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Rated: 18+ · Draft · Sci-fi · #1404594
Rough draft chapter of a SF project.
Clark Gray awoke unceremoniously to the nagging sound of his receiver. With a groan, he rolled over and jammed his auxiliary pillow against the side of his head in attempt to block the incessant droning that roused him from his deep sleep. However, the receiver unerringly continued its mechanical chirping, and Clark was forced to rise from his bed whether he wanted to or not. Yawning, he shuffled toward his tiny living room, pausing in front of a large screen on the wall.

“Mercury, power on.”

The screen exploded with light, bathing Clark and the room with an intense phosphor glow. Unprepared for the shock, Clark winced and closed his eyes, stepping a few paces back. After a moment to let his eyes adjust, he opened them and scrutinized the screen. A message, “1 Incoming Call”, scrolled slowly across the center, accompanied by the unremitting ring that initially woke him.

“Mercury, accept call.”

With a harmonic tone, the flickering visage of a young policeman appeared on-screen. The young policeman spoke. “Good Morning, Detective Gray, I apologize for waking you.” Regarding the image on screen with dismal stare, Clark replied tiredly, “This better be good, officer.”

“We’ve got a body here, sir. It was found a few hours ago.” Clark’s head drooped. With a sigh, he plucked a white collared shirt from a pile of clothes on the floor and pulled it down over his body. “And?” he replied as he began to sift through the mass of clothes. The young policeman continued, “It looks like murder... Unfortunately, we're not really... sure how the victim died” Clark, back arched, slipped into a pair of black slacks and began to button them, then looked up again at the young policeman with wary eyes. He replied, “Not really sure? Well, what do you know?”

“There's evidence that the crime was commited by a Persona.”

Clark’s eyes flashed and his body shot upright at the young cop’s words. “Send me the coordinates; I’ll be there in a few moments. Terminate call.” The screen flashed off, and Clark ran through the door, yanking his coat off the wall as he exited.
Dashing down the stairs, he threw the coat on and thrust his hands into its deep pockets, digging. His right hand emerged with a small terminal and he quickly punched a few keys with his index finger. The machine began to hum, and a hazy red holographic screen projected out from the top of the device, displaying a seemingly random combination of numbers and letters. He quickly scanned the string, and then tapped a final button, causing the ghostly screen to dissipate with an almost inaudible hum.  Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he stepped out into the street. Even in the early hours, the city vibrated with the cacophonous hum of countless holographic billboards and the engines of a million speeding aircrafts that perpetually filled the pitch black sky. A thick grey miasma hung oppressively on the ground, which was buried under a decades worth of filth and garbage. The towering buildings that covered the landscape, including Clark’s apartment complex, had long since fell into disrepair, some to the point of total dilapidation. This was New Chicago, and Clark Gray knew it well.

Clark pressed a button on the side of his terminal, and within moments, a small black aircraft approached from the side of a massive construct and hovered down to the ground in front of him, opening its door. Clark stuffed the computer into his pocket and stepped inside of the craft, the door closing behind him with a hydraulic gasp. He pushed a few buttons on the middle console and buckled a restraint across his body. “Mercury, go to coordinates alpha-one-zero-eight, beta-gamma-one-one-two. Priority 5.” With a loud whoosh, the vehicle shot vertically into the air and shot forward through the sky, zipping through the gridlocked traffic at breakneck speed. Leaning back in his seat, Clark folded his arms and closed his eyes. “A persona, huh?” he thought, “How in the hell could a Persona kill anyone?” He scratched his head. “Mercury,” he asked, “Can you read me basic info on the Persona technology?” A child-like voice filled the cabin of the craft, “Of course, Clark. The system was developed twenty-six years ago by Dr. Alexsi Reich. The system utilizes a non-invasive procedure to map a subject’s neural hierarchy, which is then dumped into an artificial receiver body, called a Persona, giving the subject near-total control of said body for a limited time. As well as being capable of processing enhanced visual, auditory, and tactile information in real time, the physical strength and constitution of the Persona are enhanced far beyond human potential. Would you like to hear more?”

“Yes,” Clark replied, “Elaborate on limitations of the Persona system.”
“Most certainly, Clark. Due to the capabilities of a Persona, a failsafe is included in all Personas that will completely disable the body from functioning if the user attempts to commit an act of violence. This is possible by utilizing a synaptic fuse that is triggered when a select group of neurons in the amygdala, the region of the brain that controls emotion, fire. Utilizing this method, the failsafe has a success rate of 99.999%. Would you like to hear more?”

“Yes. Can you disable the synaptic fuse?” Clark’s hand drifted into his coat pocket, pulling out a small paper pack of cigarettes. He extracts one of the slender tubes from the pack, slides it into his mouth, and lights it with a small butane lighter, taking a deep drag. “Negative. If the synaptic fuse is tampered with, the Persona is immediately disabled and the user is automatically reported to the police. Would you like to hear more?” Clark blew a thick plume of smoke out, which quickly dissipated into a small vent in the middle console. “No, thanks Mercury.” He sat up in his seat and looked down through the posterior window, catching sight of a group of police cruisers parked in front of a candy shop, strobing in sync with intense blue light. Clark’s craft began its descent, landing a short distance away from the mob of police vehicles. With a hiss, the door opened, and he slowly exited the vehicle, and walked towards the crime scene.

Before he could reach the door, the detective was intercepted by an older plainclothes cop with a deeply receeding hairline and a hard, craggy face that was permanently twisted into a frown. "'Bout time you show up, Gray. We've been here all morning and we can't figure out what the hell happened in that joint. All I can tell you, is that whoever did it didn't leave us much to work with." The cop snorts and spits a thick wad of mucous onto the ground. "When we got here, there was blood covering every square inch of the floor, the wall, and the ceiling. On top of that, the perp decided to dress the joint up with the victims' guts. I'm talking Dante's Inferno shit here, Gray. I ain't seen nothing like it the thirty-four long years I've been on the force. Then, the forensics guys show up with their gadgets, and figure out that a goddamned Persona did the deed! What the hell is this world coming to?!"

"Sounds like a real fun case we got here, Rex. Let's take a look then, shall we." Clark walked past Rex and opened the door to the candy shop, walking in. From behind, Rex shouted "Wait! Before you go inside, you should probably know..." Unfortunately for Clark, he was already in before Rex could finish, and what he saw would be burned forever within his mind.

"Why didn't anyone tell me the victim was a child?"
© Copyright 2008 Cole Mapstone (cole.mapstone at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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