Akanor: Tales From Necro Box Set Read online

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  Robert was feeling groggy. He had never been a fan of anesthetics and even less of feeling literally raped by various tubes entering his anus and traveling all the way up to his small intestine. When the tube entering his mouth met the tube that had entered through his rear, the endoscopic part of the comprehensive health study would end.

  As he stepped out of the Health Box, the voice of the apparatus said, “Thirteen polyps have been removed from your transverse colon, of which three were cancerous lesions. You were successfully protected from a devastating malignancy thanks to UniCorn and Pegasus Pharmaceutics. Thirty miliRads of radiation were delivered to your brain by the nanobots to protect against impending cancer. Please come back in one year or less for your next checkup. Keep that fantastic body as healthy and plump as ever!”

  “I guess I should thank you, Mr. Health Box,” said Robert with sarcasm.

  “I guess you should, Mr. Thorns. Before you go, I must also communicate to you.” And at this moment, funeral-like music tortured the ambiance. “The Neutron scan has detected an increased blood flow in the limbic system and a decreased blood flow in the frontal cortex, and your blood levels of serotonin and dopamine are altered, which suggests you are suffering from Major Depression. Mr. Thorns, would you like to talk about it?”

  He took a step back, agape, and said, “I most certainly do not wish to talk about it, much less with a mindless computer. I do not suffer from any depressive shit, you hear? And call me Yulius!”

  Trembling now, he pointed an accusatory finger toward the machine. The crowd around the famous man stared with vacant eyes. The majority were slurping on corn-coconuts: an ultra-GMO re-re-re-modified kernel that grew as big as a corn-apple yet was hollow inside. This hollow part was then filled with corn-syrup, and the corn-coconuts were distributed.

  “I sense your voice is strained and your body language is aggressive, Mr. Thorns. You would benefit from a perpetual treatment with HappyStream, an anti-depressive medication taken once a day together with your anti-diabetes and antihypertensive pills. Randomized Controlled Trials, sponsored by UniCorn, have proven it works better than a placebo. A one hundred and twenty pill box has been sent to your apartment at 3500 Actor’s Lane at Globus Theater, New Hollow, Texalifornia. Thank you for stopping by your local Health Box.” The machine shut down and the RetinaScanner turned on again, ready for the next citizen. A zap and a bright flash ensued, sterilizing the inner Health Box environment.

  “Hi, meester Yulius, meey I?”

  A young, fat man was waiting to use the Health Box but couldn’t get in because The Actor was blocking the entrance with his plump body.

  “Oh…of course. Please do.”

  “Theenk you, Meester. Thanks to you me thinking of enlisting meeself in the Armed Forces. Kick ass, you know? Damn Offgridders their leesson need to learn, yes. Have good naight,” said the man as he waited for The Actor’s response.

  Robert regarded this interlocutor with a mixture of hatred, anger, and what seemed to be utter despair. “Congratulations, my good sir,” he said, returning to his snobby alias. “If I were in your shoes, I would…” he gasped, unable to finish the sentence out loud. However, in his mind the sentence was efficiently completed: try to commit suicide again…

  “Oh, you’re so magnificently wonderful, mister Zezar! No kidding the world loves you! Oh! Pleeese! Oh! Laser-sign ma’ butt cheek, please!” said another user.

  Yulius acted like an automaton and pulled out the laser pen he usually carried with him to brand his fans.

  “There you are, young lad, a branding as good as they come. May it bring you much corn and the sweetness of a lifetime.”

  “Oh! Sweet corn! Whee theenk you! I go now, Health Box is me waiting, but…splendidly wonderful to meeteed you in person! I look forward for performance of yours just next Wednesday for da play: ‘The Day of Reckoning,’ episode number two hundred and sixte!”

  “The Day of Reckoning.” The name of the last episode The Actor would perform in rung in his head.

  Something went wrong.

  In spite of being in the midst of a wealth of citizens, he felt alone. Sound faded away. Light ceased to shine. There was nothing but silence and his terrible, lonely existence.

