Ordinary

by Starr Z Davies

  ~~~

  Whippoorwills croon and the smell of sarsaparilla subtly fills the room as my eyes drift open. Everything is blurry for a moment as I blink to get my bearings. It was all a bad dream. I’m at home, listening to the birds outside my window and smelling the plants that line the street. A warm comfort fills me.

  As I sit up on the bed, my feet hit a cold floor. I frown, looking down and wiggling my toes. My room at home has carpet, not tiles.

  I smooth my hands over my thighs and raise them, blinking at the lingering smooth, soft sensation on my palms. Grogginess begins to clear as reality sets in.

  This isn’t home.

  These aren’t my clothes.

  It was all real.

  I’m on my feet, turning to take in the room around me. It’s boxy with simple furniture—a twin bed and nightstand, desk and chair, and tall narrow bookshelf. My messenger bag is neatly hooked over the back of the chair, and the notebooks are stacked precisely on the bookshelf. The walls of the room… They look like the walls of my bedroom. Tan paint, but barren without any of the traces of my personal touch.

  Remembering the pain in my arm earlier, I lift it in front of me, running my left hand over smooth, untouched skin. Not even a trace of a needle mark lingers.

  “What happened?” I mutter to myself. And how long was I out?

  A chime from the desk makes me jump, and I spin around as the wall behind the desk changes from tan to white. Dr. Cass’s hologram appears, visible from the waist up. There’s no background, so I can’t tell where she is.

  “Ugene,” she says, her voice coming from above. “Thank you for your patience. We understand that processing can be difficult for some and appreciate your cooperation.”

  Is that what she calls sticking me with a needle to make me limp as a noodle?

  “We pair new subjects with mentors, selected from among our more experienced subjects, to help ease the transition into this new life. Your mentor will arrive soon to show you to the cafeteria, showers, and other facilities available to you. For the integrity of the research, I ask that you stay on your floor and follow the rules your mentor will lay out for you. Your personal researcher will monitor your brain waves, muscular changes, and genes at all times using the nanomonitors injected during processing.”

  Nanomonitors. So, that’s what happened during processing. I knew it had to be something, but I didn’t fully understand.

  “When necessary, he will escort you to a lab for samples. All your personal belongings have been returned, with the exception of your cellular phone. The signals can interfere with studies some of our other participants are working on, particularly the Naturalists.”

  That’s convenient. Without my phone, I don’t have a way to contact my parents. I’m cut off from the rest of the world.

  “Testing will begin tomorrow. I hope you are comfortable in your new living space and thank you for joining Paragon Diagnostics.”

  Dr. Cass disappears, and the wall reverts to its previous tan painted color.

  So, I have to stay on this floor, and my only known means of communication with the outside world is gone. I glance around the room, which feels much smaller now.

  An alarm resonates loudly overhead, and the door to the room opens, revealing a brightly-lit hallway. Eager to see more, I slip on the provided loafers.

  Before I step into the hallway, a guy in identical gray scrubs to my own steps into the doorway, blocking me in. Shaggy blond hair hangs around his face. His gray-blue eyes appear bored as he looks me over critically.

  “Ugene?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, taking a step back. “And you are?”

  “Miller, your mentor,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “And I’m tired, so let’s get this over with.”

  For some reason, it takes that statement for me to notice the dark rings around his eyes. His face is drawn, and his lids are heavy. In fact, he looks almost like my dad when he’s hung over. I offer my best smile, but he only grimaces. My stomach twists in knots. I hate feeling like an intruder.

  “Come on. I’ll show you around.” Without waiting for me, Miller heads along the hallway. I rush to catch up, glancing back at the open door of my room and making a note of the number.

  The floor is a maze of hallways. Others roughly our age pass along the halls with intent destinations. Everyone wears the same gray scrubs and loafers. I fail to keep track of where we’re heading, forget exactly where we turned left or right, but Miller seems to know exactly where he’s going. Part of me can’t help wondering if he’s messing with me, walking in circles to try and confuse me or something, so I start watching the room numbers.

