Dream On

“–TIMES AS MUCH CALCIUM AS THE NEXT LEADING BRAND! So remember, with coffee or cereal or on its own, drink Alpha Cow Milk early and often!” The words blaring from the Sony ZXL alarm clock thudded all too audibly against Niki’s skull. Without opening her eyes, she grabbed her phone off the floor, opened the C-Life app and closed it immediately, then opened her eyes to confirm her receipt of the Early-Bird badge for logging in before 6:30. She folded her pillow over her ears at the start of KROTOS’ newest hit, fumbling with her free hand for the power cord. Unwilling to entertain the Smart-Snooze feature today, she yanked it out of the wall. It was mornings like this, and only mornings like this, that the lack of square footage in her Lilliputian apartment seemed a blessing, making her journey to the bathroom sink just bearable. She rolled gracelessly out of bed and onto the floor, hoping that the thud would jolt her into consciousness. It did… sort of. As she uncapped and removed the foil seal from her new tube of Colgate Ultra-Polish, her mirror flashed green at the edges, and she swiped to reveal the text from AJ, “Up so early?”

               “Ciroc Green Apple,–” she began to dictate her reply through the foam filling her mouth, as a coupon for 20% off Ciroc Green Apple started to scroll across the top of her mirror “–has become the bane of my fucking existence,” she finished brushing and hit send. The coupon disappeared before it reached the edge of the mirror and was replaced by a stationary tap-to-purchase ad for Mom’s Ready-Made Hangover Cure: “A day’s rest in a bottle!” or so the slogan went.

               Tired of looking at her reflection, she got a Seattle’s Best: Micro-Cold Brew from the fridge and flipped on the TV. “In other news, it appears that the Turing Test: the test that determines if a robot can pass for human, has officially been trumped by the newest household helper from L.G. Electronics. The robotic companion they’re calling AMI has the potential to provide care for the elderly as well as help out around the house for anyone who wants an extra hand or even just some spare company. And… this just in,” the reporter pretended to hold her hand to her ear as if the information was anything but canned, “She only costs $49,999 which, in this reporter’s opinion, is more than reasonable for what revolutionary technology is provided here… by AMI. Truly we live in an age where anything–” Niki switched off the television when it became painfully clear that L.G. had scripted the entire news release from start to finish and, worse, decided not to splurge on the anchor.

               Zg-Zg-Zg… ZZZg. Her Nike 1st Place Coach waistband repeated the custom vibration pattern. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. You anal retentive dick,” she muttered, then looked down to the notification, “Awww, balls.”

               “TODAY IS YOUR DAY!” read the training app’s display, “Time to finish your training. 0.0 of 26.5 miles completed.” Today absolutely had to be the day her marathon training would come to an end. She briefly but heavily considered skipping the run altogether, but was reminded that doing so would forgo a veritable trove of Cherry-Gold–more commonly referred to as C-Gold–C-Life’s digital currency. This one run would rocket her ahead of AJ and keep her ahead of him long enough to gloat for at least a month.

               After putting on her running clothes, she remembered the mirror, rushed to it and tapped the ad twice, hesitated for a moment, and tapped it again. She proceeded to head out the door and took her apartment’s elevator up to the drone-zone. She heard the whirring blades get louder as she neared the rooftop. “Jesus, they sound like they’re really going at it today. What on earth could be so heavy?” she remarked to herself, “Did someone order the entire IKEA catalogue?” When the elevator doors slid open, Niki almost tripped backwards at the sight: twelve or thirteen women, encased in transparent coffins. Her immediate reaction was to try and help: call 911 or rush to get them out. Then she thought she had to be dreaming. After all, things like this just don’t happen. Not in 22nd century America, anyway. Then she spotted the L.G. logo on the side. “AMI…” she whispered to herself, “AMI’s,” rolling her eyes at herself, adding the plural as an afterthought.

               She shook her head rapidly as if to clear a fog from her brain. The jerk provided her a powerful sting from the previous night’s decisions to take her eighth, ninth, and tenth, shots of Ciroc Green Apple. The crippling pain was an express ticket back to reality, and she looked skywards to find her Amazon Royalty card paying for itself in full as the custom-colored neon pink drone came buzzing in with three bottles of Mom’s Ready-Made Hangover Cure, glimmering in the sunlight. Manna from fucking heaven, she thought.

