Midnight (Aislin)

Midnight
It was midnight on the street when it started.
I was watching from my high vantage point in the Palm New York apartment building. I do not sleep often when I am free of them. I fear be taken again. They will find me, I know. They always do.
Midnight. One after.
I am the only human being in the entire city without an allocater, the new machine that you wear on your choice of wrist, neck, ankle, or other body part, which immediately informs the government, or the Mafia, or whoever, they’re all pretty much the same, of your exact mood, heart rate, thoughts. Shudder. I should feel safe not to have one. Maximum security patients don’t have them because no one can ever keep them drugged long enough to put in the implant. Smile. I’m still an atheist, thank god.
I don’t feel safe. Since I am the only one without an allocater (and I can’t afford a watch), I should be easy to hunt and destroy. But because everyone else has one, it’ll be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Also—and they don’t know this yet—I’m listed as dead in the city records. There are probably several reasons for that. I don’t care to speculate right now. However, being listed as dead has several advantages—one is that nobody recognizes you. That’s an effect of the allocater. It prevents people from mourning their loved ones by completely erasing all memory patterns from any dead person.
Thus, the only people who’ll be able to recognize me are ones without allocaters. Well, that hadn’t stopped them before, had it?
A woman was walking down the street, and I followed her movements with vague interest. My first thought was that she rather looked like me, had I been well fed and healthy, hair untangled and with better clothes. But I could not afford such things. I had climbed the building to get into the room.10 flights, I guessed, but luckily the wall had little decorative angles and gargoyles and strange things like that for footholds.
The only way to be safe.
I turned away from the window, thinking of where to go next. They had put me in steel walls, no windows, ventilation, not even a toilet. The door had been wired so that if I touched it it would bowl me back to the opposite wall. They had put me there because no prison, no “deserted” island was enough. I’d escape, I’d get out.
And I would teach the brainwashed people that living with a source gave them control over the world, that people worked and cheated and slept because once the implants were in, they could control you.
But I’ve given that up now, enlightenment wasn’t really my thing even though I wanted the brainwashed masses to know, to understand, but that’s too much I suppose. They could pinpoint me when I told another about their influence, they could find me and take me back.
So, what to do? I’ve always been a bit of an acrobat, so I can make a living that way, I suppose. Everyone I tell about them is murdered anyhow. Sigh.
I heard a scream from outside. As quickly as I could, I descended the building, searched for the source. It was to the left. I ran, guessing that they were forcing people to commit crimes, so that the illusion of choice would seem present yet. . .makes me sick.
But I was wrong. I entered an alley, disguised expertly against the dark and filthy wall, and saw them apprehending the woman I had seen going past my window. Stupid sods. They would release her when they found her allocater. And I would be long gone by the time they got back to tracking me.
I slinked out of the alley as carefully and quietly as I had come, scaled the building, and grabbed my few belongings into a carpetbag (why this person bought a carpetbag will remain a mystery to me until the day I die). Then I was wild for rest, but I couldn’t sleep yet. . they were far too close to finding me. I decided to check the alley again, see if they were gone.
They were not. They were questioning the woman, who was now crying, injecting that light, clear fluid I knew too well into her arm. Alarmed, I looked at her wrists.
There wasn’t an allocater in sight. Oh Mary, mother of God.