  “How many people are on this floor?” I ask as we pass room 1177.

  “Don’t know.” Clearly, Miller isn’t much for conversation. “Testing doesn’t exactly allow for much socializing. I only know about fifteen or twenty others. But there are more.” He points at a door as we pass it. “Bathroom. Showers are in there.”

  I grimace. What an excellent guide he’s turning out to be. Like I’ll ever find the bathroom when I need it.

  We turn another corner and Miller waves absently at a large room with glass-panel walls, revealing rows of round white tables with matching chairs. The cafeteria. Before I know it, he’s taken me full circle back to my room.

  “Welcome home.” He waves into the room. “Looks like you get the night off. Have a nice life.”

  Night? I thought it was morning. No windows along the tour revealed the truth.

  Miller steps away to leave.

  “Wait a minute!” I grab his arm before he can slip away, then immediately realize my mistake as his eyes flash narrowly at me. I quickly let go. “I just—You’re supposed to be my mentor, teach me the rules and stuff. And is there anyone else on the floor you can introduce me to?”

  Miller laughs. Not a funny, ha-ha sort of laugh, but more like you’re-an-idiot sort of laugh. What have I done to him?

  “Look, kid.”

  Kid! He can’t be more than two or three years older than me! My best guess is twenty.

  Miller crosses his arms. “You wanna know the rules? Here they are. Participating in tests is compulsory. Be in your room by testing time and nightly lockdown. No fighting with other test subjects. Obey the commands from Overwatch.” He points at the ceiling. “And finally,” Miller steps closer, “and this is the most important rule, so remember it. Everyone likes their privacy. No one is looking for friends. We all have a job to do, and we do it. That’s it.”

  “But we are all in this together. Why—?”

  “Privacy. If a door is closed, don’t knock. If a door’s open, don’t knock. Just… don’t knock.”

  Miller turns and starts up the hallway.

  “Hey, is there a key for my room or something?” I call.

  “Why would you need a key?” He laughs before disappearing around the corner.

  The response bothers me. Experience tells me that people with Powers—like all the other test subjects in here—like to pick on guys like me. And I can’t even lock them out.

  Anxious, I inspect my door for a lock and find the thick rods inside the door, but there isn’t a knob or anything on the door to engage the bolts into the frame. Experimentally, I close the door and tell it to lock, but nothing happens.

  No key, and no way to lock the door. How can anyone expect to have privacy at all?

  11

  My stomach grumbles. When was the last time I ate anything? I don’t even know how long they knocked me out. I do a quick scan of the room, but there’s no clock. No window either.

  “How do I know the time?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

  “The time is seventeen forty-seven.” The female voice comes from overhead. I spin, looking up, but can’t spot the speaker. Above me is nothing but a featureless tan space.

  My stomach protests again, and I acquiesce, wandering the maze of halls in search of the cafeteria. Again, I pass dozens of rooms just like mine. The s
ame steel door, furniture, and tiles. Some have walls that portray gardens or city streets. Projections just like the tan walls of my own room. Some rooms are occupied. A few still have doors closed. I pass a handful with views out into the city—real views. Obviously, these rooms are on the exterior of the building.

  The scent of the food gives away the cafeteria before I stumble into the room. The floor is stark gray tiles, but the walls aren’t walls. They project a forest on all but one wall. Birds chirp happily, but it’s canned noise meant to be calming, most likely.

  One wall reveals the outside world, by my best guess. City lights, skyscrapers, and squat buildings below. The noise doesn’t reach us here. Either distance or soundproof walls block out sound from the rest of the city. Is that to protect us or the city?

  Close to two dozen round white pedestal tables fill the large, open space. Only a few have occupants in gray shell-backed stacking chairs. None of the people look at me.