II

               The chime of the digital trumpet had never sounded so sweet or been such a relief to finally hear. She kept with the pace she’d set for herself and what’s more, traversed three terrains, earning her the 1.1x C-Gold-multiplying Globe-Trotter badge, even if the second terrain was just a 10 minute stretch of beach before returning to the road. But, reaching the third meant exiting cell service and a thousand-foot climb into the trees far outside of town, which technically counted as “trail” even though she was still jogging on asphalt. She was glad that she had started so early because the sun was already beginning to set and she’d need to walk to somewhere with a landline to call for an Auto-Lyft back home. She hadn’t seen anything for ten miles behind her but a sun-bleached street sign 1.3 miles back informing her that the generic “FOOD” would be available in 5 miles. She decided to enjoy her runner’s high and revel in fantasies of unabashed sententious gloating, never to exit the realm of her imagination, such as she assured herself.

               The beauty and romance of the thick forest lining both sides of the bucolic road wore off before the end of the second walking mile when she began to realise just how hungry she was. “I know, I know. You’re tired of me only feeding you adrenaline and Gatorade gummies,” she replied to her stomach’s rumbling, which reminded her of a soft and pining coo from a baby bird to its mother. Niki began to address each part of her body as she became intimately aware of the existence of every limb, bone, and tendon creaking and pulsing. The taste of metal grew in her mouth, then waned and traveled through her cheeks to her brain, where it waxed into a rhythmic iron throb. This too, she began to converse with and projected short responses onto it, each pulse a new syllable or pregnant pause.

               The last mile to the restaurant passed with ease as Niki became entirely preoccupied, carrying on a symphony of conversations with her anatomical interlocutors. By the end, even spinning dramas and feuds between opposing aching organs, then trying to mediate the petty spats and quarrels. She was only broken from her intricate fancy when, upon rounding a sharp bend, she was blinded by the brilliant light of the flickering beacon.

               “Phở Betor,” she read aloud, “Jesus, my generation is doomed. We can’t even be bothered to spell check huge neon signs anymore. I read somewhere that Phở is full of tons of minerals and phytonutrients, whatever those are. Supposed to be the next miracle food or something. Get in line, am I right?” The unanswered interrogative illuminated to Niki the embarrassing discovery that she was still talking to herself aloud.

               “I’d like a…” she paused, licking her lips, unable to choose from the scores of items on the menu. Every underexposed and oversaturated amateur food photo seemed an ambrosial proxy for desperately needed calories.

               “Number 11, large,” said the old man behind the counter, with a stern nod.

               “Yes. Thank you,” she smiled sweetly in appreciation of his understanding. Her smile quickly slid to the floor and dissolved when she realised that she hadn’t bothered to bring her credit card. Why would she have? It was the rare establishment in the city whereat one couldn’t scan their phone to pay for anything and everything. Even in those few boutique shops where you couldn’t, it was only ever a hundred paces to an ATM. She padded her lack of pockets in desperation. The man recognised the universal signal of distress. Niki’s mind began to race aloud, “I can wire you the money or if you have a personal account, I know it’s not strictly speaking legal but I really need… I mean if I could… Do…” her pleas trailed off into a creased and sunscorched visage verging on tears. The old man held up his right hand for her to stop, gestured towards the door with his left, and proceeded to put a lighter, a pot of green tea, and two sets of cutlery on a plastic tray.

               Still sweating, Niki removed the waistband and set it on the railing by the table at which she was seated. The band was supposed to be “life-proof,” but because her phone hadn’t logged the last portion of her run, she wasn’t going to risk her only evidence of her marathon succumbing to water– or rather, sweat damage. The old man returned after several minutes with two bowls of steaming soup which they enjoyed mostly in silence beneath the space heater as the sun bowed out beneath the pines. “Fortune cookie?” the old man produced two from his apron pocket and proffered one to Niki. “No thanks,” she declined respectfully.

