I refuse to work with those thieves and cutthroats. They are a blight upon the goodness of the land! --6.3 Seconds Post-Integration.
In the flurry of it all, he forgot: "Guys? What about clocking out?"
The System answered for them: "Due to emergency protocols, you will be clocked out from your shift upon the conclusion of your regularly scheduled shift. Standard orientation Pay and hours apply regardless of hours worked."
"We will be responsible for clocking in and out during our first real shift. Otherwise, the System assumes you received the full training," Hera explained.
"Aren't they losing money, though...?" Theo said, sleepily.
"Perhaps. Just one of the many ways Augustford cares about their employees -- what's a few credits, here or there?" Hera said in such a way whereupon he and Theo knew the issue was closed.
He and Theo weren't paying much attention to Hera's tone by the time they received the answer to their clock-in-out question. By now, Clark's eyes only had favor for the tube readout gauge.
It made a ping: Hera said, "my stop. System says so."
The doors opened to reveal an interior designed to mimic the aesthetics of a long-gone type of urban plane scaping. It was like Hera walked into the streets of mythical New Yorky City. She bumped into a line of drying clothes. She waved back to Clark and Theo, "Until we next meet, young-uns!"
They waved her off. When the elevator door closed, Clark instantly said, "Damn! What a lady!"
"RIGHTS?!" Theo exclaimed alongside him. They high-fived each other and roughly grasped each other's hands in a greeting common to people their age back in the wastes.
"You must be from where I am. I wonder if we've ever met?" Clark asked, trying to think if they would have ever had reason to meet.
"Unlikely... I must've remembered the handshake from some other means. I am the type of guy to go with the flow. Shet. Speaking of flow, let me adjust myself," Theo said, as he grabbed at his crotch while turning around. "Had those wedged weirdly since lil' heady got excited. That's better!" Clark smiled as Theo made 'adjustments' to himself. What a personality. Bold and risqué, as my grandma would say. Though Clark was never so informal, he thought it a nicety to be around excitable people like Theo as it brought a casualness into his life he otherwise lacked.
"It was nice to get through all this with a cool dude like you," Theo said after a silence.
"I know what you mean. Hera was cool but nothing beats a bro," Clark replied. "Besides. I thought I would be surrounded by older people the moment I set foot in the Lifer office. It was nice to see someone who didn't have more wrinkles than hair -- seriously, bro, have you seen--"
In an act of social cruelty unheard of in Clark's young life, the elevator doors opened, signaling for Theo to leave.
"My stop, I guess. Oh. See you around, then, maybe...?" Theo sputtered as the doors closed before Clark could get an answer in edgewise.
I'll see him again at some point, Clark reasoned. Until that point, all that he called for was his dorm. Will it ever be my stop?!
Bing.
The doors slid open.
The City Limits.
Or that was what the sign leading into the room read.
Weirdy, for sure, Clark quipped to himself.
The antechamber's walls were painted with depth-illusion in mind. Perfectly, did the modest room ape the appearance of a dusty road leading into a small town. The image even included houses in the distance, some of which had lights turned on, seemingly to welcome the weary traveler.
It took Clark's eyes a moment to adjust themselves to the depth illusion. Gradually, a painting which bore only a road, a population sign, and some houses in the distance, parsed to him more information. Ah! The doorhandle. Hidden in the sheen of the population sign -- sneaky. He opened the door, thus breaking the illusion of a lonesome road, and entered what was for all intents and purposes, a suburban street.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
In this space, the color tones were much more vibrant. Though the walls were all painted in 'approaching sunset,' the hues, carefully chosen, clearly, still allowed for the mind to mumble, 'it's not too late for an informal cookout -- who's with me?!'
'Cooking out' and the very idea of a neighborly association was totally alien to Clark's world. He engaged with that world only as myth. Primed as a wasteland survivor -- domestic bliss was only ever a fiction as Clark remembered harrowing times as a child where death and life were blurred: survival of the fittest -- i.e., 'who has the bigger knife' -- often roared into place for him during the least expected of times. Thinking back to the atrium attack, clearly nothing about his life in that regard had changed...
But this is cool, Clark told himself while he walked down the wide hallway-as-rows-of-suburban-houses. Whoa, mailboxes! Lawns, so green! And is that, it is, a porch! Everyone has their own little terrace! If I lived here, what could I do? The bards tell us people in this time liked to smoke and drink coffee. I could do that on the porch. If I liked smoking and drinking coffee, that is.
