The Fix (excerpt)
Washington DC, 2033
When a system is drenched in dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine, it creates a feeling of obsession. This cocktail is more potent than a shot of Bacardi 151.
Declan leaned his shoulder into the door and it gave. He stumbled into his apartment. It was bathed in scant light cast by the television and a glow of street-lamps eight stories below.
Climbing the stairs was not easy. He was breathless. The door must have been left open. Inside, the screen mounted to his wall broadcast a late night interview.
You mean to say Doctor that falling in love, in reality is our bodies responding to a surge of chemicals? Declan caught a glint of light in the anchor’s glasses. It was almost blinding. His skull was pounding from earlier impact.
Precisely. What we thought was a whole lot of lovin,’ was indeed a jigger full of dopamine—the same high people get from alcohol and drugs, but this time with the emotional g-force of an atomic bomb.
Passing though the small room connected to a tiny kitchen, Declan entered the bathroom and turned on the light. He squinted at his reflection. The mirror was cracked down the middle, but it didn’t prevent him from appraising the damage.
Pink and white scars marked his boyish-looking face where he’d been cut before. But it was the fresh new wound on his right temple that was getting all the attention. It still oozed blood from beneath the thin crust of a forming scab.
The worst part was not the gash or the pain but not remembering how he got it.
Declan took off his white shirt bespattered by tiny red dots, dirt and who-knows-what, and ogled his chest. Bulging muscles did not betray any plot lines. The rest of Declan’s skin was spotless. No cuts, no bruises.
He twisted the rusty knob in his shower and stepped under the torrent. Contact with hot water galvanized searing pain on his temple; but it also brought on the flash of a crowd, red lipstick smile, sound of glass breaking and then back to nothing.
Wrapping a towel around his hips, Declan walked back into his living room and opened the front door that led to a yawning staircase.
‘Aurora?’ he called into the abyss. ‘Are you there, sweet pea?’ All he got back was the numbing buzz of a dying lightbulb one floor down. He locked the door and turned inside to look behind the chair, curtains and sofa, finding a remote control instead.
It’s not your cologne, but testosterone she wants. And that snuggly cuddly feeling of oxytocin. TestOxis – now for the first time in capsules, bellowed the voice of the ad.
Declan changed the channel in search of news. Maybe something had happened outside that could help him remember more? He kept flipping, but there was nothing of value.
Since he ran away from home almost a year ago, Declan had been living in the dark. Access to information that held any merit was lost the moment he walked out. While channels kept regurgitating the glory of the west, the world was on the verge of a collapse. As was he.
Hushed talk about individual liberty only worked to motivate those who pulled the strings to exert even more control over people via the widespread use of surveillance, obfuscating truths and biologically manipulating life.
But there were people out there trying new ways of existing. Outside of cities and in places too damaged or remote for most to inhabit, groups were popping up like sprouts in cardboard boxes, bringing hope to the oppressed and agitation to the powerful. They called themselves Gardeners.
Their silent message echoed through remnants of forests, grasslands and lakeshores, moldering in the hands of those who viewed nature as a resource to be exploited. Those in power tried to dispel them as myths and their proliferators as cultish fanatics, proclaiming that there were no places on Earth that existed outside the scope of their monitoring. But he knew they were wrong. Their ongoing anxiety was enough to confirm existence of the dissenters.
Declan pressed the round button so hard the little device cracked, leaving a white hole burning in the center of a black screen.
He preferred old technology. Voice-enabled screens never obeyed properly, getting as confused as him, like they could read his mind. Besides, it was cheaper to peddle unwanted scraps. His days with unlimited access to funds were gone, and with it the digital dexterity he had acquired when he was growing up as the adopted son of one of the most influential men in the nation.
Declan’s fingers ventured to the side of his head. The wound was tender and pulsating. What a strange day this was. Another hole in his brain. And his cat must be hungry. So was he, but there was no food in the fridge.
If only he could find her.
He threw the remote onto the sofa, drank a few gulps of water from his kitchen tap and walked into his small bedroom.
He looked at his unmade bed. When was he here last? We are nothing without our memories, a thought crossed his mind and he caught it.
Drawing the curtains, Declan dropped onto the soft mattress. Exhaustion crawled over him like a nest of heavy pythons. The sheets smelled pleasant. He did not remember washing them, though.
Like his body, his mind gave in easily. It contracted and then spiraled down into a point where something reminiscent of homecoming awaited him. It had a shape and even a voice.
Her hair was blown by ocean mist and her dress shimmered in summer sun. Dawn. Fresh, alive, natural. Just like her name. She was far from the manufactured, enhanced type of beauty sold on television. More like a daisy breaking through cement cracks.
We must get away, she said to him in a pleading voice. He felt his bare feet sink in wet sand. If he could only find her. He would never return.
Follow the path . . . her footsteps beckoned.
Declan turned on his right side and hugged his knees. By the time the white sheet drank the last drop of liquid crimson from his temple, he was communing with nature.
I’ll always be with you, was the last thing he heard before sleep took him away.