               “I’m not one for sweets, but I enjoy reading the papers inside and proving them wrong. Here, look at this one. ‘Your love life will soon take an unexpected turn for the better.’ Hah! I’ll have been widowed for 22 years next April and you’re the only girl to cross my path in months… and you’re just about half a century too young for me.”

               Niki couldn’t help but produce a twinkling though tired laugh, “I don’t pay too much attention to those things.”

               “Bah. Just as well. The ones others write for you are rarely any good.”

               Zg-Zg-Zg… ZZZg. The reminder to return to civilisation and sync her run made her shudder. She looked at the blinking red display out of the corner of her eye and reflected on how pleasant this brief reprieve from the sempiternal cacophony of “life” had been. Then from a perch in the darkness, a large raven glided into view and, without slowing or glancing back, snatched the waistband from the railing. Niki winced and drew in a sharp breath.

               She quickly thanked the old man for the hospitality and blushed when she imagined how ridiculous she must have looked: half dead from fatigue, full of Phở, with barely any sunlight left. And here she was, running after a stupid bird into the woods without a working phone.

               “We all have our callings,” the old man said, with an expectant smile on his face. Niki pondered the statement for a second, freely expressing her confusion, “Yours is obviously to be a runner! Better get going!” he said with a laugh that Niki could still hear for a few seconds after jogging across the road and entering the forest.

               The raven was perched on a high branch, visible exclusively by the underlying ominous glow from the blinking display. As she reached the base of the tree, the raven cawed and flew deeper into the darkness.

               “Really making me work for it aren’t you?” she asked the raven, and was reminded of the many one sided conversations she’d carried out just a couple of hours before. The raven cawed back. He certainly wasn’t making it hard for her to find him. Niki amused herself with the notion that she might receive another badge for her belt traversing an entirely new terrain, that of the open sky. “As The Crow Flies,” it would be called.

               Two hours later and Niki was still vacillating between turning around and continuing to pursue the aerial belt-thief she’d come to name “Bird Brain.” Though at this juncture, she was beginning to doubt if the bird’s puerility, which had garnered it the name, was merely chance or projection. While attempting to rationalise her continued hunt, she harkened back to her brief education of high school-level economics. The term “sunk-cost” rang in her head.

               Does that mean that I should keep going? Do I want to avoid sinking further? And why do I feel like it’s a fallacy? The raven cawed once again from the distance.

               “I’m coming Bird Brain! Don’t get your damn feathers in a bunch,” she checked her phone. It was nearly midnight and she still had no service, but the air was surprisingly warm. She looked up to see that the bird had stopped in a moonlit clearing, with soft grass surrounding the base of the wiry tree on which he sat and the waistband blinking on the ground in front of him. She tipped an imaginary hat to him, curtsied (not without difficulty for her muscles were on the brink of total dissolution), then dove for the waistband.

               She put it on, vowing never to make the same mistake should she receive the opportunity. The raven flew from the branch and perched atop the mouth of a small cave, just at the other edge of the clearing, surrounded by white poppies that glowed in the moonlight. Bird Brain cawed one last time before disappearing into the night as Niki flipped off his silhouette in every way she knew how. She turned on the flashlight on her phone which she had neglected to use earlier in order to conserve her dwindling battery. Investigating the cave revealed that nothing had lived there in recent history. She curled up into a ball, appreciative of the hot night.

               “Thank you, global warming,” she yawned to the roof of the cave. “I’ll honor you by not recycling for a whole week when I get back.”

III

               After waking up doubly as sore as before, Niki began to recall quite possibly the strangest dream of her life. Far from her usual, nearly nightly dreams that followed rather linear, if not bizarre, paths, this one seemed fractured, like a corrupted movie file. It skipped and jumped around. First she was in a bed, having an anhedonic shag with a guy who should have been blowing her mind, according to the average pattern of her dreams. She was parched. Then she was in a bar and the guy from the bed was buying her a drink. “–Rum and Coke for the lady,” God, his voice was douchey.

               “Coke-Victory alright?”

               “You know it, my man. Only the best for this fine thing,” she couldn’t believe that those kinds of compliments worked for her dream self.

               Wait a minute. Coke Victory? What the fuck is that? she thought to herself, recalling the beverage permeating her dream.

