Memory Sequence Initialized: Subject 12-12-1943-F

On June 3rd, 2054, Joan Smith died.

She had began the day like she had the last four years, waking up to her small grey tabby cat, Luka, laying at her feet in bed.

Joan sat up with a stretch, earning her a look from Luka that said,

"Mom, I was still asleep."

"Mm, sorry," Joan said out loud then.

With a grunt the twenty-nine year old woman sat up, her short black hair stopping just past her ears. It was messy and going a few different directions, the loose natural curls never letting Joan's hair be straight.

As Joan stood up a bone in her knee popped, making the young woman wince. Joan had broken her left leg almost six years ago at a different job, and it hadn't ever been right since.

Now as Joan walked from her bedroom to the closet, the cool chill of the air wrapping around her naked body, she remembered a dream she had before drifting off to bed. It had been so real, and Joan closed her eyes as she put her hand on the closet doorknob.

It had been a city, parts of it on fire, and there had been a man on a motorcycle. He had on a red shirt, a brown jacket. A smiley face pin had been on the left breast pocket of his jacket, and his motorcycle had been a little rugged looking; like the man who rode it Joan recalled.

She opened her eyes then, a chill running down her spine and to her womanhood. Joan shook her head then, biting her bottom lip. There was already a rugged and good looking man who worked in Joan's department at her job, and he wasn't some man from a dream.

Pushing open the closet door Joan looked over her clothes, then picked up a pair of panties that had blue butterflies against a green background. She pulled them on, then slipped into a pair of loose grey slacks over those.

A black bra, a white dressy shirt, and then a black blazer went on her upper body, and Joan stepped out of the small closet, shutting the door back behind her.

Her black Vans were sitting in front of the bed, and Joan sat down next to Luca to pull them on. The tabby sat stood up then, stretching her back out and yawning at the same time.

"Oh that's a big one!" Joan complimented her feline companion.

Luca took her appreciation a step further by leaning her head out to headbutt Joan on her arm, and the woman smiled as she scratched the cats ear with on hand, pulling on her second shoe with the other.

"Oh, come on," Joan stood up then, "who wants breakfast?"

"Mow?" Luca answered with her own question.

"Come on!" Joan rubbed her fingers at the cat.

Luca hopped off of the bed then as Joan stepped out of her room and into the living room. Her balcony door had sunshine coming through it, playing across the carpet floor of Joan living room. There was an ashtray sitting on a coffee table in front of a couch, and off to the right was the kitchen.

Joan had lived in the same place for the last four years, and almost been working at her current job for six. She'd been hesitant to move closer at first, but cutting her commute time down from thirty minutes to sixteen. Joan had told herself it would help in the long run, and so far it had.

Now she walked into the kitchen, the few appliances she had, and stepped up to a cabinet door. Reaching up and opening the smooth white door Joan looked at the options that were available for Luca's breakfast. Salmon, chicken and pork, fish puree. Joan clicked her tongue, then decided on salmon and pulled out the can.

Popping off the top Joan alerted her feline companion that breakfast was almost served.

"Wrow!" Luca chirped as Joan walked the can over to her small blue bowl.

Joan dumped out the can in the bowl, spreading it out with the lid. If it was a big clump then Luca only seemed to eat off the juices of the food and it went bad.

Luca again headbutted Joan, but now was pushing her had out of the way to feast on her breakfast. Joan smiled at her cat and scratched her ear, then stood back up and tossed the can away in the trashcan.

Back in the kitchen, Joan changed out the coffee grounds from what had been used yesterday, and dumped in fresh grounds. Cinnamon apple, and enough water to fill up a coffee mug that was already sitting next to the coffee maker.

While her coffee started to brew Joan walked back into her bedroom to retrieve her phone from the bedside table. She slipped it away into the front pocket of her pants, then found her wallet sitting on the nearby bookshelf. The shelves were stacked and organized with books that Joan had collected over the years, and some of them were older than she was.

As Joan tucked her wallet into her right back pocket, she walked back into the kitchen to watch the coffee pot do its job. Looking up at the clock on her microwave, it was three minutes fast, Joan scowled in general before looing back at the coffee maker. It was almost done, and Joan folded her arms as she watched the stream of hot bean juice trickle down into the coffee mug.

The coffee maker hissed then, and Joan watched the green light click off. Taking the mug away Joan turned to carry the mug on it's two second trip to the other counter, setting it down next to the sugar jar.

Un-capping the sugar jar Joan dropped one spoonful of sugar into her mug, followed by one more. Picking up a nearby spoon she spun the sugar around into the mug, letting it dissolved into the hot coffee. Joan tapped the spoon off on the mug, then set it onto the spoon rest that seemed almost out of place on her counter.

Turning around to look at her microwave clock again, at three minutes fast it was now 8:18, it was 8:15 in reality. Joan turned back to her coffee, reaching out to take a creamer that was sitting on the counter next to the coffee.

Joan popped the top of the creamer off, and tossed a splash of it into the coffee mug. Taking the same spoon again Joan turned the creamer around and around in the cup, turning it a light brown color. She smiled at the cup, taking a moment to closer her eyes and inhale the smooth and sweet aroma of her morning brew.

Opening her eyes again Joan turned to pick up the top of the coffee mug, and turned back to screw it onto the top of the cup. It fit snugly, and Joan plucked up the coffee cup with its green and white lines crossing around the cup.

Now Joan turned to walk out of her kitchen and headed for the front door. Luca, now done with her breakfast, stopped at Joan's feet to meow one final time and watch Joan leave.