Doctor Haze Dalman raised her hand and knocked on the door. She noticed her skin was cracked. White flecks were peeling off her tawny skin. Must be the weather, she thought. And probably age too, let’s stop kidding ourselves.
She was a woman in her mid-sixties, a psychiatrist who devoted her life to the study and engineering of human emotions. Her life’s passion, with many lessons along the way she herself needed to learn.
Haze knocked again and shuddered. The summer just ended and winter seemed to jockey itself before its rightful time. She wondered if the chill was an omen, spelling a broader freeze that expanded beyond weather. She patted the wool scarf bundled around her neck. It was made many years ago for her daughter. It was back in the days when life in the capital was a tad livelier. But she never sent it.
In the three decades she’d spent here, Haze had witnessed several wars, mostly fought outside the US territories. But instead of diffusing, each only escalated tensions between the world superpowers. Such was the nature of war. Never really solved anything, though those upstairs liked to fool themselves into believing they were making progress.
Haze had also lived through a massive decline in human population. In two decades, it got decimated by nearly a third. Most of it was due to many wars that raged around the globe and especially the large conflict in the Middle East that exploded after the bombing of a sacred temple.
The rest was attributed to a strange new breed of degenerative disease, the world’s current epidemic. In her view, it had its source in emotional repression that comprised the immune system. She grew to conclude that most dreadful things did.
Third knock. Should be the last. The fluffy cat rubbed herself on her shin and poked her nose into the plastic bag Haze had filled with groceries and medicines. The handle was starting to cut into her fingers. She heard the usual shuffle, followed by his gaze darting through the door’s eye. Then it was only the sound of gears rotating in the lock.
‘You look like you fought with a bear,’ she said to Declan and entered his apartment.
‘I thought bears were extinct,’ he said with a yawn.
‘Hungry?’ she put the groceries on his kitchen table.
‘Like a bear.’
‘Clever boy. Here,’ she handed him a can. ‘Your favorite drink.’
‘Right. Vitamins.’
Haze turned to fetch a white fluffy cat from behind the semi-closed doors, coaxing it inside. Declan knelt to welcome his friend.
‘She came over last night. Apparently you forgot to feed her. I kid you not. You must be the youngest twenty-six-year old I know,’ Haze said, unloading groceries on the counter. Kale, spinach, carrots, celery. ‘You have to end this lifestyle, you know? It will kill you.’
‘Do I have an option?’
‘They’re recruiting. It’s your window. Your father will help you if you only show him you care. Even though he can be a jerk, he wants what’s best for you.’
‘That option is not an option and you know it.’
‘You are full of resistance. Time we work on that.’
Haze tried every possible form of therapy on Declan. But he was exceedingly slow to respond. Stirring him while keeping his free will intact, was harder than she had anticipated when she signed up for the task. How much longer would it take to have him bend to her will?
She busied herself with making soup, while he sat on the sofa, drank his vitamins and played with his cat.
‘You may have forgotten what you did last night, but you must never forget who you are.’
‘Which is?’ he lifted his head to look at her. ‘I seem to have a memory lapse there too.’
Haze put down the knife she used to cut the vegetables and wiped her hands on her pants. She walked into Declan’s bedroom and fetched a small book from his closet, and dropped it on his lap.
‘You think this helps?’ Declan looked up at her.
‘Open it and look at those photos,’ Haze returned to making her concoction.
He knew what was inside. Pictures of his birthdays, graduations and inaugurations as he climbed in the military ranks. The last photo was faded. It was of his biological parents who had died in a car accident when he was three.
‘You were raised by a generous man who gave you all he could to ensure you got a decent life.’
‘Yes, he saw to it that I was trained to kill. Very decent.’
‘You were lucky to have so many opportunities at your age. But you seem to not give a shit.’
‘I don’t want to go to war. But you seem to not give a shit.’
‘For some of us, whether we like it or not, it’s our duty to help a struggling nation.’
‘You really believe this? It’s not my fault that we are losing. That’s what happens when a country wants more than it can handle. Same applies to humans.’
‘Declan, I’m trying to help you. All you need to do is follow the pathway laid out before you—’
Follow the path . . . Make yourself useful . . .
His hand ventured to his forehead. He blinked a few times to not get dizzy. ‘The path you are proposing is not a path I want.’
‘What do you want?’ Haze paused to look at him from above the chopping board.
Declan grew quiet. He wasn’t sure. His life was a blur.
‘I want to know where I come from,’ he said.
‘Turn to the last picture in the album.’
‘I’ve seen it a million times. I don’t even look like them.’
Haze kept quiet.
‘And I want to find her. She is more vivid in my memory than most of my childhood. I want to know why. I want to know who she is.’
‘I already told you. She’s a phantom. Probably something your mind constructed to help you escape the life you seem to loathe.’
‘Why do I hate my life so much?’
‘Because you are resisting your destiny. You were born to do great things, Declan.’
‘How can you know what I was born to do?’
‘Because I know your DNA like the back of my hand. You are a super soldier. Claim your power, for God’s sake!’
Haze left Declan’s apartment feeling thirsty. Unfortunately, seven city blocks separated her from a glass of water she could trust.