  Who am I?

  Robert felt scared to be alone in spite of being accompanied. This implied misery was just around the corner. Was he going mad? I’m loved by all and cherished by many and yet…where am I in this equation? I’m so lonely. Very lonely… To Robert, it seemed Major Loneliness should be a diagnosis as much as Major Depression.

  The Actor began to whimper silently, feeling like a weed blown away by the wind, without kin. His knees trembled, his hands shook, the flap of skin under his chin flopped like an agonizing fish.

  The crowd in line to use the Health Box began to gather around the emotionally stunned Actor. Some were naked after having participated in a public orgy. If The Actor had worn emotional clothing, he would be charged with the purple, yellow, and blue colors.

  “Iz he goin’ to akt? Raight now?” asked some users with excitement, their emotional clothing flashing bursts of yellow that withered into the eternal trance of grey lights. RetinaChat groups were created, people started sharing clips of captured video.

  “Luk…he luks as sad as he looks as splendidly depressed wen he akts so wonderfully! He must be akting! His emoshions luk so real! Oh! Oh!” yelled one of the citizens. She was a tall blond surrounded by a circle of lustful citizens waiting their turn to copulate with her. She was half-naked already.

  The crowd started to light up as their emotional clothing mimicked their minds. The smell of corn syrup filled the air as the crowd drinking corn-colas gathered around the weeping star.

  The Actor was trampled by despair. The users actually believed he was acting. But he wasn’t! How could he make them see this was a gross mistake! He was truly feeling! This was real!

  The crowd applauded when they saw Yulius begin to cry. His tears gathered in the concrete in a small puddle. One citizen had the audacity to lick the concrete to taste the famous man’s grievances.

  Only politicians had access to front row seats during each Episode, but nothing could beat the closeness and intimacy the crowd had in this singular moment.

  “This is my curse!” screamed The Actor. Everyone gasped collectively.

  “I advise you not to break Good Citizen—” Anicor was cut off.

  “I am not regarded as a man who feels, thinks, and loves, but as a puppet who moves at the will of his puppeteer’s command…

  “Such is my tragedy, to live by the code of my creators and not by mine own. What have I become? I am the noble miscarriage of our overwhelming system. We have been tamed by sweets and insatiable entertainment,” said The Actor.

  Tears drenched his face and swept away his makeup, creating two long black triangles below his eyes. He looked like a broken clown.

  “We fall prey to our laziness. We were doomed the moment we chose the path of least resistance.”

  The Actor grew tall, standing strong. His chest puffed up like a proud rooster, the curls of his wig falling over his back like a waterfall of golden gems. The Actor extended one hand toward the black Samite cloud and pointed his index finger to what could be a god…any god, anything of supreme power that could heed his calling.

  “We must cut the puppeteer’s strings! Be free!”

  He caved in on himself like a dead spider upon realizing those words had not, in fact, been uttered to a god…but to himself. It was his own futile attempt to ignite his stale soul.

  Another answer, however, surprisingly came forth. He stood up, remaining there, frozen by the realization that within him something had stirred. Something moved. What was it?

  Silence retracted its tentacles, pulling back the spell it had cast over the crowd. Gasps were heard. Sniffles rose. The Actor lost his train of thought as the sounds invaded his senses. He lost the vision of what stirred within his soul.

&
nbsp; “The Actor! Again! Oh, Anicor!” yelled a user standing among the many gathered in Beverly Skies, watching the free performance. The spectacle spread like an infection in a RetinaChat as each user uploaded a different angle of the same dramatization. A wave of unfulfilling joy spread through New Hollow like gunpowder ablaze. The holograms with advertisements were displaying the video clips gathered by the users, promoting “The Day of Reckoning” and the government-owned brand of Yulius Zezar.

  “He magnificent is yes! Me will enlist in Armed Forces right now! Oh, how splendid! Auto-fill my application. I accept all terms and conditions, no need to read them! I’m going to war tomorrow, kill me Offgridders and earn myself a bionic pancreas! That would be sweet!” yelled a citizen.

