LINE III: TRANCE SENDING
CHAPTER 1
In a faraway time in a faraway place…
The man's face softened as he took in the myriad of paintings around him. Digital images of world history in the VR art gallery were rare because they were the only remnants of the time before what is now known as The Final War of Man.
In which nearly all classic structures and artifacts were destroyed. The only thing remaining in the aftermath was documents and images kept digitally in the cloud. They became treasures only to be kept on display at government-run history galleries.
He marveled at the shades of blue, red, and violet bruising the paintings or the portraits of beautiful women. He wished he could take one of the paintings. Wait, no. He didn't. He was reformed and reprogrammed to be incapable of crime or thinking about crime. He blew out his cheeks and wandered through the virtual reality art exhibition. Others strolled past, and he could smell the exotic perfume of a group of ladies who blushed when he smiled at them.
When he returned from virtual reality to his own living room, he flicked on his translucent computer screen. A file popped up on the control panel. He instructed the AI to open it.
It was a file of one of the virtual reality paintings worth thousands of dollars. He blinked. "How did this happen?" He asked the AI.
"You stole it, sir," the AI responded in a pleasant English female voice. A thousand questions swirled in a torrent through his head.
How? Why? He was reformed. He couldn't commit such a crime or any crime! As a re-programmed man, he didn't even think about crime. The man hurried into his bed, panicking, as he waited for the police to bash his door down and arrest him, sending him to prison for life. But they never did. As the days passed, and he remained holed up in his apartment, hiding, he realized no one was coming after him.
Memories of a time before the programming flashed across his mind. All the crimes he used to commit before the government hijacked his brain and removed the chemical responsible for antisocial behavior and crime. The sinking yet thrilling understanding sank deep into his stomach, winding his gut into knots.
He'd broken through the system.
CHAPTER 2
The BMI Agent stalked through the cyber park. Above, the real sun washed the park in light. But the digital grass beneath his boots soaked up the photosynthesis anyway and spewed out fresh oxygen from the holographic trees.
Real trees had died out decades ago. Burned to the ground and rotted to mush when the greed of people swallowed the last of the earth's natural resources, which triggered The Final War of Man.
He emerged at the other side of the park and passed by a school. A cynical smile formed on his face.
The kids were seated in rows of desks, wearing tiny, wireless computer chips stuck to their temples. Their eyes were blank, seemingly staring into nothingness. An entire class of children was lost in the digital VR world of education.
An AI-generated hologram of a teacher appeared at the front of the classroom, and she spoke to the class of twelve-year-olds. This hologram was also in their virtual reality. Parents liked to see what their children were learning about if they ever walked past or stuck their noses into the room.
"Five hundred years ago, neuroscientists discovered the hidden area of the human brain linked to illegal behavior; they isolated and formulated a way to remove what is now known as Chemical 5810 from the brain, which causes criminal activity. After this discovery, the government took no-tice and signed it into law. They included in the bill that citizens would have an option for the removal of the C-5810 or mandatory life in prison for any crime they committed. An all-republican House, Senate, and Presidency let this pass. Nowadays, crime has been down to 0.05%. How amazing is that? Our ancestors would be proud to know we broke the code for world peace!"
He rolled his eyes and pressed onwards. Still teaching the same crap to these kids, he thought, shaking his head.
The Agent couldn't believe they were forcing kids to believe this digital world was a kind place.
There were still those in power who kept their foot on the backs of the necks of the underprivileged.
He had to be more mindful of his thoughts; he does work for those people.
"So-called 'peaceful' world." He mumbled un-der his breath.
As he walked by another classroom, he heard an-other AI teacher speaking about the Roma Revolution.
"During the Final War of Man; Lady Roma rescued as many animals as possible. Scholars have said her act was comparable to the biblical mythology of the man Noah who saved animals from a flood created by God. Even though her courageous efforts were over five hundred years ago, her legacy lives on in the world's only nature preserve in Sri Lanka, one of the few places that weren't affected by global devastation that occurred during the Final war of man."
He had always intended to visit the animal sanctuary; however, he was uneasy with the idea of using a Tele-Port to get there.