Chemical pollution was rampant in the city. A cocktail of neuro-compounds ran through its arteries making exposure inevitable, spelling disaster for those sensitive to its unpredictable effects. There were days, especially during hot summer months, that it seemed the whole place had gone mad. It was not as dangerous for a man like Declan. His body was designed to rebound from damage in record speed.
Two blocks away from his apartment, she pressed a titanium sensor on her silicon bracelet. It transmitted a signal activating two tiny chips, one inside her ear and the other in her molar. It was not only convenient but mandatory for all government personnel past or present to get chipped. Fortunately, the technology implanted in her a decade ago was still removable.
‘HR 8938 Cephei,’ she muttered.
‘Connection in process,’ said a robot voice.
Haze traversed two more city blocks before the connection was finally granted. She heard a reassuring male voice, so low it rattled her teeth when he spoke.
‘How can I assist you doctor?’
‘Ordering pathway RT55 for case 81-11, Declan Nathan Adamson, to be immediately abandoned.’
‘Ordering system recalibration. Current status?’
‘Freeze.’
‘Received. Next steps?’
‘In three days’ time, a new pathway will be activated. I will contact the chairman with a proposal and design specs. Start working on a new neuro-circuit of the HD221 variety. We will also need to recruit help for this one. Start assembling blueprints for new relationship, trust building, identity crash and recovery.’
‘Directive accepted, Dr. Dalman.’
Haze exhaled. Incredible how cold it was in September. Was it the start of the global chill environmentalists had forecasted would come on the heels of three decades of record-breaking heat waves?
‘Thank you. How are you Lucas?’
‘Couldn’t be better. I see great progress towards your looming retirement, Doctor.’
‘Counting days.’
‘Bet you are. And we are counting on you.’
‘Almost there,’ Haze pressed the button to cut off the connection.
She was home.
Declan walked down an empty boulevard experiencing the usual osmosis of the surroundings with his inner world. He merged with the sounds until the banging from the construction site felt like it originated in his own head.
On both sides, polished curbs divided fields of grass sprawling beneath glass obelisks racing towards the sky, proud emblems of this era. Far in the distance glistened the ivory copula of the Capitol building.
Four days after the squabble that took a layer off his skin, Declan’s temple was mostly healed, but his mind was still scarred with jumbled thoughts he tried hard to hold still and rearrange. His moods had stabilized in the days following the fight, but he still could not recall what exactly had happened that night.
He had rejected Haze’s suggestion to join the military program. For now. He too was tired of living a life without a future. Part of him was eager to reengage, but not to further the country’s current agenda. He was hoping a shift would come and then he could find himself something useful to do.
Make yourself useful.
In the meantime, Haze found him a gig that should last through the winter. Her network was a favor-driven economy that could rival the stock market. She seemed to know someone in every niche. If not directly then through someone else. He was lucky to have her as his friend.
Declan turned a corner and saw the edges of a building skeleton—steel pillars waiting for concrete and glass to fulfill its anatomy. The rays of the sun bouncing off surfaces made him think of a beach. Stretches of wet sand angled towards water lapping over the shore. And there she was, dancing on the edge, her feet splashing in water.
‘Yo!’ a man in dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders waved at him from up high.
Declan looked up, shielding his eyes with his palm.
‘Better get yourself a hard hat, brother. Be right down.’
He glanced around the site and counted a dozen men hard at work and twice the number of machines. Suddenly he felt like pounding a shot of Sera, but he was out. Both of supplements and money. Sera was short for serotonin shots mixed with caffeine. Coffee shops became obsolete about a decade ago, with Sera bars springing up around the nation like mushrooms after a cloudburst.
‘Glad you came. We could use some iron strength,’ the dreadlock man said, handing Declan a hardhat. ‘I’m Onyx.’
‘Declan.’
The men shook hands and Declan followed Onyx to an area with piles of building materials.
‘Those men over there, don’t mind them,’ Onyx gestured at a group of four men slinging bales of wood and writing notes on sheets of paper. ‘Just keep your head down and focus on your work.’
‘Okay.’
‘I need you to help sort out this glass. One wrong move, a fallen plank or piece of steel and panes will shatter. Know what I mean?’
Declan nodded. ‘Yep. Wasted money. I’m on it.’
‘Just mark them by size and grade and then the machines will help us move the stacks.’
Declan put his hands on the glass panes, all of which were taller than him, and began to move them apart like posters on a carousel. He glanced over at Onyx who departed to do his work a floor higher.
He worked for less than an hour before trouble began to brew.
‘The boon forgot to ‘troduce us,’ Declan heard a coarse male voice behind him. He nodded in the direction of the four men, about to shout his name.
‘Don’t fatigue yourself. We don’t give a fuck about the name mommy gave you.’
Adrenaline burst though Declan’s veins, as laughter filled the space between metal pillars. He looked up in search of Onyx but found no one.
The brawny man who just spoke to him broke away from the four and began approaching the area where Declan stood holding a sheet of glass.