  Robert Thorns was paralyzed. The thick makeup could not hide his bewildered face. He was surrounded by automatons responding to stimuli. These citizens were blind puppets, animals, simple mice responding to simple commands. No one here could see beyond the veil of white noise.

  Aghast, he ran. Robert needed to get away from the monster of the New World. His plump body didn’t take well the lack of dexterity.

  A gust of wind yanked off The Actor’s golden wig as he ran. As the wig fell, the gathering hysterical crowd turned and leapt over it. A fierce fight erupted. Blood sprayed the atmosphere when a user’s lungs popped. Fists flew. Teeth bit into skin. Nails dug deep into scalp. But even the injured continued to fight over a strand of the wig. Curls of golden hair flew in the air as fans sought to scavenge whatever they could of such treasure, to smell it, eat it, or even touch themselves with it. InstantSex messages were exchanged in a frenzy as a massive orgy prepared to erupt.

  “Anicor! Call a cab! Take me home!” yelled Robert. Tears were flowing down his emotionally deranged face.

  A Flagellated Pelican was already hovering around the hysteria. Ten Leukoforce officers were deployed from the Pelican’s belly and began to zap users with a behavioral rod.

  IV

  Robert entered his home, heart pounding, head sweating. Without his wig, he looked horrible and dared not even check himself in the mirror. But looks were the least of his worries. He had spoken out freely, said things that might have compromised his Good Citizen status. Every single OHP-I had heard him, including his own.

  He was sure the AI had already summoned the Leukoforce. It was only a matter of minutes before they zapped him and carried him away.

  Robert sat down on the couch in his apartment. Homes no longer had TVs. Anicors substituted every media delivery system. Robert waited for the program to scold him. His nerves were eating away at him as he saw his blood pressure rise on his iTop screen.

  Anicor was silent. Was the AI offended?

  On his iTop, Robert could see his blood sugar level continuing to rise steadily as stress pumped viscous emotions into his bloodstream; his blood pressure spiked to a dangerous level of 200/110 mm of mercury. A deadly stroke would be good to relieve him of his misery.

  He recalled the day he first thought about suicide, when he accidentally dug into the graveyard of knowledge. He was looking for a distractor other than the common visual candy of Honky Dory or the popular gusto shows where the very Arthur Mirkas acted.

  At that time, he had found himself reading about the beauty of the world described in the words of a poet who talked about death and darkness. Mary Oliver was her name. It had made him wonder about the Old World. Of how it used to be, of how much humanity lost after WWIII, of how many Old Memories had simply been forgotten, vaporized by the nuclear apocalypse.

  Back then, after he had read about human history, feeling nostalgic was an inevitable consequence. This had been the first time he actually felt this emotion. The more he read, the more that Mary Oliver’s writings depressed him. He had never imagined death could be described with beauty. Or that darkness was valuable because it enhanced the birth of light. In the New World, the battle between perpetual darkness and artificial illumination was all humanity had left. This had made Robert long for a nonexistent, green nature, for the forgotten worlds imagined by great authors, artists, directors, architects, engineers, anybody who strove daily to develop their ideas. There was none of that nowadays.

  That was the day Robert had thought about suicide for the first time. He had realized he was one of the providers of invasive entertainment. And Robert could not stop the train of constant distraction in any way other than by dying. But killing himself was not easy. Not because Robert lacked the courage, but because the powerful program had many protocols installed to impede a citizen from taking his own life.

  “Your blood sugar is dangerously high, Robert,” interrupted Anicor. Its voice boomed in Robert’s head, pulling him away from melancholy. Pessimism was substituted by hatred.

  “Your blood pressure is reaching deadly levels. Would you like me to call in a Hyperglycemic and Hypertensive emergency package? They deliver in around one point five seconds,” said the AI.

