“Good morning, Master!”
VOCOM’s cheery voice drifted into my semi-conscious mind and relieved me from the horrid dream. Although I was somewhat thankful for the interruption, it was odd; she never greeted me, especially that kindly, until I was already up.
I forced open my eyes, letting the last remnant images of the poor blue-eyed girl lying in her pool of blood and sickness from my mind. My tired eyes took in the simple blandness of my room and the android standing in my doorway with a tray in her hands.
“I made breakfast!”
That made me pause. I had gotten used to her strange antics- the things she did to amuse herself since she basically had nothing to do here at my home compared to what she did daily, twenty-four/seven at Kortan. Things like Googling different species of alligators or cake recipes that I’d never make and occasionally browsing through illegal files of various corporations. But this . . . was breakfast. She never cooked.
I narrowed my eyes at her small smile and the bacon, omelet and orange slices on a bright, yellow ceramic plate. I was pretty sure I didn’t own any yellow china. I could smell the strong, bold scent of my favorite coffee steaming from my favorite oversized mug.
She smiled warmly- very unlike her- and reached over just enough to place the tray on the end of my bed. She hadn’t had that much reach before, even with the android, so I assumed she had been busying herself by upgrading her limits on how far about she could move around the house.
“What’s the special occasion?” I asked, deciding not to question her extended reach. Besides, she was still hooked up to all the wires and tubes leading from VOCOM’s mainframe. I stared a bit, noticing the Nutella spread on toast with a small bowl of honey on the side, trying to fight off thoughts of the food being filled with neurotoxin.
She laughed a bit, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how, for once, it wasn’t cynical, sarcastic, dark or malicious. I was surprised. Seriously, what the hell?
“You don’t know?” she grinned at me, silver eyes burning beautifully.
I froze, thinking this was some deadly trick of hers. So she had finally taken the advantage to kill me? If that were true, she wouldn’t toy with me; our past was too treacherous for her to waste time like that. She was tired of messing around like that- she would’ve just gotten straight to the point.
She stopped laughing, her smile fading to a slight grin. “You poor girl. You didn’t even remember that today is your birthday.”
I stared at her for a moment, and then whipped my head around to the automatic scenic calendar panel tacked to the wall beside my bed. Sure enough, it was June 5th. My twenty-seventh birthday.
I turned my head back around slowly to stare at the picturesque tray of food. I had never received a birthday like this, not even when my parents were alive. Or maybe they did throw me parties but I just didn’t remember. Wouldn’t surprise me.
I swallowed nervously, fighting off the urge to break down and cry. Something told me she wanted to see me cry—and crying over a tray of food would fill her vile need of devastating me. Only Gala and Quintley had somehow managed to remember my birthday, year after year, even though Quintley had lost track of his own. Gala had told me once, but I couldn’t remember to save my life (and I didn’t see how that mattered anyways).
“Your coffee is getting cold.” VOCOM pulled my desk chair to where she was facing me and still sitting in the doorway.
“But it isn’t anything to celebrate.” I mumbled.
“Sure it is. Aren’t you happy someone remembered?”
“I didn’t even remember.” I pointed out. Honestly, my birthday held no significance to me. It was almost an insult back in Kortan, except it was coming from compassion within Gala and Quintley’s hearts, because it meant I had spent another year of my life trapped as a lab rat.
“Well I did.”
And I wondered why she cared so much to actually tell me this. It was amazing, really. Here sat the one thing that tried hardest to kill me, reminding me it was my birthday and fixing me my favorite breakfast. I was so confused.
I was confused because she was showing compassion. Something a computer wasn’t supposed to have. Her programs and optic ability never ceased to amaze me.
I didn’t want to be rude any longer, and I was practically starving, so I got out from underneath the covers and scooted down to the end of my bed. I pulled the tray upon my folded legs and picked up a fork, beginning to eat.
She watched me, making meek chatter and still smiling warmly. I could get used to her not being a bitch. It was nice for once. I guessed she was only being nice for the sake of it being my birthday- which, for some reason was so important to her when I couldn’t care to remember.
It took me a while to notice her sipping out of a teacup that had been a part of my mother’s valued china collection in the cabinet that was across from the living room.
“Lisa—“
“Oh, I’m not really drinking anything.” She turned the delicate cup upside down and I nearly screamed with thoughts of tea or whatever staining my carpet. Only perhaps a piece of dust fell out. “See? I just like to feel like a fancy lady.”
I hesitated. “What?”
“You know, like proper socialites: the elite. If I was human, that’s what I’d like to be. With my fancy little saucer here-“ she held it up for emphasis, delicately balancing the empty, fragile china upon it. “And my fancy cup, with my fancy tea imported from Peru! And the hats! Those big, floppy hats with ribbons and birds’ nests.”
I laughed. She seemed reproached by my laughter for a second, then regained her posture. I wasn’t even sure tea grew in Peru. Chocolate and coffee maybe; but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her that.
“Do you think I could have a fancy hat like that?”