‘What’s going on, momma’s boy?’ the man spat sideways and tapped his chest. ‘You may look tough here, but you sure you have what it takes over here,’ he added, pointing at his forehead and igniting another round of hilarity from his comrades.
‘Sorry, I don’t understand—’
‘He doesn’t understand. And he’s already apologizing,’ the man shook his head and came very close to Declan. ‘Gentlemen, it’s official. What we’ve got here is a pussy boy.’
Rushing adrenaline was combining with cortisol, generating a state of overwhelm. Meanwhile, norepinephrine was dilating blood vessels to supply the body with more oxygen.
Declan knew that the antidote to such a state was a cocktail made of GABA, serotonin and taurine mixed with acetylcholine. They called it Tranq. It acted as an inhibitory response to calm an overstimulated system. Security guards and police had their pockets filled with injectable tubes of Tranq to put out fires and contain violence.
But he had none on him. All he could do was breathe. And wait for it to pass. The man’s face drew closer. Declan’s knees softened and thighs tightened.
‘Pussy boy,’ the man whispered, a drop of spittle landing on Declan’s cheek.
Declan’s chest contracted at the exhale and before he drew his next breath, instinct kicked in. He felt an explosion inside, akin to a bomb detonating, followed by quiet serenity, like a vacuum inflating from within. It was a good feeling. Like he was made for it.
When his sight cleared, between the pillars Declan saw three men, their eyes fixed on something down below. Declan bent his head and saw a man bleeding on the ground in a pool of shattered glass.
Maddox Barclay paced up and down a brightly lit hallway. It was all white, too white. Blinding almost. Even though he knew this was the most privacy he could get in this building, still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watched from every angle. Might as well get a camera up his ass.
Why did his father always have to do this to him? First, it was an emergency, and now he had to wait. Finally, the scratchy voice came on the line.
‘I have a task for you. It’s important.’
‘Of course it is.’
Barron Barclay cleared his throat. ‘It requires the highest level of security and trust. You are the best I have for the job.’
‘I’ll do it, but only if you promise me two things. First, you will liquidate my shares in GeneSan and second—’
‘Let you go. I know.’
‘It’s been a year since you promised. I want to start my own company.’
‘If you pull through with this one, I will gladly give you both. And more.’
He always said that. Maddox knew he was a puppet in his father’s hands. That’s what happens when you grow up as the only son of the former and final United States President. As such, his life was pre-written, for the most part. And he was rarely rewarded for his achievements. Unless they matched his father’s agenda.
But his position also afforded him insight into what few ever saw: a more accurate view of the world and its inhabitants. Even though his father’s tenure ended five years ago, Maddox still had access to what to most was unattainable.
‘What do you need me to do?’ Maddox asked.
‘In-vivo testing.’
‘Rodents or primates?’
‘Humans.’
‘How many?
‘One. For a start.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. The intel is on its way.’
Maddox shuddered. It was important, all right.
‘I was just heading home for the day.’
‘Home can wait.’
Of course it can.
‘Since I have you on the line. I’ve also been working on something. I’d like you to look into the compound I designed. It’s safe and yields unbelievable results. Even though when you first see it in action—’
‘Is this one of your psychedelic brews?’ Maddox heard his father shuffle papers.
‘You’re prejudging it without giving it a chance. It restores and rearranges memory archives, virtually eliminating post-traumatic stress. I think it could be a perfect substitute for what you’ve been trying to do. A person that’s restored will also obey. Even more. You’ll gain their loyalty because you’ve given them something of true value, such as themselves. You don’t need to fragment them to turn them into followers. My research shows—’
‘I’ll look at it later. For now, please do as I ask.’
Maddox curled his fist into a ball. ‘What if your drug fails the test, or doesn’t perform the way you intended?’
‘It won’t happen.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just am.’
‘Is there a worst case scenario? Please, I need to know what to prepare for.’
‘We may lose him. But that’s always a risk. I’ll take full responsibility.’
Maddox felt the hair stand on his arm. ‘Best case scenario?’
‘We win the war.’
Maddox ended the call and walked outside. He needed air.
‘Got you a fix.’
‘It’s fine. I’m okay now.’
‘You sure?’ Onyx twined his fingers around a tube of Tranq and shoved it back in his pocket. ‘At least it wasn’t you who got slammed. Though you can most certainly say goodbye to your job.’
‘Sorry I got you fired.’
‘It’s fine. It was my first day too. But not all hope is lost,’ he rattled his bulging pockets.
‘You deal this stuff?’
Onyx shrugged. ‘Everyone needs a backup these days. And chemical fortification. It’s Armageddon, man. It’s how I choose to cope.’
The exchange made Declan crave his vitamin drink. Could it be that it too contained dope? He never checked the ingredients. ‘Let’s walk,’ he muttered to Onyx.
The shiny pathways of the National Mall were recently upgraded with slabs of white marble. Despite the revamp, the park was desolate, save a handful of suited men having furtive conversations on their secret devices.
‘You okay?’
‘A little dizzy,’ said Declan. ‘But it’ll clear soon.’
‘I think you need a drink. Come, I know just the place.’