  “No. Let my blood pressure rise like a rising star…until it explodes. Let me die…”

  “Robert,” argued the AI, “do not attempt suicide. This would increase your already high Life Taxation after two failed attempts to kill yourself. I have ordered the package for you to prevent a disaster. You still have one more episode to play. Do not attempt to break your contract with the government.”

  A knock on the door. It was the package ordered by Anicor. “Please take it right now or I’ll be forced to call in the Leukoforce for Reinforcement,” said the AI.

  “Well…haven’t you already called them?” said Robert.

  “Why would I have? Have you inflicted wounds on your government by being a bad user?”

  “No! Well, maybe. I exploded emotionally and said things I shouldn’t have…”

  “It was brilliant,” said the program, trying to imitate enthusiasm. “Your audience was amazed by your performance,” continued the AI. “This is the sole reason why you are The Actor. Your capacity to inspire citizens as well as act in accordance to proper civil law and in favor of the government is enviable. I personally congratulate you.

  Is this madness? I’m being congratulated by my fucking AI! thought Robert.

  A knock came hammering down on the door three times. “Are you OK?” sounded the muffled voice of Markle from outside. The Understudy sent Robert a RetinaChat request. The blue icon appeared on Robert’s iTop, which he declined with a RetinaCommand.

  Robert scoffed heavily. If there was one thing he didn’t want right now, it was seeing his Understudy.

  “I was Retinized by your Anicor! Are you OK, dear? Oh, corn, please help him! My sweet love is dying! I have your Hypertensive and Hyperglycemic package out here. Should I bring it in?” yelled Markle.

  “Calm down for the life of me! I’m all right!” yelled Robert. He suffered another flare of deep frustration.

  The AI buzzed the door open. “He is here to help you, Robert. I called him before I got the Leukoforce involved. You see, I do care about you and your wellbeing. You’re a good user. Remember you have a performance to give next Wednesday: episode two hundred and sixty, the grand finale. Don’t die on me yet.”

  “You said yet.” Robert’s heart raced.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You said these exact words: don’t die on me yet. Why?” Robert had never held the program accountable for its words. This was the first time he had actually challenged the super-intelligence. Was he going mad? Paranoid?

  “Oh, Robert. Since when do you linger on every word? Leave your AI alone; she only means to help you,” said Markle. The Understudy was nodding, convinced his tutor had changed dramatically for the worse.

  “It, Markle. She is solely used for humans,” said Robert.

  “I sense your aggression, Robert,” started Anicor. “Please calm down. Your blood pressure is 250/120 and your blood sugar is rising over the 800s. Please sit down and take your medication package. Right now.”

  “I’ll take YOU off, you bitch. Right n
ow. After all, you’re just in the eye lens I use. If I remove you, you’ll fucking shut up,” said Robert.

  “It’s against Good Civilian Law to remove me, Robert. You’ll want to avoid a health—”

  Robert placed his left index finger and thumb over his left eye and pinched off the OHP-I device. He then tossed it over the carpeted floor.

  “Oh, Robert! What have you done? You’ll incur a heavy taxation burden!” said a startled Markle. The young man was holding his face with his hands as he stood there, astonished to find his tutor had actually gone to the extreme of removing the OHP-I device. This was blasphemy.

  “Oh, my sweet Robert. Let me get you a wig, you look horrible without one,” said Markle.

  “Shut the FUCK UP!” yelled Robert. He stood up, coiled, ready to strike. “I can’t take that machine’s voice in my head any longer! Doesn’t it annoy you? During our entire lives—since being literally spat out by artificial uteri—we have had that fucking thing shadowing each step we take! There’s no privacy anymore!”

  “Oh, Robert! Calm down please! What does privacy mean anyway? You come up with such words these days! Stop reading Old Memories! Answer me this: why would Anicor annoy me if she gives me everything I need? All the entertainment at the blink of an eye! She protects us too, you know?”

  Robert sighed. He took two fingers to his nasal bridge and said, “No one cares about anything any longer…give them sweets and images to feed on and they’re yours…I hate this reality…” Robert’s head was buzzing. His speech felt awkward, slow and slurred. His hands were numb.