               “You know what they say, Coca-Cola Victory is the drink of nations,” said the future coital disappointment to the bartender.

               “The drink of our generation,” replied the bartender with a wink.

               What is that supposed to mean, ‘The drink of our generation,’? Niki continued to remember the dream and no matter how hard she tried, her brain would not re-order the events. It was as if they were intended to be out of place. And the slogan kept ringing in her head, “The drink of nations.” Niki closed her eyes and tried to focus on the dream. Upon doing so, she could almost remember the taste of the drink. She tripped, crawled, and limped back to the road. Then entered the quiet Phở shop and greeted the old man, who sat in the corner reading the Sunday paper.

               “Good morning. The phone is on the counter. Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked without looking up from his paper.

               “Maybe…” Niki replied in a daze, still contemplating the meaning of the dream that played on and on in her head. She dialed up an Auto-Lyft and sat down with the old man while she waited for the car to arrive.

               “There’s supposed to have been quite a ruckus in the city last night. All over a bottle of pop,” the old man still didn’t look up from his paper. Niki felt a shiver run down her back.

               “Apparently the Coca-Cola Corporation was keeping the whole thing under wraps for some big reveal. I can’t really see anyone getting worked up about a drink, so I don’t know why they felt they needed to keep it a secret. They’re calling the whole thing the ‘ad blitz of the century.’ A little premature in my opinion, seeing how the century has only just begun,” he finished with a coughing chuckle.

               “When did all this happen?”

               “Midnight on the dot, our time. Hey listen to this, Coca-Cola calls it, ‘The drink of our generation.’ I think they’re talking about me!” He winked and laughed again. “I’d say they’re betting on the wrong horse if they are. Not many octogenarians willing to put up good dough for pop, I’d wager,” Niki’s hands began to shake and she felt sick and tense in her gut.

               “Ooooh,” the old man gasped, feigning excitement, “They had a patriotic pyrotechnics display, too. Fireworks over the bay for all the flags of the world. There’s still tea in the pot if you’d like any.”

               “No thanks. I’m feeling quite sick, actually,” she whispered slowly, disconnected. The car arrived, and she got up and left without saying goodbye. Notifications flooded in as she descended into cell range. Zg-Zg– she jumped at her waistband’s vibration. It lit up green and congratulated her on the successful sync. She frantically squirmed and twisted in her seat, finally freeing herself from it. She rolled the window halfway down, stuck the belt out into the morning air and let it go, then thinking better of it, she grasped it tightly at the last second. She was reminded of the raven clutching it effortlessly in his talons and drew her hand back quickly, banging it on the window. The memory and stinging pain on the back of her hand caused her to curl into a ball in the back seat, facing the windshield. A red, white, and blue mega-zeppelin in the shape of a coke bottle spanned the majority of the horizon. Niki closed her eyes and shivered. After the car finally slowed and docked at the port of her apartment, she leapt out and slammed the door and the automated message played on to the empty back seat, “Thank you for your business, valued customer, Niki Soohtyko. Have a nice day,” it always mispronounced the last name.

               “Niki!”

               Niki literally jumped at her name and then fell to the ground on a cramping leg.

               “Holy crap, are you okay?! Where have you been? I was blowing you up last night seeing if you wanted to go to the Coke Victory parade, or the Coke Victory fireworks show, or any of the hundred bars around the city giving out free Coke drinks,” she looked up at AJ’s familiar boxy jaw, , and furrowed brow, wearing a concerned smile.

               “AJ, there’s no one’s ugly mug I’d rather be looking up at right now.”

               “Want some help inside, you crazy health-nut?”

               The limping quartet of legs stepped off of the elevator and burst through the door to Niki’s apartment.

               “AJ, weird shit has been going on. Weirder than weird. I’m scared out of my God damned mind right now and I really need someone to talk to.”

               “I can damn well see you’re scared. You jumped three feet in the air when I called your name. Is this some serious shit? Like, ‘sit-down-and-grab-a-coke-undivided-attention’ serious? Where the hell have you been?” Niki shuddered at the word “Coke.” AJ continued, “Last night was a big night. A lot went down. Did something happen to you?”

               Niki explained her whole day and night, going through every last detail she could remember, step by step, making sure to mention times and points of reference in critical detail.