...
When a system is drenched in dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine, it creates a feeling of obsession. This cocktail is more potent than a shot of Bacardi 151.
Declan leaned his shoulder into the door and it gave. He stumbled into his apartment. It was bathed in scant light cast by the television and a glow of street-lamps eight stories below.
Climbing the stairs was not easy. He was breathless. The door must have been left open. Inside, the screen mounted to his wall broadcast a late night interview.
You mean to say Doctor that falling in love, in reality is our bodies responding to a surge of chemicals? Declan caught a glint of light in the anchor’s glasses. It was almost blinding. His skull was pounding from earlier impact.
Precisely. What we thought was a whole lot of lovin,’ was indeed a jigger full of dopamine—the same high people get from alcohol and drugs, but this time with the emotional g-force of an atomic bomb.
Passing though the small room connected to a tiny kitchen, Declan entered the bathroom and turned on the light. He squinted at his reflection. The mirror was cracked down the middle, but it didn’t prevent him from appraising the damage.
Pink and white scars marked his boyish-looking face where he’d been cut before. But it was the fresh new wound on his right temple that was getting all the attention. It still oozed blood from beneath the thin crust of a forming scab.
The worst part was not the gash or the pain but not remembering how he got it.
Declan took off his white shirt bespattered by tiny red dots, dirt and who-knows-what, and ogled his chest. Bulging muscles did not betray any plot lines. The rest of Declan’s skin was spotless. No cuts, no bruises.
He twisted the rusty knob in his shower and stepped under the torrent. Contact with hot water galvanized searing pain on his temple; but it also brought on the flash of a crowd, red lipstick smile, sound of glass breaking and then back to nothing.
Wrapping a towel around his hips, Declan walked back into his living room and opened the front door that led to a yawning staircase.
‘Aurora?’ he called into the abyss. ‘Are you there, sweet pea?’ All he got back was the numbing buzz of a dying lightbulb one floor down. He locked the door and turned inside to look behind the chair, curtains and sofa, finding a remote control instead.
It’s not your cologne, but testosterone she wants. And that snuggly cuddly feeling of oxytocin. TestOxis – now for the first time in capsules, bellowed the voice of the ad.
Declan changed the channel in search of news. Maybe something had happened outside that could help him remember more? He kept flipping, but there was nothing of value.
Since he ran away from home almost a year ago, Declan had been living in the dark. Access to information that held any merit was lost the moment he walked out. While channels kept regurgitating the glory of the west, the world was on the verge of a collapse. As was he.
Hushed talk about individual liberty only worked to motivate those who pulled the strings to exert even more control over people via the widespread use of surveillance, obfuscating truths and biologically manipulating life.
But there were people out there trying new ways of existing. Outside of cities and in places too damaged or remote for most to inhabit, groups were popping up like sprouts in cardboard boxes, bringing hope to the oppressed and agitation to the powerful. They called themselves Gardeners.
Their silent message echoed through remnants of forests, grasslands and lakeshores, moldering in the hands of those who viewed nature as a resource to be exploited. Those in power tried to dispel them as myths and their proliferators as cultish fanatics, proclaiming that there were no places on Earth that existed outside the scope of their monitoring. But he knew they were wrong. Their ongoing anxiety was enough to confirm existence of the dissenters.
Declan pressed the round button so hard the little device cracked, leaving a white hole burning in the center of a black screen.
He preferred old technology. Voice-enabled screens never obeyed properly, getting as confused as him, like they could read his mind. Besides, it was cheaper to peddle unwanted scraps. His days with unlimited access to funds were gone, and with it the digital dexterity he had acquired when he was growing up as the adopted son of one of the most influential men in the nation.
Declan’s fingers ventured to the side of his head. The wound was tender and pulsating. What a strange day this was. Another hole in his brain. And his cat must be hungry. So was he, but there was no food in the fridge.
If only he could find her.
He threw the remote onto the sofa, drank a few gulps of water from his kitchen tap and walked into his small bedroom.
He looked at his unmade bed. When was he here last? We are nothing without our memories, a thought crossed his mind and he caught it.
Drawing the curtains, Declan dropped onto the soft mattress. Exhaustion crawled over him like a nest of heavy pythons. The sheets smelled pleasant. He did not remember washing them, though.
Like his body, his mind gave in easily. It contracted and then spiraled down into a point where something reminiscent of homecoming awaited him. It had a shape and even a voice.
Her hair was blown by ocean mist and her dress shimmered in summer sun. Dawn. Fresh, alive, natural. Just like her name. She was far from the manufactured, enhanced type of beauty sold on television. More like a daisy breaking through cement cracks.
We must get away, she said to him in a pleading voice. He felt his bare feet sink in wet sand. If he could only find her. He would never return.
Follow the path . . . her footsteps beckoned.
Declan turned on his right side and hugged his knees. By the time the white sheet drank the last drop of liquid crimson from his temple, he was communing with nature.
I’ll always be with you, was the last thing he heard before sleep took him away.