I shrugged. “Why would you want one? I’m sure the sun wouldn’t ever affect you- and fashion doesn’t seem to matter much. You’re drinking air from that teacup, and you're worried over ugly hats?”
“Yes.” She said crisply. "And they aren't ugly. They're vintage."
I just grinned and finished shoveling the rest of my food into my mouth and drinking my coffee. “Thanks, by the way.” It wasn’t really genuine gratitude, but I was appreciative in the max.
“Oh, Vera, you’re welcome. Happy birthday.”
I felt a malignant emotion towards that small, friendly statement. Not because of the AI, but because of all the spiteful, cruel birthdays I’d spent at Kortan. Gala had always managed to get me a small gift, even as meager as an extra scrap of food. It had meant so much to me that I’d force her to share it with me. Even Quintley always snuck me something useless; he had to sneak things because it was forbidden to communicate- especially in the degree we were. Test subjects and lab workers “were not friends”. Normally it was just a fancy pen or a pack of gum, but it was still the thought that counted. It wasn’t like they could go out and buy me a book or candle or something. I don’t know; what did people give as presents?
“Thank you,” I managed, despite my torturous thoughts. I got up to take my plate into the kitchen to wash when she intercepted me.
“I’ll take that. You deserve a day off. What is it you do when you’re not destroying things or making weapons to destroy things?”
I knew her goody mood was too good to be true. Oh well, back to normal. “Ha ha.” I scowled. “There is no such thing as a day off for me, not until Kortan is completely nothing but burning cinders.”
Her android just shrugged, turning around and walking gallantly away towards the kitchen. I wondered where she picked that walk up from. Maybe she’d been watching those cheesy, dramatic soap operas on TV.
I knew exactly what I was going to do once I destroyed Kortan now: I was going to pack up, take all of the money my parents left to me and leave this place for awhile. Maybe even this country. I didn’t think I’d be able to bring myself to sell the house- it was the last remnant of my family and previous memories that I had left, but it’d have to sit empty for awhile. Maybe that’d do it justice in their memory.
I thought on VOCOM’s words. What could I do on my “day off”? Reading a book would only last me an hour or two. TV was too boring. I had nothing left to build or work on besides the Trans Shooter- which I was frustrated with at the moment.
Maybe I could go out. Yeah, right. I shot that down before I even fully formed the idea in my head. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to revert to regular society. Trips to even the grocery store were strangling enough, and it took every bit of my concentration not to freak out at the slightest things, like the hovering, yellow holographic “WELCOME!” signs that reminded me of Kortan’s. Or the beeping cash registers.
My past experiences had ripped everything away from me. I didn’t have much reason to make new friends anymore. It was the fear of betrayal and death that kept me away from even trying to socialize. Why befriend if they were just going to betray me or get killed? Or worse, try to kill me.
But I had to remember that society had no clue about Kortan. Not even the government. Society wouldn’t be anything like Kortan. It was different; it was . . . nice, for the most part. Better, at least, but not by much.
I bit my lip, focusing on VOCOM’s humming and the distant splash of water in the compacted dish washer.
“I think I’ll go to the mall today.” I mumbled, knowing she could hear me from no matter where I was in the house. Malls. Places Vera Mattice didn’t go. Malls had people, people stared, and I hated staring- even though hypocritically I did a lot of it.
“The mall? Master, have you lost your mind? You never go out like that, and you want to go to one of the most crowded, populated places?” she cackled.
“I probably have,” I said, more so to myself. “I think other people will do me some good.” I didn’t believe a single word I said. Perhaps it was just my natural curiosity that propelled me to awkwardly throw myself into a public crowd. Sure, I could convince myself that, but that probably wasn’t the real reason.
~
“How do I look?” I asked nervously. I had never dressed to accustom myself to others. Fashion just wasn’t something that concerned me. I didn’t care when I asked this, but I had heard other people do it and saw it in movies, so I thought I might as well do it too. Lord, I was so brainwashed by trifles.
“You look like a train wreck. Master, you simply cannot wear boring clothes all the time!”
I didn’t see anything wrong with my t-shirt and khakis.
“Here, let me find something.” She chirped, throwing open my closet door.
“Since when are you a fashion expert?”
“Since I read Vogue and Elle.” She chipped.
I was surprised she didn’t comment on the closet’s dinginess. I hadn’t opened that closet in months. Sad, definitely. I had went out and bought a few things when I first got back home over a year ago, but I had hardly even worn them. I kept quiet since I didn’t know what Bowg and Elle was.
“Here!” her metal arm reach extended into the room and pulled a hanger off the rack while the android held another in her arms. “Look at the colors! Very you.”
That was a joke. I didn’t wear colors. I wasn't sure why I had even bought that thing.
“No?” she asked and tossed the plain dress back, pulling the second one off the waiting arm. “How about this one?” That dress was one my mother had bought long ago and was too big thirteen years ago. I had expected the clothes to be dingy, being locked away for so long, but it seemed just fine. I wondered if VOCOM had taken care of that too.
It was a summer dress, with a v-neck that tied around the back of the neck and flowed to the knees. It was a bluish, sea foam green color and made of cotton and bits of polyester. It was something I definitely wasn’t used to.
