The Man the system forgot to Name

Chapter 4- Rules Without Mercy

Attention was still on the rain in Elias mouth.

His garments were wet in the spots where he had dropped them the previous evening. His head was heavy, and sore like he had been arguing out with himself in his dreams. Then momentarily he was in hope that all had occurred due only to fatigue wearing a persuasive mask.

Then the pressure stirred.

Not strong. Not loud.

Present.

He sat up slowly. "You're still there," he said.

Nothing answered.

But something didn't need to.

He bathed, got dressed, and stood in the center of his apartment and did not know what to do. He had no job to go to. No meetings. No schedule. Just time--and whatever this thing was that had chosen to stick itself on to him.

He snatched his jacket and went.

The city was back in action, bustling along, with all its movement and noise, but Elias walked in it in a new way. Not fearful. Not confident either.

Alert.

When he was informed that there were mines underneath the grass, he felt like a man going to his field.

He was sitting in a bus stop next to an aged woman with a battered handbag. She continued to look down the road fearfully.

The pressure flickered.

The bus will be late.

A small thing. Useless information.

The bus came at the right time.

Elias frowned.

So it wasn't always right.

And perhaps... it only talked when it had to.

He stood and kept walking.

It was lunchtime when he finally gave in to hunger and entered a diner of an inferior kind. He had had the most basic item on the menu, and found an empty seat at the window.

In the other end of the room, a young man was quarrelling with the cashier.

I made a payment already, said the man.

No you did not, the cashier said flatly. "Next customer."

The pressure sharpened.

He did pay.

Elias felt it clearly. Clean. Certain.

The fingers of his grip closed on his cup.

Do not intervene.

This time in instruction was rapid.

Elias swallowed.

Why? he thought. Why this and not the others?

No answer.

The young man swore inwardly, and turned aside, flushed with shame. He counted in his wallet trembling with his hands.

Elias stood.

Hey, he said, and did not raise his voice. "He did pay."

The room went quiet.

It shot up stinging, dangerous.

"Deviation detected."

The cashier scowled. "You work here?"

"No," Elias said. "But the register logged it. Check again."

The cashier wavered in frustration, and returned his gaze to the screen. A second passed. Then another.

His expression changed.

"...Fine," he muttered. "My mistake."

The young man stood and gazed at Elias in disbelief. Thanks, said he hastening off with his food.

Elias's heart hammered.

The pressure didn't fade.

It tightened.

The voice said it was unapproved intervention.

"Penalty applied."

Elias staggered.

He felt pain behind his eyes, and it was so startling it was sightless. He seized on to the end of the table as the room started to lean. Sounds were far, far, stretched, distorted, as though he were under water.

People shouted. A chair scraped.

Then, nothing.

As the pain was relieved Elias happened to be on his knees gassing.

The diner gazed at him as though he was insane.

I am all right, he said hoarsely, and made himself stand. "Just dizzy."

No one argued. They were already being bored.

Elias fell out of the door, heart-thumping, with cold sweat in his clothes.

Penalty.

So that was how it worked.

Help when told. Stay silent when told.

Or suffer.

He was bending against a wall, panting.

You might have told me, he thought.

The pressure pulsed once.

"Rules were implied."

Elias laughed bitterly. "That's convenient."

No response.

He had long walks after that, going over each moment. The cafe. The alley. The rain. The diner.

Patterns began to form.

This object was not concerned with morality. It was indifferent to good manners and justice. It cared about control. Regarding observing his behavior within constraints he did not make.

In the evening still his head was aching faintly, a reminder cut behind his eyes.

Elias sat in his apartment on the bed and clasped his palms together.

"Let's be clear," he said quietly. "I'm not your puppet."

Silence.

Then, softer than before

"Acknowledged."

Elias's breath caught.

The voice went on to say that one must qualify by resistance.

It is not enough to be in compliance.

Resistance.

The word lingered.

Indeed, afterwards you beat me when I aid, and try me when I do not, said Elias slowly.

No correction came.

Elias reclined and looked at the ceiling.

This wasn't a gift.

It was a system that was founded on pressure, choice and consequence.

And now had he realized some vital thing--

The danger wasn't the rules.

It was the risk of knowing how far he would be bending until they broke him.

Beyond, the city raved on, and made no difference.

Elias Cross had a silent resolution within.

Supposing this thing had a mind to try him...

He would cease to be predictable.

And whatever followed, he would encounter on his own conditions.