by Travis Knoll
The three of us ran up from the train stop, raced to an outlet, and found a charging station next to the Je T’aime French Cafe to charge our phones in. A band started playing in the corner an amalgamation of some sort of percussion mixed with a bohemian rap, which was forbidden at any time of day walking. Lifers were only allowed to listen to what they were told. A Half-Life danced in front of the band playing, as he put his hat out for tips. A security guard rushed to them and stopped the music and dancing. He gave them a citation, as nothing was allowed like this in public, and music was only permitted during non-Lifer, day walking hours.
I didn't care right now, as it pulled the attention from us. We were huddled in the corner next to the cafe.
"We need to get this money out and back to Lifes," I said.
I typed my pin number in to gain access to my offshore account that everything was routed to. The applications algorithm had been consistently depositing money into the account and now had accumulated well over ten million dollars.
"Holy fuck," I said. A beautiful black Lifer woman passed by in front of us, and raised her brow at me.
"He doesn't get out much, sorry, ma'am, but you're a wicked pissa hoodsie," Talks said. The woman continued to walk with her chin raised, as if any of us knew what he was saying.
"So what the hell do we do now?" Talks asked.
"We have to give it back to the people. It’s the only way to clear our name, and break the chains for some of these Lifers," I said.
"How do we get the money in the first place?" Talks asked.
"We need to find a CashBase to wire the money from my account to get the cash out, and then we can pick up the cash there, it's the only way to get cash," I said. This was allowed so they could track and tax people that were using and bringing cash into the system.
"Won't they be able to trace us when we get the money through the CashBase?" Talks asked.
That's what we want. If the government sees that we're being traced, they can see who is really taking the money: them, Signs signaled.
"He's right. Then this will give us a platform to let both the Lifers and Unlifes know that the Uprising is going to help them."
I looked up a CashBase in a different part of town that we wouldn't be immediately recognized. There was one in Harlem, and we could pick up and transfer funds there.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
Harlem -- Train
15:22
We were in a seedy neighborhood in Harlem, New York. The corner store check stops, gang members that flipped the new-wave drug to the Unlifes that had been released to the masses on the corner of the rampant homeless population. The area was artistically graffitied like other areas around the city, but in a prideful manner. It stated who they were, or marked pickups locations for the new-wave drugs. On the top of a lot of the buildings was the term Cave Adsum, stating the Uprising was here.
The problem was the drugs took over these communities in the area. I could tell that I was out of place, like when I would to try mingle with Stephanie's art studio friends. This was the perfect place to be concealed, as the different struggles that we faced on the outside were what made us the same on the inside.
"You couldn't have found a better place?" Talks asked.
"No one will look for us here. It's perfect and you know it," I said.
A gated-off window and building that had the CashBase logo, which was a pile of cash lying on a metaphorical home plate on the outside, was outlined in yellow and placed on a blue building with fenced security and steel gated windows that had Half-Lifes working.
I gave one of the tellers behind the counter the transaction number for the money. The guy punched in the number. The totals popped up and stated the transaction was for a million dollars.
"A million dollars?!" the teller yelled with his eyes wide.
The rest of the Half-Lifes perked up in the CashBase. They stopped what they were doing and all turned their attention to the three of us that now truly stuck out like a sore thumb. This wasn't the right part of town to be carrying a million dollars around in, but CashBase was the only way to get cash.
A Half-Life was someone that had part of their own thoughts, but were stuck in the Lifer society's grid. Their marks showed signs of wearing off because they were trying to remove them on their own. These Half-Lifes were dangerous to society's Lifer structure as they played both sides and were willing to join the Uprising.
A Half-Life stood up and looked at the three of us; he squinted his eyes and walked quickly, pointing at me.
"Hey, wait a minute I know utz guyz, you're the ones on da news," a Half-Life in the background stated.
"Yeah, yeah, that’s right, da cop killers," another Half-Life in the back of the shop said.
"We've never hurt anyone, and to be honest we're looking to give this money back to the Lifes, as they stole all of our freedoms," I said.
"I heard that there's a reward out for you tax takers," the Half-Life said as he got even closer to me. He pulled a toothpick out of his mouth, examining my camouflage, in his thoughts thinking what he could get.
"You've read in the instapress. If you turn people in then you're turning yourself in as well," I said, and the Half-Lifes were silenced. You could tell that their thoughts were consumed by the money that was in my account.
Rabbits chase carrots, dogs sit for bones, fish swim to worms and Lifers kill for cash...
"I will give everyone here ten grand, if you provide us some security," I said.
They paused and crowded around each other quickly as they whispered something.
"Hurry up, ya Yanks, doesn't take all day," Talks shouted.
"We got ya," the Half-Life stated, and peered at Talks, which I guess was a common sign of respect of people in rival cities.
