Moments In A Mission
They line up to get their phones charged, writing their name down on the list, adding the color and make of their phone beside their name. Most don't even stay at the mission, the majority sleep on the streets or in the park, grouping for protection be it from the elements or the more lawless among them.
Homeless yet they stay connected. Last night one was using a wifi connection to make a VOIP call to a family member. The night before a sixty year old man told a younger man how to jailbreak his comm and add some new apps to extend capabilities. Another man shows a group of people a new movie site so they can see the latest releases and complains about watching a new release with Russian subtitles.
At night when the lights go off, a sea of faces are frontlit by their comm as they play games, read various sites, or text. An annoying trill fills the room and the owner of the comm is verbally abused for not having it on silent mode.
Another walks through the room listening to some Motown. As much as I love Motown, it's late, I'm tired and I tell him to shut it the fuck off. He goes off on a diatribe about how it's the sound of America. I reply so is the loading of a .45 caliber round into the chamber of a 1911.
In the morning we line up for meals. Once again, everyone is connected in someway. Comms and decks are stared at by those with them, the rest watch the news as we wait to be called for breakfast ten at a time.
During the meal once again devices are paid as much attention to as the food.
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She shies away from me. So I avoid her table as I use the water gun to turn the air into pure water then shoot into the pitcher nearby. I let someone else take care of the table while she's eating.
I stick to the far side of the room. No matter how attractive I find her, her reactions horrify me. Because I recognize them.
Another tells me she's from the RusSino ConFed, has done time, and most likely has been molested as a child due to her reactions. I nod along. I've worked with people like that before. Why I avoid her.
Her boyfriend is clean-cut, looks nearly like the All-American boy if he wasn't supposed to be an Aryan ideal and the kid had dark hair and slightly mediterranean features. I presume that they ran away together to escape her abuser, probably a father or a mother. Running away usually isn't necessary if it's a neighbor or another relative. Of course it shouldn't be necessary then either. Or maybe the prison time was for something righteous? We’ll never know.
([{<>}])
He Comes in, stumbling, asking loud and annoying questions. A staff member stabs him in the neck With a SobProbe then scans his eye to confirm his identity. I wince. Not at the probe, at the retinal scan. No one ever cleans them, the probes are single use. He'll have Puce Eye within a cycle if not sooner if it's the antibiotic resistant type.
The staff synth confirms his identity and the staff member who stabbed him begins his lecture on how the mission is a recovery zone, not an enabling zone.
He's crying now, pleading for one more chance, he was just celebrating his job with his sister. I resist the urge to say either “I’ve seen his sister, he needed the drink” or “I’ve seen his sister, I’d get her drunk too” and instead turn back to my cyberdeck, trying to fix the sticky actuator that reveals the hidden command panel. I finally fix it and check the panel then slip it away. No need for a nosy staff member to find out I’m a journalist.
([{<>}])
He’s a veteran of the Brazil Policing action. Agent Vantablack played havoc with his nervous system. He’s got iPollen related macular degeneration. And his family is across the country. But he can’t go to them because the VetAdmin requires him to reenter the queue if he moves. He’d die in the time it took for him to get his treatments restarted.
([{<>}])
Homeless yet they stay connected. Last night one was using a wifi connection to make a VOIP call to a family member. The night before a sixty year old man told a younger man how to jailbreak his comm and add some new apps to extend capabilities. Another man shows a group of people a new movie site so they can see the latest releases and complains about watching a new release with Russian subtitles.
At night when the lights go off, a sea of faces are frontlit by their comm as they play games, read various sites, or text. An annoying trill fills the room and the owner of the comm is verbally abused for not having it on silent mode.
Another walks through the room listening to some Motown. As much as I love Motown, it's late, I'm tired and I tell him to shut it the fuck off. He goes off on a diatribe about how it's the sound of America. I reply so is the loading of a .45 caliber round into the chamber of a 1911.
In the morning we line up for meals. Once again, everyone is connected in someway. Comms and decks are stared at by those with them, the rest watch the news as we wait to be called for breakfast ten at a time.
During the meal once again devices are paid as much attention to as the food.
([{<>}])
She shies away from me. So I avoid her table as I use the water gun to turn the air into pure water then shoot into the pitcher nearby. I let someone else take care of the table while she's eating.
I stick to the far side of the room. No matter how attractive I find her, her reactions horrify me. Because I recognize them.
Another tells me she's from the RusSino ConFed, has done time, and most likely has been molested as a child due to her reactions. I nod along. I've worked with people like that before. Why I avoid her.
Her boyfriend is clean-cut, looks nearly like the All-American boy if he wasn't supposed to be an Aryan ideal and the kid had dark hair and slightly mediterranean features. I presume that they ran away together to escape her abuser, probably a father or a mother. Running away usually isn't necessary if it's a neighbor or another relative. Of course it shouldn't be necessary then either. Or maybe the prison time was for something righteous? We’ll never know.
([{<>}])
He Comes in, stumbling, asking loud and annoying questions. A staff member stabs him in the neck With a SobProbe then scans his eye to confirm his identity. I wince. Not at the probe, at the retinal scan. No one ever cleans them, the probes are single use. He'll have Puce Eye within a cycle if not sooner if it's the antibiotic resistant type.
The staff synth confirms his identity and the staff member who stabbed him begins his lecture on how the mission is a recovery zone, not an enabling zone.
He's crying now, pleading for one more chance, he was just celebrating his job with his sister. I resist the urge to say either “I’ve seen his sister, he needed the drink” or “I’ve seen his sister, I’d get her drunk too” and instead turn back to my cyberdeck, trying to fix the sticky actuator that reveals the hidden command panel. I finally fix it and check the panel then slip it away. No need for a nosy staff member to find out I’m a journalist.
([{<>}])
He’s a veteran of the Brazil Policing action. Agent Vantablack played havoc with his nervous system. He’s got iPollen related macular degeneration. And his family is across the country. But he can’t go to them because the VetAdmin requires him to reenter the queue if he moves. He’d die in the time it took for him to get his treatments restarted.
([{<>}])
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