He had heard stories of people who were going to visit their grandparents on holiday and ended up rematerializing in the middle of the still radio- active wastelands.
The Agent arrived in his office as his Tempo chip ticked to 9 am. He hastened into the elevator that shot him into the sky to the top floor of his office building. He hummed a tune to himself, ready for another mediocre day of no crime.
But as he strode into his office, coffee in hand, his assistant stood by his desk. Her face was ashen, eyes wide. She fumbled over her tongue as she tried to speak.
"What's wrong, Nadine?" He asked, voice dripping with disinterest and sarcasm, tilting his head before taking a sip of coffee. "Has your new wife left you already?"
The only reason she was tolerant of something many would assume to be an insensitive attack on her lifestyle by The Agent, was his meaningless joke may have been just that on the surface, but she believed it revealed something more significant.
A spark that may very well have signaled and end to his self-imposed exile from any-thing outside of work.
Anything that had potential to ever hurt him again.
She simply smiled in the hope that a friend who she had so much in common with, had finally found his way out of the dark after being gone for so long.
"So, you want to talk about something more interesting than work today?" She blurted out unable to contain her excitement.
"You're right we're here to work. Let's discuss work." He said before fin- ishing his coffee.
His cold deflection immediately deflating her optimism as she swal- lowed the lump in her throat. "Someone has stolen a painting from the presidential art gallery."
He choked on his coffee. "What?"
Nadine's hands shook. "It's true. We don't have a suspect. Nor de-tails on how they stole it, yet."
But her voice was a mere drone in his ears. He paced up to the wrap- around floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city. Quicksilver sky- scrapers poked through the clouds. His mouth was dry as a bone in the desert.
"They've broken through the system," he muttered to himself.
"What was that?" Nadine asked, her voice shrill.
"I was right. Those bastards didn't believe me. Mocked me for even suggesting such a possibility just because they were too arrogant and I was perhaps too young for them, too naïve. Trust doctors, scientists, and the government to brush aside any criticism when it doesn't fit their agenda."
A long-festering ember of anger bloomed in his chest and billowed throughout his veins. Red crept into his cheeks.
"I have a feeling this isn't the only crime this individual will commit," he said, quivering with fury.
"What shall we do, sir?" Nadine said with a meek voice, brushing her violet hair out of her face.
A kaleidoscope of images flashed across his mind. A beautiful man with bright ocean eyes. Then those same eyes glazed over and hollow, blood ooz- ing from his chest.
Red. So much red.
He shook his head, pushing the horror out of his mind.
"For now, not much." He clicked his tongue and turned away from the window. "We keep an eye out for any more reports of crime. If the suspect keeps committing crimes, which I sense they will, we will collect the data and see if we can find them. This outlier cannot be the only one to break free. If one can do it, who is to say others won't follow? There is a chink in the armor of the government's unnatural programming. Humans have always had an innate desire for selfish destruction. Instinct and nature will al- ways fight back."
"That is assuming he was reformed" Nadine added.
There was a moment of awkward, tangible silence. His anger crackled in the air. Nadine blinked like she didn't recognize the man she'd worked with for years,
"So, we wait," she said after several beats.
The Agent faced the outside view again, examining the people far be- low on the ground who looked like little more than specks of dust.
"Trust me when I say, no one is bold enough to commit a crime of this scale these days. We wait."
It didn't take long before the police reported another crime. The next crime involved money laundering.
Soon, The Agent had a plethora of financial crimes, art thefts, and high- end larceny crimes to investigate. Intensively looking at the details and data of each individual crime, he no-ticed patterns and similarities between them all. They were all linked.
He had confirmed his suspicions. The crimes were likely being com- mitted by the same suspect.
CHAPTER 3
"If everyone could live in peace with one another, what would you do with your time?"
Governmental propaganda swirled around in his head as he crept through the dark-ness. His footsteps were silent against the shining silver floor, a stark contrast to the rage roaring through him. He made his way to the head office, past the holographic paintings. The building's AI turned their usually bright interfaces gloomy for the night. Rain pattered the windows to the rhythm of his pounding heart.