After I had made my way outside the city (an elderly cab driver gave me a lift), I decided to go after them. That woman had not known her danger. I did. I would get in, get her out, supplant her with me, then I would escape again a few months later. Simple, as far as it goes.
But I was only adept at getting out, not in. It would take planning, thought, power. I knew a few people inside, ones that I had beaten half to death to get past. I have a gun, Swiss Army knife, and several lock picks, in addition to rubber gloves (electrical shock, though not quite deadly to me anymore, will knock me out for several days). I’m packing ammunition like the freight trains in Russia.
All right, I have supplies. Plan?
Draw blank here.
I drew a mental blueprint of the place in my head, searching for any flaw in the design. I did not want to go in the way I had gotten out; that had been disgusting, but if I didn’t want to cause half of them to run on me upon entry, it might be my only choice. The woman who looked like me would probably not approve of swimming through miles of tunnels filled with sewage to get freedom.
Another way?
Yes. The roof has a chimney sort of hole, though it has been filled up with a few inches of plaster. Break through the plaster, fall twenty feet and land, then grab a lab coat and find my old room. Carry her up the hole to the roof, carry her down, get back in, conceal myself and get back to the room. Difficult, but possible.
I stuck out my thumb and waited for a passing vehicle, hands shaking the entire time. When a semi finally pulled up, I dropped to my knees and groaned.
“Where to, lady?” the truck driver asked, half-smoked cigar in his mouth billowing huge clouds of smoke through the windows. I noted that the driver only had one arm. I got up, got control: have to keep moving.
“Epiphany Hope Hospital, please,” I answered, feeling like a nerve-juice junkie because I hadn’t eaten in days and was exhausted by fatigue. “Quickly, if you can.”
“I’ll go as fast as I please,” he answered. I considered pulling a Terminator and throwing him out of the car, but decided against it. This was going to be a long ride.
So tired. I decided on sleep.
* * *
I woke up on the edge of a nightmare, in utter darkness and no way out, and I wailed, Insane! None of this is happening, is happening, happening. They got me again. Shit.
The steel door opened like an airlock into an abyss. They came in, white coats gleaming in the small light the opening of the door provided. One was the woman I had seen, the one who looked like me. Setup. I checked my pocket. Gun, knife, ammo. All still there.
I decided to play along for a bit, though, to make them cocky. That is, cockier than they already were. I let out a convincing whimper. The door remained open. Yes.
“Time for your meds, Aislin.” The foremost man in the white coat approached, vial in hand. Betray nothing. Slowly, I reached into my pocket for my gun.
“Get this over with.” I bowed my head, acted condemned. I heard laughing around me. More men from the hallway stepped through the door. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to believe. I knew, at that instant, I was going to die for my beliefs. Let’s take some of them with me, shall we.
Let’s.
Pull out gun, fire fire fire. Reload. Run through door, down corridors. Fire fire fire again. Headache. I pulled up the mental blueprint again, searched for where I could do the most damage before I died. Got it. The CPU.
I ran down the blank whiteness of the corridors, firing at increments when I detected movement. All right, I should be getting close.
There were more people in the halls now, though luckily not with guns. I got to the door, opened it. The woman who looked like me was already there. How she got there before me I was not certain, probably because she had security clearance and didn’t have to shoot people to get here. I took aim.
“Wait.” Her voice was full of supplication. “Please. Don’t kill me. I know what you’re going to do—blow up the computer. You think everyone will be free when you do that. You’re wrong.”
My grip on the gun did not waver as I locked the door behind me with the other hand. “Explain or you’re mincemeat.”
“All right.” The woman seemed sincere. It might be another trick. I tightened my grip on the firearm. “When the people get the implants, their lives are all tied in with each others’, and the computer’s. They’re controlled by it. Completely. But you already know that.”
I nodded. “Continue.”
“Well, if you blow up the computer, it will start a chain reaction that will kill instantly every human being connected to the system. So, basically, everyone with an implant.”
“It’s better for them that way. At least they will no longer be controlled by the corrupt.” My finger tightened on the trigger.
“Please! I’m not finished.” There was angry knocking on the door. They were trying to get in. “I know how you can disconnect them from the system without killing them all. If I do so, will you let me live?”
“I will,” I answered. “I’m not so sure about them.” I paused. “Well? What are you waiting for? Start.”
The woman went through access codes, strings of gibberish, occasionally typing in some password or key. Then the message came up:

Close System? Y/N
THIS OPERATION IS IRREVERSIBLE.

She hit Y, and it was all over. The computer shut down and they were left with just the angry shouts of them outside the door. The world was free at last. Maybe.
“Do you have an implant?” I shouted to her over the din.
“No! I had it removed to trap you!” she shouted back.
I thought for a moment. “Is there a bathroom in here?”
“Yes!”
* * *
Well, you can guess what happened next. I had to climb through the sewers again, this time dragging another person after me. She kept screaming to die, and I kept pulling her forward. Eventually, we got out.
The river it opened into washed us clean. Then I dragged us both to a relief shelter. The world was free.
I had survived, for today. The woman who looked like me had been driven half-insane from the filth we had crawled through, and would probably never recover. Ah, well. Being insane is sometimes better than being dead.
And it all started one night at midnight on a New York City street.
Well. Goodbye, and hello. As always.