               “You know I love you, but you realise you sound batshit insane right now, right?” AJ took a coffee from the fridge.

               “I know exactly how I sound, okay? That doesn’t make anything I’ve said any less true. There’s no way I could have dreamt those slogans unless I… I don’t know, work for Coke or something.”

               “I’m gonna admit, it’s pretty weird. You’re not one to get freaked out too easily.”

               “Since then, I’ve been thinking about the rest of my dreams. Maybe this isn’t just a onetime thing.”

               “Nooooww we’re back to crazy again.”

               “Be a buddy and humor me for the duration of this conversation at least, will ya? Look: either I’m a friend of yours going through a psychotic break down, in which case I could obviously use someone to reach out to, or I’m actually onto something totally crazy and fucked up.”

               “Fine. Shoot, kid.”

               “When was the last time you dreamt aside from last night?”

               “I guess it was the night before that.”

               “What did you dream about?”

               “Uh…Niki?”

               “I don’t need to know every last disgusting detail. Just tell me what happened!”

               “Okay, I slept with a redhead.”

               “What was her name?”

               “Not a clue. Don’t take me for some heartless–”

               “How about the color of the bed? The walls?”

               “Your guess would be exactly as good as mine.”

               “What did her voice sound like? Do you remember what the weather was like? What city were you in?”

               “No idea. No idea. No idea.”

               “Condom brand?”

               “Durex. Wait… What the fuck?”

               “What kind?”

               “The new–”

               “What kind of shoes were you wearing?”

               “Taglioni’s. Can–”

               “What kind?”

               “Maroon Twill-Kicks.”

               “Did you have anything to drink?”

               “A glass of Konick’s Tail Premium on the rocks.”

               “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that you remember every fucking brand but nothing else except the color of her hair?!”

               He scratched his head, “Now that I think about it, she might have been a brunette.”

               “AJ!”

               “What?! I mean maybe there could have been a little red in it. I don’t know. Or was she—”

               “I’ll bet you 10k C-Gold that every one of those items you mentioned are already on your credit card statement.”

               “No need. I just checked. Vodka, Kicks, and Condoms. Sadly, no redhead. So maybe I’m starting to get your point. But even if this is the mega-conspiracy I’m really hoping it’s not, how the fuck are we going to prove it, let alone stop it?”

               “I’m still working on that part. But right now I think I’m just going to try and get the word out. So what if I sound crazy? The world needs to know. And you’re a smart guy. If I could convince you to at least listen, I’m sure others will.”

IV

               “Why are you in my bed?!” Niki asked before her first wave of nausea hit. She scrambled over AJ’s feet and threw up into the toilet with 90% accuracy. AJ was quick to follow, choosing to target the shower with 98% accuracy.

               “Why was I in your bed?!” he asked when the brunt of the nausea had subsided, “I don’t remember a thing from last night… or really the day before that.”

               “I don’t even know what day it is. I guess I win the amnesia game,” she doubled over for another bout of vomit.

               “We could have drugged and date raped each other.”

               “Not even close to funny.”

               “You’re right. Not funny. But when you come up with a better explanation of why we both wound up in your bed without any memory of at least the last 24 hours plus, let me know.”

               “Will do. In the meantime, I still have homage to pay to the porcelain throne.”

               “I’ll make us some… food…” AJ said, opening the miniature fridge door and every one of the four cabinets in the apartment, each proudly sporting the ingredients for a hearty meal of dust and oxygen, “Hey, do you–,” AJ began to ask as he rounded the corner to the bathroom to see Niki, head barely visible, holding up her Onyx, Ivory, and Gold Amazon Royalty card. He grabbed it and began to turn back around before he stopped and chuckled, “Heh, your mirror knows you too well,” he tapped the ad a dozen times before ordering breakfast for drone delivery.

               “So what do we know?” asked Niki, clutching her hair, using the same life-grip with which she clung to the handle of her coffee mug.

               “We can assume that our memory losses are strongly linked. Although, it’s weird you remember way less than I do,” they each poured two gulps of Mom’s Hangover Cure into their coffees and sipped in thought.

