by Travis Knoll
I passed through their area and the Unlifes turned their weary faces toward me. They nodded at the other gentlemen that brought me through as some sort of surety that I was OK, and perhaps one of the Uprising, but I wasn't a part of the Uprising. Some of the faces were withdrawn, begging for money, drugs and possessions, or a perceived harbinger for their next big fix to alter their thoughts.
This helped to fuel the rise of the entire subculture class system within them. They were running an underground world that they were waiting on someone to help to govern themselves. The ones that still posed hope through the Uprising, had Life. A Life could fight with the Uprising, and while they were poor, they shunned society the best that they could. Some of them even wore earplugs to drown out the noise they were putting inside them.
We approached a bricked-off area that was covered with artistic satirical portraits of the political regime. A headline above us stated the opposition, claiming that they were opposing the freedoms of citizens. The vestigial words graffitied on the wall exclaimed “fascist!” next to President Johnson’s face. Congressmen's heads were anthropomorphizing a comical rendition of Mt. Rushmore, and above the Congressmen's heads was a phrase that said “Cave Adsum.”
The silent man moved a large dumpster next to a wall and lifted up a thick sheet from behind it that was a couple of feet off the ground. I followed the auspicious men and dog inside of the cavernous-looking room.
The room was dimly lit like a Lifer bar right before curfew. It had a similar-looking underground passageway map on the wall that resembled the same one that I had, but it was more elaborate in the number of the passageways. The shorter, stocky man turned me around and picked the lock on the handcuffs to get them off. The room had a dewy, musty smell, like after a midsummer’s rain had just ended, but it was cozy.
The silent man pointed to a La-Z-Boy for me to sit down. The place seemed to have been carved out of some sort of stone that had bricks lined throughout the small, cavernous abode.
Worn brown corduroy La-Z-Boys pointed in the direction of a high-end computer setup entrenched into the wall. It was adjacent to a very nice modern dog house that rested in the corner with the name Odysseus on the top of it, which Odysseus walked into.
The shorter stocky man walked in front of me dressed in a rugged drab attire, and they both looked like the double mint twins that just got out of the back of a military vehicle. He was thick and broad, shorter than the silent man. He took his hoodie off and disquieted me.
"Heya, pal. I'm Talks, that's Signs," Talks said.
I started to put things together as he pointed to the taller gentlemen that was dressed like him. Talks spoke fast with a quintessential Bostonian accent that got thicker the more his temper flared. I believed Signs was his spiritual healer, a calmer, that resonated inner wisdom, and they worked well together.
"I'm Tax. What's his deal?" I asked.
"He can't talk, we're like a match made in Barney fuken' heaven," Talks said. "And we know who you are," he stated. Signs put his hands together to emulate a prayer and respect toward myself for some reason.
Signs stood by both of us as he pointed to our cell phones. We handed them to him, and he placed them in the microwave.
"It's so he can't track us..." Talks said.
Signs walked by Talks and signed in a rapid manner as Talks tried to translate what he was saying to me.
"We've been watching you for some time now. Do you know where you got that job that you're doing?" Talks asked.
"Listen, fellas, before I say anything, I'm going to need some information, or I'm not saying a word," I said as I stood, thinking how I was going to get out of this place.
"We're what's left of the Uprising, pal... We're the only ones that can help you," Talks said, and nudged me back in the La-Z-Boy. After the last economic collapse and the revolt ended, the President put into law that Lifes who were a part of the Uprising were criminals and they would be locked up, or hung if caught. He pinned the economic collapse on them, and shortly thereafter the taxes were raised. What was left of the Uprising had to disperse, as it made them go into hiding and essentially go rogue, ending the revolution. I heard stories of their effort but was never interested in being a part of any group. I wanted to stay a night walker and off the grid, as I trusted no one, and had no interest in being labeled.
"Fine, I got the information for the job from Black, but you probably knew that," I said defiantly.
Signs hit himself on the forehead, and grabbed his cell phone from the microwave to show me a picture of Black dead. There was a gunshot to his head. Blood was spilling out all over the ground and had soaked into his white dress shirt. The bullet went right through his Rodenstock glasses that he always adjusted when he was condescending towards me. There was no question — it was him, as he even still had his lavish Pateke Phillipe watch on.
"What the hell is going on? Who are you guys?" I demanded.
Signs put the phone back in the microwave to stop him from tracking us.
"Who is doing this?" I asked.
"It's him, don't you see..." Talks said.
Signs walked by Talks and signaled for him to calmly ask me something, as it was insinuated by him continuing to point at me and use sign language.
"Did you complete the software for them to be implemented?" Talks asked.
There was a silence that filled the cavernous dwelling as both of the men stared at me with their arms crossed, like when the teacher in primary school was mad at me for cheating on my test. I had found a better way to find the answers...
"I did, it's complete, but I haven't given it to them yet," I said calmly as I looked into both of their eyes. They both took a deep breath. Signs signaled and Talks translated the information as quickly as he could to me.