Doctor Haze Dalman raised her hand and knocked on the door. She noticed her skin was cracked. White flecks were peeling off her tawny skin. Must be the weather, she thought. And probably age too, let’s stop kidding ourselves.
She was a woman in her mid-sixties, a psychiatrist who devoted her life to the study and engineering of human emotions. Her life’s passion, with many lessons along the way she herself needed to learn.
Haze knocked again and shuddered. The summer just ended and winter seemed to jockey itself before its rightful time. She wondered if the chill was an omen, spelling a broader freeze that expanded beyond weather. She patted the wool scarf bundled around her neck. It was made many years ago for her daughter. It was back in the days when life in the capital was a tad livelier. But she never sent it.
In the three decades she’d spent here, Haze had witnessed several wars, mostly fought outside the US territories. But instead of diffusing, each only escalated tensions between the world superpowers. Such was the nature of war. Never really solved anything, though those upstairs liked to fool themselves into believing they were making progress.
Haze had also lived through a massive decline in human population. In two decades, it got decimated by nearly a third. Most of it was due to many wars that raged around the globe and especially the large conflict in the Middle East that exploded after the bombing of a sacred temple.
The rest was attributed to a strange new breed of degenerative disease, the world’s current epidemic. In her view, it had its source in emotional repression that comprised the immune system. She grew to conclude that most dreadful things did.
Third knock. Should be the last. The fluffy cat rubbed herself on her shin and poked her nose into the plastic bag Haze had filled with groceries and medicines. The handle was starting to cut into her fingers. She heard the usual shuffle, followed by his gaze darting through the door’s eye. Then it was only the sound of gears rotating in the lock.
‘You look like you fought with a bear,’ she said to Declan and entered his apartment.
‘I thought bears were extinct,’ he said with a yawn.
‘Hungry?’ she put the groceries on his kitchen table.
‘Like a bear.’
‘Clever boy. Here,’ she handed him a can. ‘Your favorite drink.’
‘Right. Vitamins.’
Haze turned to fetch a white fluffy cat from behind the semi-closed doors, coaxing it inside. Declan knelt to welcome his friend.
‘She came over last night. Apparently you forgot to feed her. I kid you not. You must be the youngest twenty-six-year old I know,’ Haze said, unloading groceries on the counter. Kale, spinach, carrots, celery. ‘You have to end this lifestyle, you know? It will kill you.’
‘Do I have an option?’
‘They’re recruiting. It’s your window. Your father will help you if you only show him you care. Even though he can be a jerk, he wants what’s best for you.’
‘That option is not an option and you know it.’
‘You are full of resistance. Time we work on that.’
Haze tried every possible form of therapy on Declan. But he was exceedingly slow to respond. Stirring him while keeping his free will intact, was harder than she had anticipated when she signed up for the task. How much longer would it take to have him bend to her will?
She busied herself with making soup, while he sat on the sofa, drank his vitamins and played with his cat.
‘You may have forgotten what you did last night, but you must never forget who you are.’
‘Which is?’ he lifted his head to look at her. ‘I seem to have a memory lapse there too.’
Haze put down the knife she used to cut the vegetables and wiped her hands on her pants. She walked into Declan’s bedroom and fetched a small book from his closet, and dropped it on his lap.
‘You think this helps?’ Declan looked up at her.
‘Open it and look at those photos,’ Haze returned to making her concoction.
He knew what was inside. Pictures of his birthdays, graduations and inaugurations as he climbed in the military ranks. The last photo was faded. It was of his biological parents who had died in a car accident when he was three.
‘You were raised by a generous man who gave you all he could to ensure you got a decent life.’
‘Yes, he saw to it that I was trained to kill. Very decent.’
‘You were lucky to have so many opportunities at your age. But you seem to not give a shit.’
‘I don’t want to go to war. But you seem to not give a shit.’
‘For some of us, whether we like it or not, it’s our duty to help a struggling nation.’
‘You really believe this? It’s not my fault that we are losing. That’s what happens when a country wants more than it can handle. Same applies to humans.’
‘Declan, I’m trying to help you. All you need to do is follow the pathway laid out before you—’
Follow the path . . . Make yourself useful . . .
His hand ventured to his forehead. He blinked a few times to not get dizzy. ‘The path you are proposing is not a path I want.’
‘What do you want?’ Haze paused to look at him from above the chopping board.
Declan grew quiet. He wasn’t sure. His life was a blur.
‘I want to know where I come from,’ he said.
‘Turn to the last picture in the album.’
‘I’ve seen it a million times. I don’t even look like them.’
Haze kept quiet.
‘And I want to find her. She is more vivid in my memory than most of my childhood. I want to know why. I want to know who she is.’
‘I already told you. She’s a phantom. Probably something your mind constructed to help you escape the life you seem to loathe.’
‘Why do I hate my life so much?’
‘Because you are resisting your destiny. You were born to do great things, Declan.’
‘How can you know what I was born to do?’
‘Because I know your DNA like the back of my hand. You are a super soldier. Claim your power, for God’s sake!’
Haze left Declan’s apartment feeling thirsty. Unfortunately, seven city blocks separated her from a glass of water she could trust.