He was after the investor's funding for an art exhibit.
Silence draped over the headquarters. Everyone had gone home for the evening. There was not a peep. The perfect time for him to complete this task. His lip twitched as he arrived at the investor's office. The arched doorframe flashed twice in acknowledgment of the ID card he'd stolen earlier that evening, pickpocketed out of the investor's hands as he huddled in the crowded platform, about to board the subway headed uptown.
The man prowled up to the paper-thin, translucent computer terminal, and a smirk stretched onto his face as he began conducting the illegal transaction.
A thrilling sensation bloomed in his chest. The excitement filled him with a level of adrenaline he couldn't explain. It was the only thing that got him high, not for lack of trying anything else.
He wished there was a way to bottle and sell it. Was he addicted to the rush?
Just as he was about to finalize the transaction, the low hum of a sliding door down the hall made his head snap up.
He froze, still as stone.
Hurried footsteps came from the corridor towards him. Before he could move or hide, the investor burst into the room.
He yelped at the sight of the man hunched over his terminal, his hand flying to his chest.
"My goodness, what are you doing here at this hour?" The venture capitalist said, tilting his head.
The man's brain swirled into action. "Oh, I'm here to double-check your investment has been processed. Apologies. I couldn't access the system on my own terminal."
The investor stared at him, eyes narrowing. "It's a good thing you've undergone the programming," he said, waggling his finger. "Or I'd have to call the police. Anyway, I was just popping into the office to join a last-minute meeting with my clients in Japan. So, I suppose I cannot fault you for being here at ungodly hours."
He strode up to the terminal before the man could react. The investor's eyes widened. "Hey, what the hell are you doing? Stealing from me?"
"No. You're seeing things. It's late," the man blurted out.
"Not quite." He grabbed the man by his collar, slamming him into the wall. "A liar and a thief, huh? Oh, the government will have a field day with you."
The investor's fist slammed into the man's nose. Blood spurted out, and he grunted as agony exploded in his face.
The investor tapped his Tempo chip, about to call the security guards and the police.
A feeling came over him. Darkness.
As if all the shadows in the world were leaking into his brain, blinding him.
He shoved the investor away, whose face scrunched with rage. The pair fought and grappled against one another.
The man curs-ed as the investor kneed him in the crotch.
The investor's fists rained down on-to his face, and the man tasted copper.
As the darkness grew, he jabbed his fingers into the investors' eye sockets, who let out a strangled scream, stumbling back and falling to the floor.
The man's hands tightened around the investor's throat.
The investor thrashed and writhed, but the man was stronger now, fueled by rage and adrenaline, and his hands held firm, cutting off the oxygen.
The investor jerked around until he eventually went still, his face purple.
As the darkness receded from the man's mind, panic spiked his blood, hot and filled with needles.
"What have I done?" He stared at the body, eyes bulging.
He ripped off the dead man's Tempo chip and uploaded a virus to wipe the terminal before he left.
CHAPTER 4
The myriad of translucent computer monitors flashed and illuminated the office as the dull, grey light of dawn leaked in through The Agent's floor- to-ceiling windows. His jaw was tight from clenching it since 4 am, and his face throbbed from staring at the petty crime reports for too long. The mobile in his Tempo chip rang, making a tiny buzzing sound that, to the outside world, was no louder than a mosquito. "Nadine, are you okay? You haven't made it to the office this morning."
"Most people don't live at the office like you. I'm on my way," she said, her voice rushed and shrill. "Listen, something happened."
"What is it?"
"There's been a murder," she said. "We believe it is the same suspect as all the petty art theft and financial crimes. The suspect strangled the CEO of a major investment company. His Tempo chip was removed, so we don't have much to go on, but I've sent you all the details we have so far."
Her voice became nothing more than an echo in his ears. The room blurred. A lump formed in the back of his throat. When she ended the call, he returned to his screen. The agent shuffled through the digital documents again, trying desperately to find more patterns be-tween the crimes. A murder. The suspect has broken through the system so far that he's been able to kill someone.