"You can't give it to them. You don't understand what it is. It's wicked bad, kid," Talks said as Signs continued to rapidly sign next to him. Talks's Bostonian accent was harder to understand the faster Signs would signal to him, combined with his rising agitation.
"All I know is that it is to give tax cuts back to the people, and it's too late, fellas. I'm going to give it to them," I said.
"Ya fucken' retarduh. You're being naïve, pal. They lied to ya like a couple of Hoodzies at the clubah," Talks said, raising his voice.
They both were quiet and I could feel something drastic had happened. They sat down on the makeshift metal coffee table that was painted in to emulate the center of a Sequoia tree, and the legs were made of aluminum cans and pleated cardboard. Signs placed his hands on his friend Talks’s shoulders, trying to calm him.
"It's to create a new economy, and it’s going to raise the taxes even more in the world to garner complete control of everyone. If you let them implement this, it will peel off and increase taxes from every purchase, but to a raised rate to double that of what they're at now. They lied to you, pal," Talks said vehemently. They were both biting their nails in synchronicity to stay calm.
"You paint a nice rosy picture, but you don't understand. They're holding my girl hostage until it's complete."
"Then they will kill you both," Talks said.
Odysseus whimpered as he looked at Signs with his glassy brown puppy dog eyes. He placed a bowl next to Odysseus's house and filled it with food. Odysseus was eating a premium blue branded dog food and fresh spring water. He ate better than most of the Unlifes that were struggling to eat peas and potatoes.
"If you want your life and to change the economy, you'll have to let them kill her, or risk losing her, pal. This is bigger than you at this point," Talks said.
"I love her, though..." I said, and that was not what they wanted to hear.
I stood up from the La-Z-Boy, and we met eyes, getting into each other’s faces.
"Listen, I appreciate the help back there, but I've been in this game for a while," I said.
"You fool! You think they care about you, or a piece of fuken' marked tail that you're
chasing? They’re not going to let you or anyone stand in the way of their goal," Talks said.
"What the hell is so important anyway?" I asked.
"They've been trying to create a one-world government, and after the Uprising fell, this is essentially their last piece of the puzzle," Talks stated.
"Thanks for the hospitality, gentlemen, but I have a job to finish," I said, and walked to Odysseus to pet him. I grabbed my phone from the microwave.
Signs continued to sign at Talks and motioned for him to tell me something.
"We can help you," Talks said with a calm demeanor.
"Thanks, but I work alone, and I'm running out of time here. I have to get my girl back."
I lifted the matted sheet that partitioned their doorway and looked back at Talks.
"Wait, make sure that you trust no one, and we'll be watching," Talks said as I raised my brow.
"Thanks for the help back there in the alley," I said.
I departed the forgotten area of the city.
March 8, 2035
San Francisco, CA
TaxMan's -- Underground
08:47
The porous feel that dripped throughout the sewer system’s waters pipes falling in a puddle beside me resonated solitude. It was always dark down here. I walked back into my underground lair, took off my hoodie, and Cowboy woke up to look at the time.
"Where the hell have you been, mang?" Cowboy asked. His face screamed hangover, and his mouth smacking the cottonmouth stated that he was intoxicated.
I hurried to the computer and looked at the information we had, and researched transactions in the code that we had done through the night. I didn't want to be a pawn in their game if it was to oppress people further. I didn't know who to believe, if it was to benefit the Unlifes and the Lifes, or was the application going to take the simple freedoms that they had left? What if I was being played as a pawn in some way?
"You have any aspirin?" Cowboy asked. He walked around the BART car with his hands on his head, trying to console his pounding headache.
"Top drawer on the left," I said. Cowboy grabbed an aspirin from the closet.
"And where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick," Cowboy said. He washed the aspirin down with a sip of his buddy, putting more hair on the dog.
"Black is dead," I stated.
"What the heck? How long was I asleep?"
"Listen, whoever is in charge is going to make the software run with the current tax system, and peel off from the Lifers to raise the tax rate in the world even more. They lied, and they're going to pin it on us..."
"Where did you go exactly?" Cowboy asked in a bit of a daze.
I got a message from an anonymous number that asked how progress with the software was going. I slammed my phone on the counter, furious. I paced back and forth, pausing to think how I could get my girl back and get out of this.
I texted back that I was packaging the product now, but would need a bit more time.
Text message received read: -- Tick, Tick, Tick. -- The text was followed up with a picture of my girl bound and gagged with a knife being held underneath her throat, and clearly in a different location. The text stated to make it work, and that we would meet tomorrow.
Cowboy looked at the picture of Stephanie, holding the phone in one hand and what was left of his previous beer in the other.
"We shouldn't trust this guy, mang," Cowboy said.
"Yeah, well, I don't think we have any other options at this point, and if you can think of one, I'm all ears, but I'm not risking her life."
"We don't know who this guy is, and you want to drop this package to his place."
"They'll let us know more shortly. I'll exchange it for her and get all of us out of this mess. Maybe we'll all go to Greece."
"Pump the brakes, cowboy. You need to take yourself out of the equation."
"What? This isn't about me."