Chemical pollution was rampant in the city. A cocktail of neuro-compounds ran through its arteries making exposure inevitable, spelling disaster for those sensitive to its unpredictable effects. There were days, especially during hot summer months, that it seemed the whole place had gone mad. It was not as dangerous for a man like Declan. His body was designed to rebound from damage in record speed.
Two blocks away from his apartment, she pressed a titanium sensor on her silicon bracelet. It transmitted a signal activating two tiny chips, one inside her ear and the other in her molar. It was not only convenient but mandatory for all government personnel past or present to get chipped. Fortunately, the technology implanted in her a decade ago was still removable.
‘HR 8938 Cephei,’ she muttered.
‘Connection in process,’ said a robot voice.
Haze traversed two more city blocks before the connection was finally granted. She heard a reassuring male voice, so low it rattled her teeth when he spoke.
‘How can I assist you doctor?’
‘Ordering pathway RT55 for case 81-11, Declan Nathan Adamson, to be immediately abandoned.’
‘Ordering system recalibration. Current status?’
‘Freeze.’
‘Received. Next steps?’
‘In three days’ time, a new pathway will be activated. I will contact the chairman with a proposal and design specs. Start working on a new neuro-circuit of the HD221 variety. We will also need to recruit help for this one. Start assembling blueprints for new relationship, trust building, identity crash and recovery.’
‘Directive accepted, Dr. Dalman.’
Haze exhaled. Incredible how cold it was in September. Was it the start of the global chill environmentalists had forecasted would come on the heels of three decades of record-breaking heat waves?
‘Thank you. How are you Lucas?’
‘Couldn’t be better. I see great progress towards your looming retirement, Doctor.’
‘Counting days.’
‘Bet you are. And we are counting on you.’
‘Almost there,’ Haze pressed the button to cut off the connection.
She was home.
Declan walked down an empty boulevard experiencing the usual osmosis of the surroundings with his inner world. He merged with the sounds until the banging from the construction site felt like it originated in his own head.
On both sides, polished curbs divided fields of grass sprawling beneath glass obelisks racing towards the sky, proud emblems of this era. Far in the distance glistened the ivory copula of the Capitol building.
Four days after the squabble that took a layer off his skin, Declan’s temple was mostly healed, but his mind was still scarred with jumbled thoughts he tried hard to hold still and rearrange. His moods had stabilized in the days following the fight, but he still could not recall what exactly had happened that night.
He had rejected Haze’s suggestion to join the military program. For now. He too was tired of living a life without a future. Part of him was eager to reengage, but not to further the country’s current agenda. He was hoping a shift would come and then he could find himself something useful to do.
Make yourself useful.
In the meantime, Haze found him a gig that should last through the winter. Her network was a favor-driven economy that could rival the stock market. She seemed to know someone in every niche. If not directly then through someone else. He was lucky to have her as his friend.
Declan turned a corner and saw the edges of a building skeleton—steel pillars waiting for concrete and glass to fulfill its anatomy. The rays of the sun bouncing off surfaces made him think of a beach. Stretches of wet sand angled towards water lapping over the shore. And there she was, dancing on the edge, her feet splashing in water.
‘Yo!’ a man in dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders waved at him from up high.
Declan looked up, shielding his eyes with his palm.
‘Better get yourself a hard hat, brother. Be right down.’
He glanced around the site and counted a dozen men hard at work and twice the number of machines. Suddenly he felt like pounding a shot of Sera, but he was out. Both of supplements and money. Sera was short for serotonin shots mixed with caffeine. Coffee shops became obsolete about a decade ago, with Sera bars springing up around the nation like mushrooms after a cloudburst.
‘Glad you came. We could use some iron strength,’ the dreadlock man said, handing Declan a hardhat. ‘I’m Onyx.’
‘Declan.’
The men shook hands and Declan followed Onyx to an area with piles of building materials.
‘Those men over there, don’t mind them,’ Onyx gestured at a group of four men slinging bales of wood and writing notes on sheets of paper. ‘Just keep your head down and focus on your work.’
‘Okay.’
‘I need you to help sort out this glass. One wrong move, a fallen plank or piece of steel and panes will shatter. Know what I mean?’
Declan nodded. ‘Yep. Wasted money. I’m on it.’
‘Just mark them by size and grade and then the machines will help us move the stacks.’
Declan put his hands on the glass panes, all of which were taller than him, and began to move them apart like posters on a carousel. He glanced over at Onyx who departed to do his work a floor higher.
He worked for less than an hour before trouble began to brew.
‘The boon forgot to ‘troduce us,’ Declan heard a coarse male voice behind him. He nodded in the direction of the four men, about to shout his name.
‘Don’t fatigue yourself. We don’t give a fuck about the name mommy gave you.’
Adrenaline burst though Declan’s veins, as laughter filled the space between metal pillars. He looked up in search of Onyx but found no one.
The brawny man who just spoke to him broke away from the four and began approaching the area where Declan stood holding a sheet of glass.
