can't tell if it's the Neufchatel original or the half-naked man that she is more interested in.

"Don't even try. His sexuality gage is clearly set," I lean into her.

"Yeah but any gage can be recalibrated."

With every step, I am questioning my lack of judgment in this introduction.

As we make our way to Fred's office, memories flood back to me. All the moments in my teenage years spent with no sense of direction; hanging out in the hallways when the party was in the other room. I lived on the edges of conversations as Fred and his luminaries talked at high volumes about nothing in particular. He was an emperor who easily gathered people to him. I half expected to find at least one or two of the leftovers hanging out in rooms, still frozen in their positions from years ago.

Hakeem pulls open the double doors to the office. "Your friend or whatever is here," he announces like it is an effort. "Thanks, babe." Fred looks up at us. But Hakeem doesn't leave. He grabs a bean bag chair and throws on a pair of gamer glasses.

Every Friday, Sonny and I would head over to Fred's to deliver our earning and learn what was new. These meetings, product awareness they were called, were mandatory and part of some sales strategy. It was a little weird for an illegal organization to have a sales strategy but I didn't really care. After all, I was excited and eager to see what each visit would reveal. Plus, Fred was a generous host. We'd sit with other crews as Fred carefully exhibited the latest and greatest. He'd show us the official implants and we'd all download the 3-D promotional clips. Just when we were excited and with our brains crammed with benefits, the knockoffs would be handed out. Disappointment hung in the air as we filled our bags with the items. Removed from the glossy packaging, each implant looked like what it was; cheap and sterile transformation chambers with expiration dates and upgrade times moving in fast.

"What's with Mr. December?" I whisper to Fred.

"He can't hear you. He's in some other world at the moment."

"No, I mean with the..." I mimed a shoulder to hip sash.

"He's a True Modifier. The irony is not lost on me. I've been trying to break him out of it for almost a year, but he's 100% committed. And it's all about the brands. With all the stuff I have lying around...he won't touch it. He only wants the brands. Of course, being a True Modifier is pricey so they have these little monthly contests. If you win you get one thing done for free—and have to wear a sash."

"Really?" Tessa looks poised to jump on Fred for the address of this group.

"Boys only. You get all these young guys, good looking ones, parading in front of a bunch of executives. It's a lot seedier than it sounds but my Hakeem; he's my proud Mr. December."

"How long does he have to wear it for?"

"Until they crown the next one."

I take a glance at Mr. December, sprawled out on the chair. His eyes reflect in the glasses as the first person shoots his way out of some vicious environment. Every couple of seconds, he flinches, recovers and his eyes dart back and forth.