               “Hey, let’s get some light in here. I think we can both manage it at this point,” AJ raised the blinds before Niki could protest and he jumped back. A titanic cursive letter “C” took up the entire window’s view and likely several other apartments’ as well. Niki let out a short, choked shriek.

               Barely whispering, she asked, “What the fuck is that?” without exhaling.

               “It’s a… Um…” AJ searched for the words, “A mega-zeppelin. That’s what they’re called. Jesus I can’t believe I almost forgot that one. Yeah, don’t you remember? Coke-Victory has had the sky filled with ‘em ever since the–,” Niki’s eyes were wide, unblinking, and inexplicably locked with the airship’s flashing lighted characters, “Hey Nik, are you alright? Did you piece something together?”

               “The drink of nations. The drink of our generation. The drink of nations. The drink of our generation,” Niki was transfixed on the slogan, repeating it aloud, cogitating with all her permitted faculties. After a few moments, she closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath, jerked her head left, then snapped it back to center, and sprang to her feet.

               “You’ve fucking got it! What is it? What happened to us, Niki?”

               Niki looked at him with a slumped and sinking head and shoulders, “It’s bad AJ. It’s really, really bad. We figured out something someone dangerous really doesn’t want us to know.”

               “I should think you sound crazy and be making fun of you right now, but that rings a lot of distant bells, Nik.”

               “Dreams, AJ. We figured out they’re fucking with our dreams.”

               “Ohhhhhh shit. It’s coming back to me. You knew about Coke Victory without anyone telling you,” he said as Niki began to check her phone, “We started a Facebook group. We posted blogs and made a website.”

               “It’s all gone. They were onto us from the start. I don’t think we ever had any actual followers. They just let us think we were succeeding so we wouldn’t know how deep this ran.”

               “All of it? What about… I put up flyers!”

               “That’s right!” A flash of excitement pulsed through Niki’s face, “I told you, you were stupid for thinking anyone still read flyers.”

               The two rushed downstairs and searched all of the telephone poles surrounding the apartment. There were scraps of tape and ads for clothing-optional Yoga classes and intermediate guitar lessons, but nothing from AJ or Niki. All of a sudden, AJ bolted down an alley and then stopped, looking down at the ground. Niki ran up beside him and stared at the symbol made of duct tape on the ground.

               “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

               “What? I was probably excited about this whole conspiracy thing and maybe went a little overboard. Sue me.”

               “Yeah, but the Illuminati doesn’t exist, AJ. This is different. This is–,” Niki stopped, realising that all of this was uncharted territory and for all she knew, the Illuminati could be as real as everything else. Or as unreal.

               “Regardless, we can only tackle one conspiracy at a time, if that. And this duct tape symbol proves we didn’t dream… Hm. Maybe we need a better system of reality measurement than dreams.”

               “What now? If we still know what we do, we’re still in danger. We could run away.”

               “I’ve got a feeling that there’s not many places these guys won’t be able to find us. If they could gain access to our dreams, erase our memories, and efface a hundred posters and a day’s worth of social media campaigning all before we woke up, what chance do we stand?”

               “Well, let’s give them something they can’t erase,” AJ said through a timid grin, putting his hand on Niki’s shoulder. Niki looked up at him as if he’d just proposed marriage to her, pending an eon of anticipation.

               “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been, AJ, and I’m so God damn glad you’re in this with me.”

               “But it can’t all be for nothing,” AJ said sternly, “We have to be able to leave a message. They can’t erase people. At least, not a whole lot of people. And we’ve got to do this low tech. We don’t stand a chance against their army of coders. They’ve made that all too apparent,” then a smile began to brim on his face, his tongue flicking his canine teeth.

               “I’ve seen that look. You’ve got an idea. Spill.”

               “We do the same thing as last time, minus the internet part, but bigger.”

               “How big we talking about?”

               “Let me put it to you this way,” AJ handed Niki his phone, open to his C-Life page. Niki read the advertisement centered on the screen, “Pay one million Cherry-Gold and win a free ride for you and a friend on a Coca-Cola Victory Mega-Zeppelin. Plus all the free Coca-Cola Victory you can drink!”

               “But neither of us have that kind of–,” Niki stopped, remembering her run and the Globe-Trotter Badge, “How much do you have in your account?”