  On the far side of the room, a series of vending machines. A Drinkables. A Snackables. A Hot-Serve. Everything automated. No chef on this level at all. Not even regular catering service and the trash goes into a shoot that likely takes it to another floor. I inspect the menu options for dinner on Hot-Serve. Chicken wrap, chicken panini, chicken quesadilla, chicken… It’s all chicken.

  I press the chicken wrap button and the display flashes at me: IDENTITY UNCONFIRMED.

  What does that mean?

  I press a finger to the display, but nothing happens.

  Glancing over my shoulder covertly, I watch a young woman with cropped brown hair at the Snackables machine hold her wrist in front of the display. A moment later her food comes out. Injected bio-identification? I try the same. The Hot-Serve beeps confirmation and I move on to Drinkables as the machine hums to life.

  Hot-Serve machines don’t always serve hot food. They were invented before I was born as an alternative to a full kitchen. The idea was to use them in offices so employees could have healthy foods. Except it’s all processed. Chemical compounds of proteins, carbs, and vitamins. After selecting, the machine creates the food out of the compounds.

  And yet, somehow, people still starve in the streets.

  I punch an apple juice button and scan my wrist. A cup drops out and starts filling up. By the time it finishes, the Hot-Serve dings. A cardboard boat waits in the dispenser, cradling a chicken wrap with lettuce, tomato, onion, and sauce. It smells incredible and makes my hunger kick me in the stomach. After taking my prize, I turn and scan the room.

  Miller sits alone at a corner table, picking lettuce out of his chicken burger and watching everyone. I wave, but he just blinks, looking right through me.

  “He doesn’t make friends,” the brown-haired girl says, sitting at a table beside where I stand. “I’ve only ever seen him with one person before, and the guy tested out of the program a couple months back.”

  “Tested out?” I sit across from her at a table by the windows. Having a view is nice.

  She nods. “It’s what happens when you complete the program. Paragon kicks you out.”

  “Then what?”

  “Who knows.” She picks at her snack absently, keen eyes on me, then holds out a hand. “Jade.”

  “Ugene,” I say, shaking her hand. “He said people don’t like making friends.”

  Jade falls silent, paying too much attention to her oat bar as she plucks out the raisins. I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead, awkward silence descends over us. I just accept that she doesn’t have much more to say and focus on my food. The flavor of chicken explodes against my taste buds as the juice saturates my tongue. Lettuce and tomato accentuate the flavor. Maybe it’s just the hunger, but this tastes better than any chicken wrap I’ve ever had.

  Jade has fallen into sullen silence, so I attempt making eye contact with any of the other ten people in the room. These people are here for the same reason as I am, right? So, why not try to make friends. It can’t be that bad. But everyone looks at me only when I’m not directly looking at them. I can feel it in the way my skin crawls every time I hear a shift in movement. From the blond guy at the table behind me, or the other three sitting two tables to my right, as they move their heads in another direction the moment mine turns toward them. I want to strike up a conversation, but old habits are hard to break. Instead, I bite my lip and focus on my food. The uneasy feeling rolls up and down my spine. This feels like a prison.

  I watch them as I eat. The red-haired girl across the cafeteria sits alone, hunched over her meal and poking at it like she has no desire to eat… or live. The three to my right talk to each other, but their voices are so low it barely sounds like more than a hum. Each of them is making a visible effort not to look in my direction. Two of them—a large Somatic and the other so pale I wonder when he last saw the sun—seem to defer to the third even though he’s the smallest of them. With his black hair and the way he perches on his chair, he reminds me of a raven.

  I nod toward their table, not really looking at them. “Who are they?” I ask Jade.

  Her gaze flits briefly to the trio, and I watch her swallow hard. “Trouble,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear. “Particularly for you.”

  “Why me?” The space between my shoulder blades itches as I fight off the urge to look at them.

  “He doesn’t like you.”

  They guy doesn’t even know me. What could he know about me? And how could Jade know this? Unless… “You’re a Telepath.”