When I finally had it on, feeling uncomfortable and naked compared to my usual jeans and t-shirts, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I hadn’t worn a dress, or anything other than pants and a shirt in over fifteen years. It was an odd sensation and I didn’t like how I found comfort in Capri’s, combat boots and jumpsuits.
I hadn’t another chance to contemplate my appearance before VOCOM was hurriedly rushing me out of the door, almost like an excited mother sending her daughter to graduate. She had just kicked me out of my own house.
In my car, I checked my appearance yet again in the mirror, unable to believe this was me. She had taken down my normal ponytail, so that my dark hair reached just past my shoulders. This look was foreign to me. I simply didn’t have time for appearances at Kortan--no one did save maybe the employees who had the luxury of going home every day. When I was released, I was too focused on destroying them than to worry about getting a decent wardrobe together. When I was trapped in that miserable place, brushing my hair and tying it up, washing my uniforms and brushing my teeth were about as far as beautification went for test subjects. I remembered listening to other girls- new girls that had come in years after I had- talk about how much they missed things like concealer and foundation and something called Rimmel: Get the London Look.
The names of such things were alien objects to me that only reminded me of my mother. I was glad none was left in the house; for I was sure VOCOM would smear some on my face. And that wouldn’t have gone well. I was told makeup never looks good with a scowl.
~
The entrance loomed over me, greeting me with music similar to Kortan’s elevator music, and a nice, female voice talking about something in different languages every ten seconds. The large, silver metal arc soared over my head, contrasting the colorful and ‘deco’ pole things (I didn’t know what else to call them) that were spaced out amongst the front of the entrance.
Small groups of people stood around, some carrying bags, some talking hurriedly on phones, others sitting on benches or smoking.
“EAST LAKE MALL” read giant, hovering letters that rotated together in a sort of old-fashioned retro look. The letters changed colors and would flicker every time a stray kid waved his hand over the hologram’s projector.
I had to stop staring and move forward- people were beginning to look at me funny. I watched my toes as I moved forward. I wasn’t used to them having so much free space. VOCOM had slapped flip-flops onto my feet instead of letting me wear my regular boots.
“Boots with that dress,” she had scoffed, snatching my Converse All Stars out of my hands and commenting on them as well.
I wanted to giggle at the silly noises the shoes were making against the smooth, polished floor of some dark, glittery material I couldn't name.
I looked back up as automatic doors slid open for me, welcoming me into a world of shiny labels and several-hundred-dollar jeans, Starbucks coffee and myriads of food, rushed people and tired vendors. At first, the sight that greeted me reminded me instantly of Kortan. It was so similar, except instead of random people, lab workers and test subjects in orderly lines scrambled around in those labs. And in Kortan Laboratories, there weren’t any bright, colorful displays, except maybe the large signs that read ‘DO NOT TOUCH THE WALLS, WINDOWS OR FLOORS. THANK YOU. –KORTAN’.
I snuck glances at the younger people around me- apparently nobody liked to be stared at yet they dressed so eccentrically- and marveled at their odd appearances. It seemed that colored . . . I guess what was blush, was “in” as VOCOM would say. Instead of reds or browns, people of all genders were wearing colors from red to indigo and every shade in between of blush- making their cheeks look hollow in a sharp, shapely manner. It was strange to see, but not overall unattractive the more I stared at the various yellows, greens, purples and grays passing by.
It seemed like impaling neck jewelry was also something of popularity. I had seen spiked collars that Hella wore often, but these were made from clear bands unlike the leather ones I was used to seeing. On the clear bands were spikes, floral patterns, icicle-looking things or animals (all in all sorts of designs and colors and the like) that stuck out from the collar on one end, and continued the design on the other side of the person’s neck—like one girl had a green panther choker-thing: its back half protruded from the backside of the collar and its front side continued at her throat- looking ferocious and in mid-pounce. It was meant to look as if those were actual pieces running through their necks like a piercing, rather than being a necklace—similar to those magnet figurines people used to put in fish tanks: one end was in the water, inside the tank, while the other end was on the outside. I don’t think I’d be looking into one of those any time soon.
There was an extraordinary mix of people here- just like at Kortan. But instead of everyone looking like they’d been sentenced to death (pun not intended), people looked happy, with their various bags from designer stores and interesting fashion choices. Some even had some sort of tablet they carried that seemed to be held hovering in mid-air by a sort of silver bracelet around their wrists so they could type on its touch-screen while walking. It seemed like magnetic technology wasn’t used as much as holographic negativity any more. I felt old thinking that. Well, who could blame me?
There were stores with all sorts of eclectic displays and colors were everywhere. From books to clothes to frozen yogurts and stores selling live exotic pets or skateboards for those who preferred old-school compared to modern zoomers and even stores selling nothing but shoes or just hats and one even with nothing but sunglasses.
It was just strange and exciting all at the same time for me. So out of all the things to see and do, the first thing I did was walk straight up to the gumball machines not even twenty feet away from the door.