A fictional short short story
I looked into the mirror and sighed. Nothing appeared how I wanted or expected. Disheveled and grizzly, I could’ve sworn I did a better job taking care of myself this week, but apparently the deficit is greater than I realized. It’s been too long since I’ve felt good, and I’ve done too little to rectify the situation.
Resigned to my appearance, I tug on my shirt collar to make it as crisp and straight as possible before releasing another deep sigh and shuffling out of the bathroom while trying to mentally plan my day. A voluminous cup of coffee always brightens my spirits, and today is no different. The dark, biting liquid can be felt from lips to stomach, and even though the caffeine has not hit my system, I feel more fortified toward the day than just a minute ago. Once I have a little toast, I think I’ll be ready to log on.
My office is a mausoleum of abandoned projects. Gadgetry and trinkets lie in secluded piles, and handwritten notes dot the walls atop artwork and decorations that I once used for conversation starters. Those days loom clear in my memory but are only echoes in the present. I’m not that person anymore anyway. I mainly keep things where they are because I’ve nowhere else to put them.
I’m sitting at my desk and punching in the identifying information that will allow me to connect to the network. Damn, it’s a password reset day. I scan the many notes around me to try find the document showing my original clever code and its progeny. There it is. What started as SL1v3R&t#0Rn is now, well, I don’t even want to think it – that’s not secure. After a case change, a different number, and a new symbol, I’m in and being connected to my manager. Before the connection is complete, the words “PLEASE PUT ON YOUR HEADSET” appear on the screen, so I comply.
My manager appears before me beneath a glossy filter that makes her appear younger, I think. Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never met her in person, but I don’t think I could take the reality of her being younger.
“Good morning, 8652. Are you ready for another wonderful day?”
“Hi Nileen. You know it’s Cormack, right?”
She looks confused and loses her smile.
“8652, you know we frown upon using names, right? It’s easier to identify by the unit your control. And please, call me Lima.”
“Nileen, Lima, are either of them true? I’ll guess it one of these days.”
“Okay, please, let’s focus, 8652. Do you have any questions about your objectives today?”
I guess we’re down to business. My objective list appears in the lower right of my view and I give it a quick scan.
“No, looks pretty straightforward.”
Her smile returns.
“Very good, 8652. Just a reminder, your unit is due for inspection at day’s end. Please remember to engage control handoff before you disconnect or we will have to dock your pay. Okay, have a great day. Transferring now.”
She disappeared from my view, and a few flashes later, I see out my unit’s eyes.
I look into the mirror and smile. Everything appears how I want and expect. My unit is clean-shaven and handsome. It does not have to deal with the hard years chiseling lines and wear into irreparable skin. Satisfied everything functions properly, I tug on my collar and admire its crispness atop a perfectly arranged tie.
I pushed a button on my control panel and made a note in the operator log, “Operator 8652, unit functional. Commencing objective one, new candidate identification.”
The unit did not need coffee. The unit did not need toast. It did, however, need me to help it fit in with the world. So we, it, step out the front door of its home and begin looking for the next poor sap who spent their days in an office of failed ambitions.
Featured Image: Shutterstock 585671399 (wavebreakmedia)
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