The teller transferred the money in an enclosed case that had saran wrap on it and was to be traced by the government. They tracked transactions through the CashBase to be taxed later in hopes that Lifers would make a mistake and penalize them with more taxes later in the year. This was what they needed to draw people's attention with the allure of money. Everyone's eyes glistened as they looked at the coveted cash with a large smile. Cash kills thoughts... I handed them each their agreed $10k, and glanced around the place. I noticed that they had some old TV tubes and run-down electronics equipment tucked away in the corner storage area.
"Can we set up a media relay here as well?" I asked.
"Media relay?" Talks furrowed his brow in confusion.
"This is a perfect spot. We will have the broadcast blasted onto the Times Square billboard to let people know what is going on, and this cash is for them," I said.
"Do your thang," the Half-Life teller stated as he played the green-backed violin in his hands, counting the cash.
Talks and Signs were attracted to the media system like I was to the tax system. They had hacked into the Halftime show during the Super Bowl when the President was speaking. It was quickly shut down, but garnered them notoriety in the Uprising circles, and they were never pinned. Signs was a decorated communications operative in the military and knew the ins and out of most media systems. This was also how he got his neck scar; he called it the silencer. They put him on a no-win mission hoping he would die because he knew to much, but you couldn’t kill Signs. Talks was always there to make sure the job was complete.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
Harlem -- CashBase
16:17
Signs pulled the sheet off the DJ and media equipment because of the powers that be had outlawed independent sound creation, so this was where they concealed it. I blew the dust off the hardware in the CashBase shop. I had to tell Talks and Signs the truth of the money I had.
"Hey fellas, I started a non-profit and the rest of the funds will be going to Lifes," I said.
"Whose name is on it?" Talks asked.
"My mother so no on
e could track us," I said.
"So if anything goes wrong, your mother is a gazillionaire and she doesn't even know it," Talks said. The other people in the room were befuddled at the talk of money.
"It's under the name Steponme, and don't worry, your names are on it in case that anything happens to me. Just free the people," I said. They shook my hand, knowing that I was here to help.
Signs and Talks used the computer at the CashBase to break into the media control live link center in Times Square to have myself streamed live in front of every Life->Lifer->Half-Life->Unlife that was there. I was a tad camera shy, as I had a hood on everywhere I went for the past I don't know how many years.
"You'll only have about two minutes and they'll be able to shut you down at that point.”
The guys at the CashBase pulled out and set up their older-model camera, and I was ready to be streamed live. I was positioned in the corner of the room and I had no idea what to think at this point— perhaps it was better not to think at all.
"Are you sure that you want to do this, pal?" Talks asked.
We both knew that this would expose me for Life, and there was no putting the hood back on. I was going to be the first Life celebrity. I just nodded my head, as it was the only way at this point.
The video feed interrupted the main broadcast billboard in Times Square, and everyone that walked on the busy streets of Manhattan stopped for a second and peered up at the screen. I took the hood off my head. I preached to the people that the governments across the globe had been lying to us about our taxes, and that they were the ones that had killed these people to push their agenda forward at any cost. They had pinned these crimes on me as a scapegoat. I was a free-Life and I would prove my innocence.
The Lifes, Lifers, Unlifes and Half-Lifes congregated as the taxicabs that flourished in the city came to a stop on the street and everyone watched the monitors.
"The great people of this country need to know that I am innocent, and you're free. I am going to drop a million dollars of your money from a designated location in around an hour’s time, and will let you know more then. It will be during curfew, but they can't arrest us all, so take back what is yours. There will be no curfew today! This is your money that they're taking, so you might as well come take it back."
The broadcast ended.
"Thanks, T," the teller and other Half-Lifes in the CashBase said as they exchanged a hug with me. I peered at Signs and Talks and they knew, as I did, I was going to venture down this path on my own this time.
"We will monitor and stream you from here, and let the instapress know the information to tell the Lifes. I will let you know when to broadcast yourself from your phone," Talks said.
"OK, I will have my phone ready," I said, and patted Odysseus on the head.
"We'll go live in an hour," Talks said.
The teller at the CashBase handed the cash to me in a discreet green duffel bag.
"You'll blend in better, best of luck," the teller stated.
March 13, 2035
New York, New York
Empire State Building
17:55
I remembered the sky was grey as I looked up at the top of the Empire State Building with the army duffle bag slung over my shoulder. Lifers had no idea what was in store for them that day, and we were all about to break curfew.
A bottom-class homeless Unlife on the corner that was a part of the beleaguered populace of drug Unlifes yelled, "Jesus saves," continuously. The man had an endearing but concerned expression as he continued to say, "Jesus saves." He shook a bit of the homemade hooch in his hand, which splashed on my skin, feeling almost like the burning of acid and making the potency singe my nostrils. It smelled like potatoes, as a lot of the bottom class Unlifes were still very intelligent, but their thoughts were taken by the drugs and alcohol. They would brew potato hooch, or hoochie, as the Unlife stated between “Jesus saves” spouts. They thought that the hooch would give them the nutrition and desired buzz they needed-it did and did not. Alcohol was never labeled a drug, as it was the most powerful thought-controlling device that they used to create Unlifes and weed the population out.