"You're right, this is about you being the only one that knows the secret sauce that was placed inside and how to manipulate that code. After you text them it's finished, you need to let your ol' buddy Cowboy drop it off."
"Not an option. They could kill you."
"Exactly, they could kill you. Keep the code inside you and the algorithm on the flash drive, and I will grab the girl, drop this project off, and finish this darn thing."
Cowboy handed me the flash drive with the algorithm on it. As a way to get back in to nest inside the software, it would be the only way to alter the current algorithm. My attention was continually drawn to the painting that Stephanie painted for me. I couldn't let her down, I thought. Cowboy put his hand on my shoulder.
"You're just too important at this point, bud," Cowboy said.
"Fine, you go, but how will they know that it’s me?"
"You're funny. I don't reckon that you dress like a celebrity, mang. You wear almost the same dang hoodies every day. You just make sure that everything works and let ol' Cowboy ride this bronc."
"It'll be taken care of."
I sent a text message to the anonymous number stating everything was ok and I would bring the packaged application to them on a flash drive, and to meet tomorrow. “Let me know where is best to meet,” I wrote.
Almost immediately a text message replied “we will let you know around noon tomorrow the exact location to meet. Make sure that you're alone and that everything works, or we will find you...”
"Hey, mang, you're planning on making a copy of the real software, right?"
"The only way is in the back-end security secret sauce that I placed on it, and the algorithm here is the only backup that can make it run, and be able to manipulate the application," I said, and held up a metallic flash drive that harbored the algorithm. I took my sneaker off; underneath in the center was a secret compartment that I placed the flash drive in.
March 8, 2035
San Francisco, CA
TaxMan's -- Underground
08:57
The software was packaged and complete. I placed all the files in a compact secure flash drive and handed them to Cowboy for the drop. He adjusted his shiny rodeo-style belt buckle with a cowboy roping a steer, that was equal parts silver and gold. He took off his snap shirt that was throwback to the 1960s, or his rendition of a California cowboy, and glanced at my wardrobe.
Cowboy smiled as he pulled one of my blue hoodies from my closet and placed it over his white undershirt. He looked at me with a sense of enthusiasm.
"I'm your twin, right?" Cowboy said.
"Hold up, bro," I said, taking the cowboy hat off his head. We both stood next to each other and peered into a mirror. His hair was thinning in parts, probably from wearing that cowboy hat all the time — it was cooking his melon.
"I don't think I've ever seen you without your cowboy hat. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend," I said as I put the hood over his head.
"Perfecto," I stated, and we both laughed.
I texted the anonymous person’s number, stating that the product was ready to drop off, and to make sure that Stephanie was ready to be picked up. I also texted them asking for the location.
The anonymous number texted back the location: “-- in the Tenderloin -- in front of the Coronado Motel off Ellis. If at any time in the future the application isn't working, we'll come for you,” the text stated.
I texted back stating that it would work.
The anonymous number texted back: “The girl will be let go after the drop is complete. Place the flash drive in a small brown trash bag and put it in the trash can across from the motel. At that point we will get it. Be sure to come alone, and remember we have eyes everywhere.”
I turned my head to Cowboy as he zipped up the hoodie with a rodeo cowboy never-say-die attitude on his face.
"Do I look like ya?" Cowboy asked as he glanced at the flash drive with the packaged file to be dropped off.
March 8, 2035
San Franci
sco, CA
Coronado Motel -- Tenderloin
11:58
On the corner of Ellis, in the heart of the city of San Francisco's Tenderloin, congregating in the area were Unlifes that had taken over the region. They'd built up their places to look like, in their minds, lavish establishments that were made of cardboard boxes decorated to personalize their likeness, as the new working class. The addicts class of Unlifes were lying on the streets, separated from the rest of the communities, sprawled hopeless, as they gave up and decided to do drugs. This was what he wanted...
The graffiti was entrenched around the streets and shared the same theme throughout the city, telling of the need of the Uprising. The current political powers that had let the people down were sprayed across the tops of the buildings in a satirical manner with big inflated heads full of their money popping out of their heads with small bodies to support them to emulate bobble heads. President Johnson was depicted pointing his existential finger at them with puppet strings attached to his arms and legs.
Some of the middle-aged Unlifes, in their mid-thirties, were shooting heroin on the streets. They were in designated shooting zones that had been allowed by a government mandate for Unlifes to be able to do their drugs, and let the population thin themselves. Some of the single-mother Lifers with a high intellectual predisposition were changing clothes in their outdated Lifer run-down sedans into more alluring Lycra skintight dresses that accentuated their figures, and drew in the Lifers to pay their back taxes. An affluent Mercedes Benz AMG 65 parked in a back alley with a Lifer prostitute’s head bobbing up and down was scattered in truth, but only for the upper-class Lifers to take two minds at once, and it was all legal in this area. Businesses had turned into backstreet bodegas, and hustlers flipped anything they could get their hands on to make money. The small businesses were all forced to close because of the tax agenda, as small business wasn’t supported by the government anymore.