Reaching down Joan scratched Luca's ears, then dipped her hand to scratch underneath the cats chin. Luca purred in appreciation, and Joan stood back up to leave.

Reaching out she turned the lock on her door with a click, then pulled open the door. Stepping forward then outside into the hallway of her apartment building, Joan turned to watch Luca chirp a goodbye. Joan waved Luca goodbye with a finger, and shut the door behind her.

Now Joan turned to hear the sounds of the outside world. She went left, heading directly down the steps to the townhouse apartment she'd made a home in. A horn honked in the nearby street, but Joan kept her optimistic smile on her face as she started to move down the stairs. The day outside was warm, but not hot, and Joan smiled a little wider knowing she'd picked out an outfit she'd be comfortable in.

Almost skipping down the steps now, Joan passed two more doors on either side and kept up her brisk pace. The sky overhead was a crisp blue, and almost no clouds in sight.

Great day to eat lunch on the grass out front Joan told herself.

Stepping happily Joan walked up to the sidewalk of the townhomes, her shoes gently slapping onto the concrete that had seen better days. It was due for an update, Joan was sure about that.

With the same brisk energy Joan continued down the sidewalk, looking over the boulevard that was just up ahead. Joan hadn't minded living so close to such a busy street, and it had been easy enough to cross at the right time. Joan had taken the fifteen or so minutes to took to walk to work unless it was deathly hot or freezing cold, and found the time to herself nice and calming.

Joan was coming to the end of the sidewalk now, and slowed down as she approached the street. She looked left, pushing her long back hair out of the way and behind her ear. The traffic was light today, and as Joan looked right, she thought she had good timing.

She moved a foot out into the street, letting a red sedan pass in the far lane, and then hurriedly made to skip across to the middle lane.

Joan Smith, however, did not make it across the street that day. She looked up and left again, thinking her way was clear.

A city bus was rolling down the boulevard though, and did not stop as it reached a distance of around five feet apart from Joan. She saw the bus coming, the driver behind the wheel an older man with green sunglasses that seemed to reflect off of nothing.

Joan only watched as the bus got closer, and the twenty-six thousand pounds of metal on wheels collided with Joan, and send her onto the pavement.

The bus brakes screamed as they were hit, and Joan's body rolled once, then twice before the bus drifted off and into the middle lane.

Her body twisted to the right, one of her legs broken at an angle that showed the bone. There was blood all over her white shirt, and some of her hair had been pulled away by a piece of the buses undercarriage. There was blood coming from Joan's nose, and her arms were splayed out an angle that were not right.

Joan felt herself moan, and felt the immense pain that rocked her body a second later. She moaned now, trying to move any part of her body, to no avail.

She took a breath then, and weakly tried calling out for help. Instead she made the sound a dying animal could have made, and felt a tear start to roll down her cheek. It mixed with the blood on her face, and Joan took one more ragged breath before her vision wavered into darkness.

Her sight came back for a moment, and Joan heard someone scream,

"Call an ambulance!"

There was more chatter after that, but Joan only heard it is a loud, droning buzz. Again Joan made a harsh sound that came from the back of her throat, and her vision turned dark a second time.

This time her eyes didn't come back into focus, and Joan only laid in the street as the life left her body. As she lay there, not able to see as her eyes starred up at the sky, a beep sounded.

* * *

As James Maddek sat in a swiveling chair, he reached out to hit a button on the keyboard that was in front of him. Above the keyboard on five different windows of a wide monitor, James overlooked what was in front of him. All the screens were paused now, and James reached up to rub his forehead, feeling the creases that were there from years of him raising his eyebrows.

James grunted as he stood up then, picking up the cigarette that was still lit in it's ashtray. James clicked his tongue as he put the cigarette near his mouth, then asked no one but himself,

"How'd you miss that bus, Miss Joan?"

putting the cigarette to his lips then James took an inhale, and then a sharp breath right after. He exhaled smoke through a small "o" in his lips, then looked at the screens in front of him. One of them showed Joan's perspective, and the other cameras showed four versions of the street that Joan had been crossing.

There were cords and wires leading from the monitor and connecting to a computer tower under the desk that James sat at. James looked over the monitor one more time, taking a moment to look at each window that was pulled up on the screen. Plugged into the computer hard-drive tower was a USB drive that had the memories of Joan Smith on it, and James had been tasked with finding out how the woman ha died.

James had watched Joan Smith get hit by a bus three times in a row now, and was getting ready to call his current case to a close. He had yet to find any possible way that Joan hadn't seen a city bus rolling down Claving Boulevard, and not been able to get out of the way.

As he kept looking at the screen, however, James took his gaze away as he heard beep from the monitor itself. A printer was sitting just next to the keyboard and mouse that were on the desk, and James watched the printer click on a green light.

The scanning bar of the printer started to go back and forth, and James saw a piece of paper start to come out of the small machine. Holding his cigarette in his lips James walked up to the printer, and watched the first piece of paper stop as it finished printing.

Turning around then James looked over his office room, a dimly lit place with two long fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. There was one door into and out of his office, and James turned back to watch the printer do it's job.

However Joan had missed that bus, and however the bus had failed to see Joan, the papers printing out would tell the actual story. James' only job was to draw his best conclusion to the subjects death, and let the computer and printer do the rest of the work.

As he stepped back over to his chair James sat back down with a grunt, reaching up a hand to rub his face. He took another drag off of his cigarette, and exhaled. Joan Smith's cause of death had been figured out, after just under two hours of work, and now James' could move on to whoever was next.

The work, it seemed, never ended at Memory Ave.