March 15th, 2062, 3:06:43 PM, The University of Nova City.
Screams.
There were screams there. People screamed in terror, fear, anger. There was the squeal of twisted metal, of burning steel, of dying brakes. The last, ripping breaths of her chest.
Fire.
There was fire there. Smoke and flames, licking at the air, coiling shadows through the sky. A mad, ravening, raging heat that melted skin and scorched flesh.
Ice.
There was ice there. Not in the fire, or the warm spring sun, or the twisted cold metal, or the screaming squishy people around. There was ice there, coiling in her veins, the cold quiet fear that told one that they were going to die. The cold, quiet fear of the dark. The cold, quiet fear of the things that came after.
...Are you afraid?
"Yes..." she whispered with her last and final breath, with her dying thoughts.
You should be.
************************************************************
Three hours earlier:
"So how's that thesis coming along?"
Vivian sighed, stabbing at her sad salad. "It's... complicated," she said tiredly, rubbing at the deep, bruise-colored bags under her eyes. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose at the limp, floppy lettuce and wrinkled tomatoes that comprised the dish, set atop a plain paper tray. Then she stabbed a leaf and bit it anyways.
Dressed in a white lab coat, a t-shirt, casual pants, and slippers, Vivian looked more like a retired scientist than an aspiring graduate student. Raven hair spilled in a waterfall down her back, free at last after having been held up in a ponytail for the last three days. Her eyes were a pale blue, like the color of the azure sky.
"How so?" Serena asked, brushing silky, multi-colored hair behind her ear. The aspiring musician enjoyed experimenting with styles and odd hair colors. This week's arrangement was an array of electric blue highlights interspersed amidst a pale pink dye.
Vivian groaned. "You know. Lab life. Research is all about taking things slow and learning from your failures, but everyone in the lab is always on about 'the next big thing!'" Vivian said, ending her words with a sarcastic note and fingers raised to form air quotes. "And if you just end up with a null result, nobody cares."
"Is your committee complaining?" Serena asked.
Vivian paused, disgustedly stabbing at her food. "It's fine, I guess. My mentor suggested exploring more avenues in the topic, but... you know. The quantum simulators are booked full for the next three months."
"...Right." Serena nodded, a blank stare hidden in her eyes.
"How's music?" Vivian asked.
"Oh!" Immediately the confusion vanished and a smile burst onto her face like the Sun breaking through gray skies. Serena's eyes lit up with excitement as she pulled a small chip from her pocket, which lit up with projected 'holograms' as she dropped it onto the table. "It's going great!"
A logo lit up, most prominent of all--a siren, lying on a stylized stone as waves washed over its edge. She recognized it, of course. The logo of Siren Songs, the most famous music producers of the modern age.
Vivian glanced at the chip and smiled, genuinely excited for her friend--but not without the slight, sour tang of jealousy in her mouth. "A contract? Read all the hidden text?"
Serena looked away guiltily. "Well..."
Vivian sighed. "You know how these big companies work."
"I haven't accepted it yet..." Serena said helplessly. "It's just so long! It's like thirty pages!"
Vivian rolled her eyes, knowing immediately what Serena was about to ask. "Alright, alright. Send it to me. I'll read it for you. It's not private, is it?"
"It... shouldn't be," Serena said hesitantly. "They did tell me to talk to a lawyer about it, but... well... I couldn't really afford that."
Vivian shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, as long as nobody knows. Just don't mention it."
"Alright," Serena said, leaning over to tap at the air. "...Um, that should do it."
Vivian heard a faint, illusory 'jingle,' informing her a message had been received. Nobody around gave any indication they had heard it--which was, of course, because they hadn't. Nobody could hear it because the 'device' that had produced it was actually a self-sustaining colony of medical nanites embedded inside of her skull.
"Got it," Vivian said, bringing up the interface with a thought. Some people preferred to simply treat the BMI (Brain-Machine Interface) as an extension of themselves, but Vivian had always liked the old-school aesthetics of the tablets and computers of the early 2000s. A few taps at the air, and she was skimming the introduction to the contract. "Alright, I'll read this later," Vivian said, flicking a finger to close the window and stabbing again at her food.
"Thank you so MUCH!" Serena shouted, suddenly throwing her arms around Vivian and squeezing her into a tight hug. A few people glanced over before turning their attention back to their own meals or virtual interfaces hovering before them.
"Yeah, yeah," Vivian muttered, peeling Serena off her. She glanced at the time, sighed, and stood, picking up her mostly uneaten plate of salad. "I gotta go. It's my slot at the spin-form foam simulators."
"Alright," Serena said cheerfully, waving her off. "Bye!"
"...Bye."
************************************************************
Serena had started out as a predicament.
Vivian had been none-too-happy to find the bubbly, exuberant spirit standing at her dorm's door a month into sophomore year. Her first roommate had moved dorms on grounds of 'noise complaints'--no fault of hers, of course--and by either a shortage of students or a filing error made possible by a hacking challenge made possible through the 'borrowing' of a friendly professor's device, nobody had replaced her. The painfully small double had been converted easily into a much more adequate single--until the beginning of October, when Serena Oscen had moved in, bearing her signature bubbly smile and energetic impulsiveness.
She was nearly an opposite to Vivian, a complete 180 from Vivian's nature--like yang to her yin. Where Vivian was calm and collected, Serena was energetic and impulsive. Where Vivian was gloomy and cold, Serena was bright and warm. Where Vivian was antisocial to the point of enjoying empty spaces and silent halls, Serena was painfully exuberant with her extroversion, often striking up cheerful conversations with strangers and people with near-anything in common with her.
Even hair color counted.
And yet, where opposites should have repelled... an odd thing had happened. Serena had started to grow on her.
Why? Vivian had no idea. Perhaps it was the way she burned away shadows like sunlight.
Vivian sighed, checking the time again as she left the squat brick building that housed the vast computational banks that made up the simulation arrays at the University.
March 15th, 3:05:56 PM.
A voice called out suddenly--a scream?
Who was screaming?
Vivian turned to look—and saw only twin lights hurtling towards her at a breakneck pace.
************************************************************
AUTOMATED RECORD KEEPING: NOVA HOSPITAL SYSTEM-06
ACCIDENT DESCRIPTION: Automobile brake failure. Automated control systems attempted dissipating speed, but failed. Automated morality systems decided on least damaging course of action: Shipping truck ran onto pavement, mortally injuring one, but stopped after collision with nearby buildings. No other injuries or damage recorded.
TIME OF ACCIDENT: 3:06 PM.
VICTIM: Vivian Esoti, age 24. Caucasian female, black hair, blue eyes. 5 ft, 8 in tall. 144 lbs. Two parents. Two siblings.
TREATMENT DESCRIPTION: Paramedics arrived on scene at 3:11 PM, rushing victim to nearest hospital. Unfortunately, due to major internal bleeding, spinal cord damage, 3rd degree burns, brain trauma, and multiple organ failure despite the efforts of several surgeons, Vivian Esoti was declared clinically dead by automated systems at 3:40:26 PM and biologically dead (no brain activity detected) at 3:46:36 PM.
DATE AND TIME OF DEATH: March 15th, 3:46:36 PM, 2062.
COMPENSATION: The victim's family has been compensated according to Statute 13-B of ATS (Automated Transport and Shipping) law, paid by Truckers and Shippers Incorporated.