               “450,255. And you have 571,900,” he paused, “Dick,” he added with a smile.

               “What? You can catch up–,” she blushed, adding, “–if we survive.”

               “I’ll transfer the C-Gold to you and get the copies printed up. We’ll scatter them all right over downtown!”

               “Alright. I’ll buy our tickets and arrange the times,” Niki sighed and grabbed AJ’s shirt and, before she knew what she was doing, pulled him towards her across the table, spilling the remains of a bottle of Mom’s Ready-Made Hangover Cure, and kissed him. Then she let him go with a shove and looked down at her phone, smiling.

               “Right. Well… I’ll get right over to the… Um…”

               “Copy shop?” Niki looked up from her phone, still smiling.

               “Yeah,” AJ said, now smiling too, as he walked out the door.

               “You picked some day for a blimp ride, Miss,” yelled the lanky, but bellied airship captain over the howl of the wind. His high-pitched voice had a strange drawl that was refreshingly unique in a city where everyone sounded the same.

               “What?” replied Niki distractedly.

               “Well, it’s juss sudamn cold. Are you sure you don’t want to reschedule for a sunnier day? That golden ticket you have isn’t refundable but it is transferable, ya know.”

               “No. I need to go before–,” Niki trailed off. Where the hell is AJ? she thought.

               “Before the magic is gone?” the captain offered her an end to her thought.

               Niki had sent AJ over a dozen messages and called him half that many times. She’d already decided the worst had come to pass. But the fact that they hadn’t stopped her must have meant that she still had a chance to do something, anything.

               “Yeah, before the magic is gone. I’m done waiting for my friend now,” she said, allowing the last shred of hope to melt in her chest and re-solidify as bitter, dark, rage. The kind of anger that doesn’t have a bottom or walls surrounding it. The kind that fills up your veins and negates the need for blood or love. The kind that starts a trickling stream of adrenaline that washes your brain in a warm bath of bloodlust.

               “Yeah? Alright. You’re the boss. I’ll fire her up.”

               They boarded the gargantuan balloon and the man began his tour after Niki refused his first three offers of Coke Victory.

               “And this is the bay where we had that big ol’ fireworks show the other night. And there’s Coca-Cola Victory Stadium, able to seat two-hundred thousand at peak capacity. And over there is the newly renovated and renamed, Coca-Cola Victory Children’s Hospital, Critical Care Center, and Cancer Clinic. I’ll tell ya what, it took me a few of these tours before I could say that all in one go.”

               Niki watched the rhythmic whirring of cars through the city streets, the weaving around construction projects and reconvening on the other side, the simultaneous deceleration of an entire artery of the city as an errant biker crossed four lanes of traffic without glancing backwards. The beating urban heart pumping streams of working machines and watching machines and fucking machines and selling machines and spending machines. They were all spending machines. Pumping them past million-dollar billboards and under sky-sized blimps and over-painted sponsored crosswalks and intersections. All preaching the gospel of which next new product or service everyone absolutely must have.

               “I’ll miss you, AJ,” she whispered to the river of souls below her.

               “And here is the Coca-Cola Victory Brainwashing and Dream Control Center, located conveniently at the edge of industrial and downtown.”

               “What?” Before she even finished expressing the syllable, Niki already knew what had happened, “You fucking bastards. Where’s AJ? Where are we going?”

               “C’mon Niki. You didn’ think it would be that easy, didja?” the captain began to cackle and wiped a tear from his eye as four large men in black suits came out from a door in the back of the viewing deck. Niki dove for the control panel the captain had been sitting at. She yanked the wheel downwards, attempting to set the ship on a course for collision with the nearest skyscraper.

               “Oh. No,” the captain said, measured and monotone, before sitting down in the chair and spinning it in a full circle before stopping it to face Niki, “Eeeverything is automated these days. The control panel is actually mostly just for show. If the internet-connected computer pilot goes on the fritz, another hard-wired computer pilot takes over. And they’re still both better than the best human pilot!”

               Niki was breathing heavily, and glanced at the microphone behind the captain’s shoulder.

