FROM THE AUTHOR: Right, so it says in the summary that this story is being re-written. That's started off - the revised version has a new title : "All Of Him." I took down the original chapters at first, but then I've decided to simultaneously re-upload those original version, chapter by chapter, together with the re-written chapters as they are completed. That way, you can see what differences I've made, and well, feel free to comment on whether those are an improvement or otherwise! Thank you for reading my work.
Title: I'm All Yours
Chapter 1: They said I shouldn't talk to you
Dear Allegra, they said I shouldn't talk to you anymore now that I've pubesced. Well, who else can I talk to, then? No, don't list out those names sorted by frequency of contact for me. Right now I just want to talk to my FACE. Yes, that's you, Allegra. IDENTIFICATION: ALLEGRAqpalz923, CITIZEN, LEVEL DELTA.
I know you're actually myself. Well technically you're the interface with the Fully Amplified Cognitive Enhancement system we all get when we pubsce. Don't unzip the firsttimeuser files, I read them already. THE USER MAY INTERACT WITH THE SYSTEM INTERFACE AS A VIRTUAL PERSON FOR INITIAL STARTUP. I'm not a minor anymore, I can talk to whoever I please. THIS OPERATION IS NOT RECOMMENDED FOR LONG-TERM APPLICATION. Shut up, Allegra.
It sounds like one of old Hypotenuse's questions that he saves for the last quarter aw of Applied Probability. Calculate the odds that I'd be going down Main Conduit in First City in a transporter (you know I prefer the RITS). Easy, huh? Now do the odds I'd have a Zomb beside me. Yes, a Zomb, not a droid. What, you got that already? Make that a NAKED Zomb then. And while you're at it, you can figure out who's responsible for this mountain of messed-up-ness. You can do that, right? Crunch those numbers. I bet it's ten to the power of … some number that ends with 'lion' probably.
ALERT: BIOLOGICAL SUPPORT SYSTEM OVERLOAD APPROACHING CAUTION LEVEL. Alright, alright, I'll stop here. I'm calm, Allegra, really. Not agitated at all, so don't send in the endocrine nanobots! I don't need doping for this. It's just shopping. Shopping for my Zomb.
I pull the override plug on my FACE. In the three seconds that it takes for the interface to fade into my peripheral vision, I hold my breath, releasing it together with the return of non-augmented sight. I always hate this part. It's like waking from a dream, except it's reality that you're waking up to. And sometimes reality just…. What's that word that Hypotenuse says was a popular expletive in his youth? Oh, right, sucks. Reality sucks. And thinking about Hypotenuse twice in less than an hour… that can't be normal, even if he IS my biological progenitor. CONDITION: IRREGULAR; LEVEL: NON-THREAT. A status screen slips discreetly into focus.
"Quiet, Allegra." I mutter under my breath, brushing the screen out of my vision. Some time ago, the transporter had signalled that it would arrive in 30 sec. It did this because passengers often don't realise they've stopped since there is no perceptible difference being inside a moving and stationary transporter. That's why I prefer the RITS—if I'm moving forward at 250 kaym, I want to feel that I'm moving, not sitting still in a little room with brushed metal walls.
"Disembark." The side of the transporter nearest my destination dismantled itself at my voice. That's the only thing that I find endearing about the transporters—they don't let you out unless you tell them you want to get out. The transporter wall did not reassemble after me. That's right… I'm not alone. I glance over my shoulder. The Zomb looks at me placidly, still in the exact same position we started our journey in.
"Come." The curt command sounds heartlessly cold to me, but the Zomb obediently exits to stand in front of me, head slightly bowed for full eye contact with me, hands held behind the back. I know the bow is to accommodate our height difference (30 sim or so), the hands are in default standby position, but I'm just not comfortable with the resulting subservient posture. The nakedness just tips the already unnerving situation into the nightmare category. Well, not really naked. There's actually an outer covering all over, now that I can bring myself to take a closer look. It seems to be the same material as that in personal hygiene privacy booths, the kind that's usually clear but you can make it strategically translucent or opaque.
FRIEND DETECTED IN VICINITY. IDENTIFIED: CLEFoedka777. ESTIMATED CONTACT IN 3 SEC. Not enough time to evade her. Suck.
"Heyo, Allegra!" Clef and I air hug. Her current hair colour is neon pink, with LEDs spelling out the name of her latest hetfriend. It matches her bodypaint.
"You finally got yourself a Zomb! I'm electrified for you!" Clef cannot speak without exclamation marks. I mumble something, which she totally disregards. Her hoverboard is circling us in a predatory pattern. "Where did you find it? The labourmart?" I mumble again, since it's quite clear that she isn't talking with me, but at me. "Anyway, he's DROOLICIOUS!" She floats away, which is good because I'm getting slightly nauseous from being in the middle of a pink whirpool.
I've just been seen with a naked Zomb by the fastest social updater that I know. This is definitely a nightmare category situation. Zomb. I hate the sound of the word.
"Perhaps the term Promised would be more agreeable to you."
I jump at his voice. Then I remember that as a Zomb, he can 'hear' my most conscious thoughts. Kind of like the LANs that were the precursor of the BITIL. Promised. It's a quintillion times better than Zomb. But it's also stirring up emotions that I'd rather not confront right now.
"Zech." It was his name, but you'd never know that from the total lack of reaction he's giving me.
His name was—is—Zechary. We promised to be friends. Then I went and made him my Zomb.
Updating schedule unknown. Sorry!