‘What’s going on, momma’s boy?’ the man spat sideways and tapped his chest. ‘You may look tough here, but you sure you have what it takes over here,’ he added, pointing at his forehead and igniting another round of hilarity from his comrades.
‘Sorry, I don’t understand—’
‘He doesn’t understand. And he’s already apologizing,’ the man shook his head and came very close to Declan. ‘Gentlemen, it’s official. What we’ve got here is a pussy boy.’
Rushing adrenaline was combining with cortisol, generating a state of overwhelm. Meanwhile, norepinephrine was dilating blood vessels to supply the body with more oxygen.
Declan knew that the antidote to such a state was a cocktail made of GABA, serotonin and taurine mixed with acetylcholine. They called it Tranq. It acted as an inhibitory response to calm an overstimulated system. Security guards and police had their pockets filled with injectable tubes of Tranq to put out fires and contain violence.
But he had none on him. All he could do was breathe. And wait for it to pass. The man’s face drew closer. Declan’s knees softened and thighs tightened.
‘Pussy boy,’ the man whispered, a drop of spittle landing on Declan’s cheek.
Declan’s chest contracted at the exhale and before he drew his next breath, instinct kicked in. He felt an explosion inside, akin to a bomb detonating, followed by quiet serenity, like a vacuum inflating from within. It was a good feeling. Like he was made for it.
When his sight cleared, between the pillars Declan saw three men, their eyes fixed on something down below. Declan bent his head and saw a man bleeding on the ground in a pool of shattered glass.
Maddox Barclay paced up and down a brightly lit hallway. It was all white, too white. Blinding almost. Even though he knew this was the most privacy he could get in this building, still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watched from every angle. Might as well get a camera up his ass.
Why did his father always have to do this to him? First, it was an emergency, and now he had to wait. Finally, the scratchy voice came on the line.
‘I have a task for you. It’s important.’
‘Of course it is.’
Barron Barclay cleared his throat. ‘It requires the highest level of security and trust. You are the best I have for the job.’
‘I’ll do it, but only if you promise me two things. First, you will liquidate my shares in GeneSan and second—’
‘Let you go. I know.’
‘It’s been a year since you promised. I want to start my own company.’
‘If you pull through with this one, I will gladly give you both. And more.’
He always said that. Maddox knew he was a puppet in his father’s hands. That’s what happens when you grow up as the only son of the former and final United States President. As such, his life was pre-written, for the most part. And he was rarely rewarded for his achievements. Unless they matched his father’s agenda.
But his position also afforded him insight into what few ever saw: a more accurate view of the world and its inhabitants. Even though his father’s tenure ended five years ago, Maddox still had access to what to most was unattainable.
‘What do you need me to do?’ Maddox asked.
‘In-vivo testing.’
‘Rodents or primates?’
‘Humans.’
‘How many?
‘One. For a start.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. The intel is on its way.’
Maddox shuddered. It was important, all right.
‘I was just heading home for the day.’
‘Home can wait.’
Of course it can.
‘Since I have you on the line. I’ve also been working on something. I’d like you to look into the compound I designed. It’s safe and yields unbelievable results. Even though when you first see it in action—’
‘Is this one of your psychedelic brews?’ Maddox heard his father shuffle papers.
‘You’re prejudging it without giving it a chance. It restores and rearranges memory archives, virtually eliminating post-traumatic stress. I think it could be a perfect substitute for what you’ve been trying to do. A person that’s restored will also obey. Even more. You’ll gain their loyalty because you’ve given them something of true value, such as themselves. You don’t need to fragment them to turn them into followers. My research shows—’
‘I’ll look at it later. For now, please do as I ask.’
Maddox curled his fist into a ball. ‘What if your drug fails the test, or doesn’t perform the way you intended?’
‘It won’t happen.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just am.’
‘Is there a worst case scenario? Please, I need to know what to prepare for.’
‘We may lose him. But that’s always a risk. I’ll take full responsibility.’
Maddox felt the hair stand on his arm. ‘Best case scenario?’
‘We win the war.’
Maddox ended the call and walked outside. He needed air.
‘Got you a fix.’
‘It’s fine. I’m okay now.’
‘You sure?’ Onyx twined his fingers around a tube of Tranq and shoved it back in his pocket. ‘At least it wasn’t you who got slammed. Though you can most certainly say goodbye to your job.’
‘Sorry I got you fired.’
‘It’s fine. It was my first day too. But not all hope is lost,’ he rattled his bulging pockets.
‘You deal this stuff?’
Onyx shrugged. ‘Everyone needs a backup these days. And chemical fortification. It’s Armageddon, man. It’s how I choose to cope.’
The exchange made Declan crave his vitamin drink. Could it be that it too contained dope? He never checked the ingredients. ‘Let’s walk,’ he muttered to Onyx.
The shiny pathways of the National Mall were recently upgraded with slabs of white marble. Despite the revamp, the park was desolate, save a handful of suited men having furtive conversations on their secret devices.
‘You okay?’
‘A little dizzy,’ said Declan. ‘But it’ll clear soon.’
‘I think you need a drink. Come, I know just the place.’
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