The year is 2280, by now everything is a commodity. You have your own mandatory session with assigned psychiatrist, a legal requirement, listens to all conversations, monitors all internet usage and takes full sets of vitals several times per day. That information plus the content of three daily therapy sessions are relayed to the global peace and security government. After it is digitally assessed for an automated crime prediction, of course then it’s sold for exorbitant prices to advertising companies, medical providers, and for-profit-prisons scouts.
A prediction above a fifty percent chance of crime automatically increases your psych sessions. Above sixty percent your factory installed home surveillance cameras are secretly activated and monitored from a remote location wherever the labor is cheapest. A prediction above seventy percent means “bring in for ‘questioning,’” a fact advertised on your social media automatically with a warning associates will be brought in seven days. Above eighty percent was a life sentence. No trial.
You might think that this is great, to make the society more crime less. This is where you wrong, my friend. The world grew more violent towards those who can’t provide themselves, those who weak enough to wanting to die but not strong enough to kill themselves. Now the world favours them who’s rich, them who control everything. Those powerful group of people that are running the world. Those that play God without permission.784Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN0gfXg9Ott
I began to wonder... How we doing in the past? Before all of this? Were there freedom of thought and speech? Were the people has their rights? Was it better than now? Or now is better than the past?784Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzl2QVGRexA
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“What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?”
“Nothing.”
“Then you wanna know what I’m thinking about? The first time you came to me...”
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I can see his lips moving but I can’t really hear what he say. I didn’t exactly come to Dr.Graham. Every single person is obliged to see a psychiatrist.
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“--- I know that we already had a session yesterday, but since your prediction came up above fifty percent… I need you to cooperate, Liz. Help me to help you. What is it that disappoints you so much?”784Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWcPfJJ5aX1
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I don't know doc, I just don't like people.
Sometimes when a person says they ‘don’t like people’ it’s just their semi-facetious way of stating, “I’m not super social by nature. I don’t need a ton of friends. I’m selective about who I hang around. My personality-type, values, and interest are on the uncommon side, and I’ve come to realize most people don’t have a lot to offer me.” That’s fine. Not everybody has to be ultra-mainstream and love everyone. But not me, I just don’t like people and the world itself is just one big hoax. We both know this society is rotten to the core. 784Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0zbceq68mh
“Elizabeth, you didn’t say anything. Tell me what are you thinking. You don’t want the next prediction to comes up above sixty, do you?”
“Tell me, doctor… What’s in it for you?”
“I just want what best for my patients.”
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Liar.
The only reason he doing this is so no one can look him up and they pay him great.
“Tell me about the people you’ve been seeing. The men in black that chasing you?”
“I told you they’re gone.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth.”
“I told you, they’re gone. Thanks to the meds you gave me.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me now. But I hope you can talk to me in our next session.”
“No… It’s okay, I’ll talk now.”
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He looked so surprised when I said that, maybe because he didn’t expect me to. To be honest to myself, I’m also surprised.
“Okay, So what do you want to talk?”
“I made new friend.”
“That… That is actually great. Mind to tell me more about this friend?”
“Oh you know, nothing special. It just this friend I have… They just seems so understanding.”
“Elizabeth. We’ve talked about this. The people inside your head aren’t real. The people inside your virtual aren’t real. They seems understanding because you made them to be.”
“But you do understand me, Dr. Graham. Maybe YOU are also part of my virtual.”
Dr. Graham sighed in frustration. The sigh that came out from his lips was a signal, not of his resolve leaving out but of the level his tension had reached.
“Why don’t we finished our session today and we’ll pick up where we left tomorrow?”
“Cool.”
I’ll get the prediction tomorrow.
I’m not expecting much from it and I also don’t think that I’ll get below fifty… Sixty perhaps…
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After the rather unpleasant session, I left his clinic. You know... his clinic is impressive but not elegant, assorted chairs some comfortable, some upright with padded seats and carved backs, books arranged on large central cherry wood cupboard with a blank white wall.784Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvTNydTaE9m
I put my hoodie and snuck my hands inside the jacket pockets. I proceed to walk to the nearest bus stop. I stared blankly at the street, my mind full of emptiness. The bus and I arrived at the same time. What a coincidence.
It is dusk as the bus trundles from the depot. Everyone awake. Everyone asleep. Their eyes are bleary, reactions slow, tiredness running in their veins just the same as their blood. It’s some relief, some fear, some grieving for the place they leave. Ahead is unknown, all they can do is pray for things to be better where they are heading for they cannot know what is on the other end.
Inside we are a curious mixture of cozy and bored, itching for the each destination that will come eventually. Some read, feign sleep, and periodically check texts and communicators -- the addiction of this modern society.
I was checking the streets through the window as I reach my stop.
Police? What are they doing here? I’ve never seen them in public like this before, heck I’m not even sure there were police.
After I got off the bus, I’m crossing the street to join the crowd and to see what’s all the ruckus about. Much to my shock, they found a body. This is the first murder in decade. I managed to get more closer look at the body and do some observations. Her red-blond hair was stained and discolored when they found her in the sewer, her lungs were choked with muck because her killer hadn’t bothered to see whether she was really dead when he or she dumped her body into the manhole, so she had breathed the stuff in with her last gasping breaths. Her face was bruised, covered with great blotches, and three of her ribs had been broken. Her thighs and abdomen had been bruised and lacerated. My heart pounded as one question continued to race through my mind: Who did this?
“Miss, please no further steps. Stay back.”
A voice called for me and pulled me back to reality. Right, this is the real world… not the virtual.
“Sorry.”
I stepped back.
I need to remind myself that this is real, that this is not my virtual. I shouldn’t do anything that will put me in the spotlight. I don’t need that. This time I’ll just let them take care of it, besides… what’s the worst that could happen?
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