[System Notification: You have been automatically Clocked Out (Emergency Protocol). Thank you for your hard work!]
'Thanks,' he mumbled, still in awe of such a perfect recreation of a bygone lifestyle. Realizing he was no longer on the clock, Clark let his gait drop just a touch as he relaxed his posture. That's better!
The System guided him to his domicile. Unlike the many dormitory rooms he passed on his way, the door which the System denoted as Clark's own, was plain. Too plain, perhaps. And why was it, he gnawed, that his door was so far removed from the neighbors? His closest neighbor's property line -- marked by a white picket fence surrounding her lawn and porch -- but were meters away from his door. Why was that?
Like so many things of late, Clark couldn't be bothered to delve too deeply into the matter. Somewhere inside this room was his bed. The place where he would finally be able to sleep.
He approached the door. An image of a padlock appeared in his visual field. [Accreditation in Progress...]. [Accreditation Complete].
A key materialized before the padlock and inserted itself into its backside with a rewarding clicking sound at the turn. The padlock dematerialized: would he ever get used to System-given hallucinations? The answer -- yes, for he would have no other choice.
Clark picked himself up and turned the doorknob to enter.
Inside, the room was empty. Clean, but threadbare.
The door open, light from the outside hallway cast away mystery about the tiny room: already, every desk drawer and closet hatch was open to showcase the room. Clark took the room in, instantly: a bed built into the wall, a student-like wooden desk, a small meal prep station with sink, then a private shower stall and toilet to its 'back.' Insomuch as 'walls' could be said to exist in such a cramped space, what walls did exist served double purposes as storage bins. Small though it was, it looked as though the dorm came with everything Clark needed to live.
And he couldn't have been happier.
It was impossible to rub the sleep from his eyes. He woke, yawned, rubbed, then lost his energy and fell back to sleep once more.
Until the System gave him a polite remainder about his upcoming shift -- through a simple notification with a decidedly un-simple glare to its blue box pop-up which hurt his eyes -- Clark would have gladly slept hours more. Looking at the time uncomprehendingly, he asked SIMP how long he had been asleep. "Thirteen hours," was her response. Thirteen, I was out? Holy shet...
Lazily shaking his head and trying to find his uniform, he asked when his shift was. He was hoping he would not have to run to work.
"You will be late in approximately five minutes," SIMP's neutral, Sire Augustford voice said.
Thus launched his heart into overdrive.
Clark's drowsiness evaporated in a blink. He threw on his work uniform, somehow clean despite the rigors of the previous day, and attached the System-oriented parts of his uniform, the woven circuit crown and its 'core,' that capsule part of his wardrobe which hung semi-free like a necklace.
Where is it -- where is the blasted --! Shet. Wait. I'm wearing both pieces. I never took them off. Awesome!
Without the time for even a humble breakfast, Clark rushed out the door, his hair a raggedy mess. He trusted the System to lock his dorm for him, which he confirmed it had when he heard a 'locking' sound. Good! I can rely on my AI.
Trusting SIMP to bring him to the nearest transportation tube, he rushed and careened by those few people on their way work. His eyes seemed fire as he picked out every detail which might impede his progress before it became an issue; his lungs fared no better, beating in conjunction with his heart, it felt. Fearful only of being disciplined on his first genuine day, of course now was when the dungeon's spirit-consciousness tried to talk to him about his obligations. "Clark: we should talk after your shift. Your orientation was eventful, yes, but that only means we need to strategize sooner rather than later."
"I understand!" he huffed as he ran at a breakneck speed. "After my shift! Promise!"
Although SIMP left him be once he promised they would talk, stress boiled within him from merely thinking about their conversation-to-be. He didn't understand this crazy new world. It was so different from where he had come from... at times like this, he wanted to renege his obligations and return to the quiet life.
Oh well. I can't help that now. Right now, I about to be late for my first, actual, shift. Crap, crap...
How many stairwells, elevators, and halls he twisted his body through, to the chagrin of his co-workers who paced themselves, he could not say. He took another elevator down. Further and further, it brought him until the read-out gauge displayed floor one.
He looked at the time on his System display. Seven minutes late. Shet. It's my first day. They will be lenient... I hope.
Would You Live On-Site (For Work)