"Do you want to change your life today?" I asked the Unlife. I drew his attention from the high-octane hooch, and he quietly nodded his head.
"Put that bottle down and stay here in this spot for the next hour and I guarantee that your life will change today," I said to the Unlife. I was surprised that he actually put the bottle down.
Around the city there were Lifers chattering of a man that was going to drop tax money from a location somewhere around the city. They stated that it was because of the corruption of the government that had taken all of their money and was lying to the people.
I peered through the tourist binocular’s scope and glanced at the city skyline from atop the Empire State Building at the hopeful Lifes. What they hated the most was hope-they wanted all Lifers to believe in what was right in front of them, and take it because there was no hope for anyone. The hazy skyline of the city of Manhattan cleared as I stood atop the Empire State Building and peered at those hopeful Lifes. I adjusted the bag of money that was slung over my right shoulder.
The curfew intercom alarm came on, and the speaker stated to keep your eyes on the prize, telling the people this was their thirty-minute warning. It ended as it always did, with the operatic rendition of "You're a slave for me." This time, however, things were a bit different; some of the people were using their own thoughts, and not being hypnotized, and you could tell they were fighting the implanted thoughts being put there.
I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone to text Signs that I was ready to stream myself through the phone. The text came back that they were ready when I was. I took a breath and held the phone up to my face with the picturesque skyline that adorned the New York City cityscape illustrating my background.
I held up the phone as my image was projected on the main LED billboard of Times Square in the center of the square. The view represented that I was on the top of the Empire State Building. I waved at everyone with an emphatic smile and opened the bag with the money in it to show them. The Lifers ignored the curfew intercom completely. The allure of money was apparently almost as powerful as the attraction of sexual lust.
"I'm on the east side of the Empire State Building," I said.
The thought of money procured the thought of coming back to Life inside the people. They scattered immediately and ran toward the Empire State Building. The walking dead became harmoniously alive...
"Break your chains that were put on you, my friends. I am not the one that has done this to you, but the government has lied to you and here is your money back," I exclaimed with a smile.
I pointed at the video from the phone in slow motion and revealed the bag of money. I took a large handful of cash and threw it over the side of the Empire State Building.
"It's yours, come and get it..." I yelled into the phone.
The wind picked up as I lifted up the bag and started to pour the money onto the ground. The money gave the appearance of a tranquil snow dancing in a winter’s snow globe that had just been shaken.
"It's all yours, come and get it," I yelled.
The bottom-class homeless Unlife at the base of the Empire State Building stood up and glanced at the hundred-dollar bills floating in front of him. A rush toward Life of all classes approached the building. The bottom-class homeless Unlife had money falling throughout his hands, and empathically said, "Thank you Jesus!" as Lifers raced around him to pick up money.
The top elevator door of the building chimed and opened to the outside of the massive building overlooking the city. A nicely dressed older man in a dark suit and black trench coat walked behind me. He patiently watched me film and pour the rest of the money onto the city streets.
The breeze picked up and feathered through his hair as I turned to look at the man’s face. I dropped the empty duffle bag and shook my h
ead confused and in disbelief of what I saw...
"Father..?" I asked.
"You're a wise boy, Son, much like me, but you’re meddling with things that you can't possibly comprehend. This is the wrong peoples’ affair, and you can't hide from them."
"Why? Where the hell have you been?" I asked.
"Robert Frost once wrote: ‘The Road Not Taken, two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both.’ I don't believe this, however, as I believe that our paths are numbered from birth, you'll see," my father said in a calm demeanor.
I was speechless of what transpired in the first place. He put a pair of leather black gloves on and pulled out what appeared to be a silenced pistol and pointed it directly at me.
"Wait, stop!" I yelled.
He unrelentingly pulled the trigger, shooting a tranquilizer dart into my chest. The gunshot’s force took the wind out of me, and I thrust my arms to extend outward, emulating the apparent painting that Stephanie did of a man standing in a crucifix over an ambivalent cityscape. I fell to the ground with the phone firmly gripped in my right hand, continuing to stream, and knocked my head.
My father stood over me and cleaned the barrel of the gun, unscrewing the silencer, and holstered it underneath his left arm. I remembered as my eyes faded open and close, as I watched him mouth the words, "ad maius bonum," my father’s perpetual last words. He continued as he said, "I will tell your mother hello for you."
My eyes faded closed. He walked to the security guard and pointed that he should arrest me. He left in the elevator, and the security guard arrested me while I was clean knocked out.
The entire city watched as I held the phone camera to my face firmly. My hand clenched the still streaming video at my closed eyes. I was streamed on the billboard over Times Square and wherever there was a connection to the Internet.