Nadine finally arrived at the office and rushed toward his desk. She perched on the corner. "I have something for you," she said, tapping her Tempo chip. A holographic image popped up before him. "There might be a pattern in the crime."
He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the images before him. "Petty crimes that had become more and more significant before they committed the murder."
"Yes. The previous crime to the murder was an attack that left the victim, a young artist, with broken fingers and trauma. His Tempo chip was also removed so that he couldn't recall the details."
His brain spun, processing this information. Then his brows raised so high they almost disappeared into his ashy hair. "This pattern reminds me of that small, organized crime family that we busted a few years ago. Their crimes started off petty, before they gradually became more sinister, and people got hurt or killed."
Nadine nodded. "The ARS SYNDICATE. I remember. All of them except one chose to undergo the programming."
"That's right," The Agent said, a strange feeling swirling in his mind. "David Yost, the head of the family, chose to go to prison instead. Looks like a conversation with him is in order."
▼▼▼
The Agents' typical breakfast was black coffee, which was incredibly expensive since most of the earth's foliage had been devastated during the war. He ordered his AI-driven vehicle to meet him downstairs. The silent silver car waited for him, and it darted through the bustling metropolis and in- to the suburbs, eventually arriving at the corrections facility.
Soon enough, he sat in the round room with security guards flanking either side of the closed door, the side of their heads poking across the window. Finally, two guards brought the prisoner into the room and shoved him into the seat across from The Agent.
The Agent offered a polite grin but scrutinized the prisoner quickly. His skin was tanned and leathery from a lifetime in the sun; his hair was long and white. A stark contrast from the short, dark high and tight look from the mugshot. He must have decided to let it grow out in prison. His eyes were icy and distant.
"David Arthur Yost. Very interesting initials, you have." The Agent said.
"It means it's always my DAY," The prisoner quipped back.
"Is that why you're in here?" The Agent said mockingly.
"Listen cop, I chose to be here. I can leave whenever I want."
"That's correct. All you must do is agree to having the procedure." The
Agent's reply was deflected and redirected to the matter at hand.
"So, you're an agent from the Bureau of Malversation Interception," David said with a snarl like he was about to poke fun at The Agent.
The Agent cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat. "Yes. My name is…" The Agent was suddenly interrupted.
"I know what your name is." The prisoner snapped.
"Very well. Thanks for meeting with me today." The Agent said.
"Like I had a choice," David grunted.
The Agent resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I just have a few questions for you today, and then I'll be out of your hair."
"Well, spit it out."
The Agent nodded to the guards who stalked out of the room. "Mister Yo…" He was interrupted once more by the man sitting across from him.
"Call me David."
"David, we are investigating a series of small and petty crimes committed in the city and surrounding suburbs. Art theft and financial crimes. I understand the government shut down your syndicate several years ago. But I wonder if any of your associates might have picked up where you left off?"
David Yost let out a low, bone-chilling chuckle. "You think my associates are working, lying low, on my behalf while I'm trapped here?"
The Agent shrugged. "You tell me."
David's lips curled back, and his eyes flashed. "No," he said. "They are all reformed, you see. So, there is no chance of them having the capacity to commit crimes anymore. Your government saw to that. They're all a bunch of Chop-tops now, clipped of all personality."
The Agent clasped his hands together on the desk. "I see. Is there any- thing you might know about these crimes?" He tapped his Tempo chip, projecting a holographic screen between them, facing David. The Agent flicked through reports of a couple of the crimes. "None of this ring a bell for you?"
David simply shook his head. "No. They're reformed. And I'm locked up.
Our hands are squeaky clean these days."
CHAPTER 5
The Agent hunched over his desk as the moon climbed towards its apex in the sky, casting fragmented, glimmering ghostly light into his office. Thunder rumbled, and rain hammered on the rooftop and windows to the same erratic beat as his heart. He drummed his fingers on the table, muttering a string of curses into the empty office building.
He glanced at the clock at the bottom corner of his screen. Almost 3 am in the year 570 A.A.I, After Artificial Intelligence. A dull pain throbbed in his temple.
The holographic image of the art piece stolen from another virtual gallery stared at him, taunting him. "L