Story Telling through dreams...

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e‑Dreams

The cable con­nec­ted dir­ectly to a small cir­cu­lar port at the base of the neck, a quick turn, a sharp pain, and it locked into place.

[WKUP] Wake up ini­ti­ated [ACK] Request for hand­shake acknow­ledged. Hand­shake star­ted. New Organ­ic Hard­ware Found. Ini­tial­ise Ref­er­ence Driver v0.91 Beta. Com­pat­ible Pro­tocol Request Ini­ti­ated / Pro­tocol v.HICP42 agreed. Nego­ti­at­ing baud rate / 64gbps agreed. Stress Link test ini­ti­ated. Link test Failed. Down­grade baud rate / 32gbps agreed. Stress Link test ini­ti­ated. Link test pass. [SECREQ] Secur­ity Request Accep­ted. Digit­al fin­ger­print sent. [SECPASS] Secur­ity Pass received. Pub­lic Encryp­tion key received. Human Inter­face Dir­ect Link Estab­lished. Optic­al and Audio input disabled.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, eleg­ance. Red dress, white train­ing shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Day­light, sta­tion busy. Norton stands behind tick­et booth. He sees her. Follows.

/ edit envir­on­ment : make night / focus girl / edit dress : make black / edit shoes : black high heels / edit cloth­ing : add stock­ings / update / review.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, eleg­ance. Black dress, black high heel shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Night, sta­tion busy. Norton stands behind tick­et booth. He sees her. Follows.

DAMN!
/ edit scene : remove ancil­lary people / update / review.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, eleg­ance. Black dress, black high heel shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Night, sta­tion empty. Norton stands behind tick­et booth. He sees her. Follows.

/ apply memory frag­ment SMOKE1 / apply pro­file frag­ment dif­fer­ences / update / trans­pose output.

 

The glide rail stopped. Norton noticed the girl already at the door wait­ing to alight; her solitude made her an easy tar­get. A cus­tom­ary pause as the safety locks dis­en­gaged and then the doors slid open.
His eyes were drawn to her stock­ings as her feet con­nec­ted with the sta­tion floor. She had fine legs and he couldn’t deny him­self the pleas­ure after all this time.
She moved with grace and eleg­ance as she walked across the plat­form and passing by him and the tick­et booth. She must have been train­ing for this as she had nev­er before been able to hold her­self so well, nev­er mind walk­ing in those high heels. Her hair was new too; long, slightly wavy, and blonde. He could have expec­ted the length; she had always been par­tial to exten­sions, but the col­our, that was a little odd.
The red lip­stick was also out of char­ac­ter. She would nev­er have worn red with black cloth­ing, not against a back­drop of those deep blue eyes. Blues eyes that she said you would always get lost in like a boat on the ocean, not that either if them had ever seen the oceans. But, Em was strange like that, all the idio­syn­crasies that made her the women he had loved.
Norton’s thoughts were inter­rup­ted as he watched in amazement her stop­ping, take a cigar­ette from her bag, brazenly light it, take and drag, and con­tin­ue on her way.
Very pecu­li­ar, smoking had been illeg­al for thirty years now, what would make her break the law so openly, espe­cially as she didn’t smoke? He made a men­tal note to put all this new inform­a­tion through his per­son­al roam­ing pro­filer as soon as he got a moment to stop. Maybe that would give him some new clues as to the women she now was.
He gave her a few moments, and then star­ted to follow.

/ stop / save frag­ment as SCENE 5 / exit /

Optic­al and Audio input enabled. Human Inter­face Dir­ect Link dropped.

It had been ten cycles since Sam had inven­ted the Human Inter­face, and not a day had not gone by without him spend­ing some time jacked up to it; record­ing his memor­ies, dreams, or ima­gin­at­ive thoughts.
He had stumbled across the plans for the tech­no­logy in his fath­ers notes stuck at the bot­tom of a fil­ing cab­in­et. Sam and his wife Clara had been clear­ing out his father’s office after he’d died. His moth­er had said she wasn’t up to it and thus the dread­ful job had fallen to them; a lucky turn of events as it transpired.
It seemed his fath­er had been work­ing on a machine that would allow for the visu­al­isa­tion of a person’s thought pro­cesses, fol­low­ing the notion that he would be able to help people that couldn’t speak. The machine would con­vert what the per­son was think­ing into vocal out­put. His fath­er had always pur­sued causes that he believed to be noble; a char­ac­ter flaw Sam always thought. For some reas­on that Sam nev­er knew, after twenty years of research he’d canned the idea. Des­pite the notes seem­ingly to be com­plete, the machine had nev­er been made.
Sam was unable to res­ist a chal­lenge and had been cap­able enough to quickly build the machine. Being a soft­ware engin­eer for the defence min­istry he had been able to devel­op the drivers required for both sides of the hard­ware link, and he was there­fore using the machine with­in six months of first find­ing the notes.
It hadn’t been without prob­lems, the drivers had crashed on more than one occa­sion, not usu­ally a prob­lem, but when one side of the hard­ware is con­nec­ted to the brain, migraines and hal­lu­cin­a­tions tend to follow.
If was dur­ing a three centi­cycle stretch of migraines that Sam really star­ted to under­stand the full extent of the device that his fath­er had inven­ted. A few modi­fic­a­tions to the drivers, a few bug fixes, a few more decicycle’s of re-work­ing, and the Human Inter­face was fin­ished. Along with a soft­ware suit that allowed the con­nec­ted per­son to view, edit, copy, and out­put their memor­ies and thoughts.
It had been Clara that had giv­en him the final use for the device. He star­ted to write e‑novels; by merely record­ing his dreams, thoughts and memor­ies, he was able to cre­ate com­plex and detailed stor­ies, very quickly. He was now the biggest selling author that had ever lived. In just his short ten cycles he had sold more cop­ies of his com­bined works than even Steven King had done in the entire pre­vi­ous century.

Norton fol­lowed the girl down the block, she hadn’t turned once, so con­fid­ent and intent in whatever task she was here to per­form. He kept his dis­tance though as he couldn’t risk being rumbled.
The night remained quite except for the con­stant low ebb of the bio dome gen­er­at­or. Few remembered life without that sound con­stantly provid­ing the ambi­ence. A few glide cars swept passed, mainly tax­is, few people dared be on the streets at this time of night.
Em turned into the alley after the cof­fee shop. This would be his chance, he knew that route well and she would likely be alone for the next few minutes, reas­on­ably guar­an­teed this late at night. He took the blast pis­tol from his coat and broke into a run.
As he turned the corner she stood wait­ing for him.
“I was sure you were fol­low­ing me.” She said.
“Well, well. This isn’t how I inten­ded this to work, nev­er mind, I can change it dur­ing edit.” He said rais­ing the blaster.
“No Sam, not this way.”
“Sorry Clara, all for the art, you know to much.” He fired the blaster and watched her keenly as she fell to the floor; every little detail absorbed for later regur­git­a­tion. He stood over her body for a few moments to reflect on the women he had been mar­ried to for fif­teen cycles, allowed any emo­tion he had left, to add to the char­ac­ter of Norton, and turned and left the alley. He knew he couldn’t leave her alive, she sus­pec­ted too much about how he obtained the mater­i­al for his device.
Should make and inter­est­ing upload, he thought.

Human Inter­face Dir­ect Link Estab­lished. Optic­al and Audio input disabled.

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