  Jade’s eyes meet mine. “Be careful, Ugene.” She collects her trash from the table. “You are grossly unprepared for what’s coming.”

  Before I can ask what she means, Jade is marching across the room, giving the trio wide berth.

  I turn my attention back to them as she disappears into the hallway.

  I don’t understand any of what’s going on here. Everyone looks like they are an inch from death. A few look like they would even welcome death. And for no apparent reason, I already have an enemy.

  My appetite is gone. I get up and head back to my room for one of my journals and a pen. My loafers squeak on the polished gray tiled floor with each step. I need a firm handle on my surroundings. And that starts by mapping out my new home.

  The adventure begins by looking for a map on the wall, or something to give me a general lay of the land. Even just arrows on the walls pointing room numbers one way or the other, or guidance toward emergency exits. But there’s nothing. The walls are stark white, ordinary.

  The floor is a maze, but I do my best to navigate the halls and draw a map of them as I go. Recognizable doors I mark on the map. Bathroom. Rec room (a few chairs and sofas; a holotv that only plays one channel). Library (occupied only by books, a couple of padded armchairs, and small round tables).

  In the middle of the floor, a large, dome-shaped room with only two doors on opposite sides. The place is unoccupied, plain, just like everything else. I set down my notebook and brush my hand on the wall. It’s as smooth as glass.

  “Curious,” I mutter.

  The alarm chimes once, followed by a soothing female voice from overhead. Overwatch, Miller called her. “Evening lockdown in ten minutes. Please, return to your rooms.”

  Frowning, I step back from the wall and pick up my notebook, then head out to finish mapping. I still have a few minutes.

  Only one bank of elevators is on the entire floor. Three main stairwells lead off the floor, but the doors have no handles on the doors and no window into the stairs. What would happen if a fire broke out on the floor? How would we open the doors? Or maybe they would open on their own.

  Except for the rooms. Some of them, anyway. The ones on the exterior of the building offering views of Elpis. We are in Paragon Tower, in the heart of the city.

  I pause a moment outside the elevator and slowly turn around, looking again for a map of the floor or some directional signal. Nothing. Just white walls and gray tiles. The elevator doors are stainless steel like the room doors.r />
  After a moment of biting my lip, I push the button for the elevator. I’m not supposed to leave the floor, but what will happen if I do? The elevator doesn’t respond. A light comes on, but no sound of movement comes from the elevator shaft. I push again.

  “What’re you doin’?”

  I jump at the sound of Miller behind me, spinning to face him, journal clutched tight against my chest. The soft hum of the elevator resounds from behind the closed door.

  Miller snorts. “You aren’t the brightest, are you?”

  The question makes me frown.

  “Five minutes until evening lockdown,” Overwatch says.

  “Go back to your room, kid. You don’t wanna get caught in the hallway after lockdown.”

  “But—”

  “Go. Now.” The edge in his tone makes me confident he means business.

  I clutch my notebook to my chest and slip past him.

  After turning the corner into the next hall, I can hear Miller’s muffled voice. The words are indistinct, but he clearly is arguing with someone else. Part of me wants to go back and investigate. Part of me is afraid.

  Sadly, fear wins out.

  12

  Sleep is fitful. I dream of Mom trying to convince me to come home. Dad telling me how much of a disappointment I am and how I can never listen. Jade tells me the raven perched on a cafeteria table wants to peck out my eyes. As it attacks, Miller stands over me with his arms crossed, telling me he warned me, but I’m too thick to obey. I wake up screaming, sweat beading on my forehead.

  “Good morning Ugene,” Overwatch says as the lights come on, revealing tan walls like home again. “Your scheduled testing will commence in thirty minutes. Please proceed to the cafeteria for breakfast, then return to your room. Participation in testing is compulsory.”

  The lock on the door slides and the door swings open. I grab my shirt and pull it on, then slip into the loafers and obediently head toward the cafeteria with the other test subjects.