               “Oh, you want to use this? Normally a good choice, I’d have to admit, because you can actually speak over it; when the wires aren’t cut, that is,” he held up the limp cleaved cables from beneath the panel.

               “Alright, that’s enough, Cap,” said a voice from behind the four suits, “You’ve had your big reveal.”

               “She’s all yours, Boss,” replied the captain.

               “Look. Niki,” the deep, hollow voice moved closer and the suits parted to reveal a gray-haired, dark-skinned, Caucasian man in his fifties. He had purple, almost green, circles carved beneath his eyes and a day or more worth of stubble blanketing his concave jaw. He was sporting a brown twill suit jacket and matching pants, a checkered shirt, a yellow stain on his tie, and a sagging belly.

               “Heh. Sorry if the villain of your little heroic fantasy didn’t live up to expectations. These guys–,” he gestured with a thumb to the stoic men behind him, “They get to change clothes every six hours and all they have to do is stand there, look good, and occasionally perform an assassination or kidnapping,” he said as Niki wondered which of the two had befallen AJ, “But me?” the man continued, “I got picked up by a God damn helicopter from a family picnic, my daughter’s ninth birthday, when we found out that an ad-dream had gotten to someone outside the blitz-zone,” he gestured to the mustard on his tie, “I didn’t even get to finish my brisket.”

               “We’ve been working very hard to keep this whole blunder a secret. Fucking. Holes. In. The data,” he slapped his thigh and stepped closer to Niki, “You can bet a few heads are rolling at HQ right now for not having cross referenced marathon runners with the blitz schedule. Can you believe someone even had the bright idea to reward you for all the trouble you caused us; all the sleep you cost me? –let you get off with just a hangover and some missing memories.

               “But unfortunately for you, you were just too tied up in this whole…” with a searching, but uninterested frown, he gestured in a circle with his hand, “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Well, now I get to implement my solution, making use of modern technology to clean up this mess. We’ve got a vision for the future, Niki. And people like you just aren’t part of it.”

               The four men came forward, obscuring Niki’s vision of the man, and manacled her hands and ankles as the airship was anchored and descended onto the roof of a windowless modern-looking entirely concrete facility.

               There was no point in making this any easier on them or harder on herself. Niki dragged her feet as she was carried by the four suits who were being led by the gray-haired man down hall after hall. Down elevator shafts and stairwells and countless stories beneath the surface. Finally, they reached a row of cells.

               “This is yours. Home sweet home. Food comes down that chute. The toilet is self cleaning, and the bed is self-changing. The covers are just one big loop! It goes down into the floor dirty and comes back clean on the other side, perfectly taut and cozy every time. Now that is just too cool. And one more thing; you got a welcoming gift. A flat screen TV, courtesy of L.G. It only has one channel, but heck… It’s ad-free,” he winked at her and gave her an exhausted, shadowy grin.

               Niki entered the cell and the door slid closed behind her. She put her hands up to the bars and the men released her cuffs. Rubbing her wrists, she lay down on the bed and the TV flicked on, but the picture displayed was just solid black or maybe a dark red. Niki crawled beneath her sheets and let a wash of nothingness race through her mind.

               She woke without remembering having fallen asleep. She looked over to the TV. The dark red remained a few minutes more as it had been the night before, but then gave way to a white horizontal slit in the middle of the screen. Then the slit opened into a binocular field of vision. A reality TV show of some sort, shot as if through someone’s eyes. The vision on the screen looked to the right at the unplugged Sony ZXL alarm clock, logged onto C-Life and closed the app immediately without confirming that it had received the Early-Bird badge, then leaned forward and crawled across the bed to the miniscule bathroom, uncapped the tube of Colgate Ultra-Polish and looked in the mirror. Niki began to weep, and continued to weep as her own reflection brushed its teeth in flawless simulation of the way Niki had been taught as a child. Making little Cheerios from left to right then right to left then the bottom row. Left to right. Right to left. The reflection put on makeup without skipping a step. It was running low on mascara, opened up the Amazon app and ordered a new bottle, deciding to splurge on the new Lashes Sapphire, with 72 hour water-resistance. “Stays on bold and sharp through break-ups, beauty sleep, and showers.  Stay Sapphire for 72 hours!” or so the slogan went.