Souls in the System

Ren arrives at the Home in an uncharacteristic hurry. Slender hands slamming the car door, smart loafers crunching on the pristine path. He doesn’t want to miss his appointment. Again. He’d missed it last week. And the week before.

It's a gorgeous building, in warm red brick. It towers, but in a friendly way. There are probably more flowers than are strictly necessary.

Ren pushes through the pristine white front door. A Mech stops him in the reception area.

"Citizen Zhao?" it says. The lilt in its voice grates on his last nerve. It knows who I am.

"Yes," he said, swallowing his irritation and making his tone civil.

"Your relative is unavailable," the attendant smiled a bland smile. "Would you like to join them in the Memories?"

"Unavailable?"

"Yes. Would you like to join him in the Memories?"

Ren stammers, "But I haven't seen him for..."

"Your relative is unavailable," it said again, it's tone and inflection unshifting. "Would you like an ice cream?"

Ren frowned, taking the cone on autopilot.

"I apologise I missed the appointment last week," he said. It was getting harder to contain his frustration and stay polite. Formality was a refuge at times like this. "But I-"

"Your relative is-"

"Yes, I know," Ren was not the sort of man to interrupt anyone, not even a Mech. "You said. Why?"

"You have missed your appointment time by... ... ...Eighteen minutes."

"I do sincerely apologise," Ren tried again.

"Routines are important."

The ice cream was beginning to melt. He licked at it.

He couldn't remember, just at this moment, why he wanted to see Yeye so badly. The Memories would be fine. Yeye would never know he'd missed it even once. The staff just replayed the memory of a previous visit.

"Look, my hours have changed, and it's getting too difficult for me to get here on time. I don't want to inconvenience you, and I don't want to miss anymore visits. Could we just change the time?"

"Physical visitation has been suspended for optimal care."

Ren stopped eating his cone and fixed a sharp gaze on the Mech. The large blob of ice cream slid sideways, and teetered on the lip of the cone.

"Restricted by who? Wait, he’s still in there, isn’t he?"

"All residents receive full, uninterrupted support. If you do not want to join your relative in the Memories, we must ask you to leave the premises. Please enjoy your day, Citizen Zhao."

+

The following Tuesday afternoon unfolds much the same. Ren is unsure what to do. A Mech cannot be worn down. Relentless badgering doesn't work. Even if he was the sort to become aggressive, that wouldn't have worked either.

He's beginning to worry.

On the third Tuesday, Ren sits on the floor of the lobby and refuses to move. He announces on arrival that he needs to speak to a human member of staff regarding his grandfather, and then he just doesn't move.

At last, the attendant’s smile flickers, then resets. "Of course," it says.

Ren's heart thumped. He had a much better chance of success with a real person. A human person had compassion, and could therefore be manipulated.

When she arrives she has the same uniform and crisp air as a nurse at the end of a long shift. She's well-trained, at least in dealing with people determined to be difficult. Somehow, she manages to be as bland and repetitive as the Mech. Ren is losing his grip on his self-discipline. A sense of urgency is balled tight in his chest. This could be my only chance! My last chance to see him, to make sure he really is alright...

"Please," he says, letting some of his panic show. "I just want to know he's really okay. That's all. Please. You understand that, I know you do." Her expression freezes, almost like a glitch. It really is like talking to a Mech after all! But no - she's faltering. That's what that flicker is. She's unsure. She's going to give in. He glances at her name badge. "Please, Evie," he says.

She leads Ren through bright corridors, past curated paintings, warm lighting, and soft music. In the past, he was always comforted that Yeye was Retired in such a comfortable place. Today, it feels eerie and unpleasant, a fragile shell.

When the door opens, he can see how true his instinct had been. His initial relief that Yeye is alive vanishes, and Ren stares, horrified.

Yeye is frail and shrunken beneath the flimsy sheets. "This is not the man I saw last week in the Memories," he says, his voice cracking.

"Of course not," Evie whispers, squeezing his hand. "It never is."

How long has Yeye been fading, alone, with nothing but wires and empty silence?

"He looks... sick."

A Mech rolls towards them and interrupts. "Your relative is well-cared for. All needs have been met."

Ren wants to argue, to say, Barely! but the Mech is already leading him away. He glances back at Evie, who looks small in her starched uniform, with those wide frightened eyes.

I hope she doesn't get into trouble.

+

Ren doesn't wait a week to visit again. This time he is denied access once, and then ignored. His demands to see a human member of staff are denied. He asks for Evie, and is informed she doesn't work there.

Ren sits on the plush rug, his jaw set, and his bladder already prodding him and saying hey, this wasn't such a good idea.

When night falls, a Mech rolls into position nearby and watches him.

In his mind, Ren sees himself getting up and walking out of the Home, sheepish and inept. Or else flying at the Mech and attacking it, hurting it... somehow... using... what?

Its face hasn't changed, and they aren't supposed to feel. Why is it giving off a distinct smug air, then?

The cool night air brushes his face, and the white door clicks behind him in a very final way. His heart aches. Maybe it breaks. He wants to rave, rant, and scream. Instead, he brushes lint off his jacket and walks down the crunchy path, under the handsome arch and through the quaint gate that leads onto the road.

He doesn't go and get in his car. He turns and walks the other way, towards the Village. If the old folks in the Home aren't being cared for properly, what about the children in the Village?

He had no idea how he'd get in, or what he'd do when he managed it. He needed to do something. The ball in his chest was on fire, and it was heating his blood and making it fizz.

Drawing closer to the nearest building, he kept his tread soft, and squinted through the gloom. A delivery Mech was carrying supplies inside, the door yawning its invitation. Could it be that simple?

He slipped in behind the Mech before the door could seal shut. Just like the Home, it's grand on the outside. It looks like a tall Georgian home. He works his way through the few rooms most people could access. They're comfortable, clean, and cosy, with colourful and educational toys scattered abou.. Deeper in the building, the facade falls away.

Rows of children sit motionless, wired into the Memories. Screens flicker across empty faces and blank stares. Some children look as though they're barely breathing. Others twitch, as if struggling against the dream.

Ren is so transfixed by what he is seeing, he doesn't hear the footsteps. He turns, heart leaping.

A man stands in the doorway. He's distinguished looking.

Ren doesn’t know his name, but he knows his voice, his presence. He's seen him dozens of times. Hundreds, even.

"I've seen you on the Telly," he says stupidly. "You're that scientist."

"You should not be here." The man's voice is grave, and so are his eyes.

"Somebody needs to be," Ren says, residual frustration making him defiant. "This isn't education. It's control."

The man sighs a small sigh. "Tell me. What do you think happens if this system fails?"

Ren doesn't know the answer himself until it tumbles out his mouth. "People would wake up."

"And then what?" His voice is calm, measured, like he’s explaining a simple number problem to a child. "Overpopulation. Scarcity. War. Collapse."

Ren shakes his head. **"This isn’t living. It’s imprisonment."

"Prison? Would starvation be preferable? Misery?" He tilts his head. "Would suffering? This way, they feel joy. They do not age, do not hurt. They are at peace. Don't you want people to be happy?"

The scientist watches Ren a long moment. His voice stays soft, and sombre.

"Tell the truth; destroy the world."

Ren shakes his head again. "You're lying."

"I wish I were. It won't even take that long. One generation. You will be the reason it burns."

+

The next evening, Ren takes his place at Mandatory Viewing. There is a social air to these evening, despite the flickering horror on the screens, reflecting the rising tides and garbage-choked cities.

Ren sits still, fists clenched. Protests die on his teeth, clinging like plaque, and never leaving his mouth.