Down Beneath

  An alarm rings, it is time to get up. No sign of the rising sun, the day is still. Arcanthus rises from his bed with ease, hastily dresses himself and leaves for work. As he walks outside he sees the always-present grey mist. The car starts itself as he gets in.  He sits back and listens to music as it takes him to work.
  The car halts in a parking lot of a black sky scraper out in the nowhere. The horrendous frame of the skyscraper makes all things around seem meager and feeble. Arcanthus does not mind though. He takes the elevator to floor forty-three and walks in to his once beloved job of microprocessor engineering. All day he performs at an equal pace and gets the daily quota done before his usual hours.
  The worker goes to his manager and he is excused early. Strangely enough, he is not the only one. All but one person are excused to go home.
  Arcanthus disregards this man, as everyone else. As everyone leaves not one word is said. The man whirls over his computer with work.
  As Arcanthus comes home he watches T.V., but the screen remains blank. He sits down and reads, but no pages are flipped. He eats his food and goes to bed.
  The next morning Arcanthus wakes up at the same exact time as yesterday, repeats his daily routine and goes to bed. Some thing has happened at work though, the old man was seen dead in his chair. Nothing was done about it, he was left laying there.
  An alarm rings, it is time to get up. No sign of the sun rising, everything is still. Arcanthus rises from his bed with ease, hastily dresses himself and leaves for work. All is done at the precise exact moment it was yesterday, Arcanthus walks outside to an already started car and goes to work.
  Acanthus scans the surroundings, he is at work. Programmatically he pulls on the door handle. His thoughts consists of precise directions of what to do. He functions outside but really down beneath he is just a machine performing actions of a microprocessor implantation in his brain.
  The dead man in the lab is the last hope of human kind, a man who decided to not be cybernetically engineered. Everything is performed in precise rhythm by the whole human race, all minds communicate virtually and human actions are falsely performed. But the man that labored away into the night to fix a mistake he made, a flaw in the design for a program to help the human kind to function faster and better is now dead.