Brandon Gorrie

Vents

Viktor’s eyes bore naked into the blackness of his studio apartment, pierced by a sliver of light through the curtains. It was 3:12 AM and his restoration lozenges had worn off nearly two hours earlier than prescribed. His dose was already higher than normal and he had just traded his last doctor’s tickets three days ago for a four month supply of B-12 syringes. Overheating, he pried away his ear muffs to hear the distant low rumble of the state-sanctioned Kineticas. The monotonous throb echoed oscillated synths and a four-beat exasperation. Sounds engineered to satiate higher stress levels of the civilians who can’t afford restoration lozenges. They used to be called Discotekas before the incursion. The early morning time allotment was nearly over and the next one would begin at 7AM. Most of the civilians were prescribed ear muffs to accommodate for the incessant thumping across the Sector