text: My childhood is a far away memory, abstract and serene. Green trees and mountain hikes are what I remember best. Such a jarring divorce from today. Now, everything happens on our smartphones, but this is not the smartphones of old. Smartphones on which we happily shared pics and vids of our happy lives on Instagram or Tic Tok. The smartphone is now your life, literally. No smartphone, no money. No, smartphone, no freedom, that is if freedom is what you want to call it anymore. Covid 19 came and went, then it was the climate crisis overlaid with a bunch of foreign forever wars, then Covid 25 and the first real lockdowns and forced injections, then Covid 27, 28,... and then we stopped counting. Just a merry-go-round of lockdowns, medications and ever more censorship. When the fight went out of us, we were gradually herded into oppressive slums. Now drones constantly scan our smartphones from above, checking vaccine status and of course our precious social scores. To add to the insult, CBDC wallets capriciously choose what you can or cannot have and how much, where you can go or what you can do. A single litre of synthetic milk (cows are banned or extinct, we are not sure anymore which) is all a family of four is allowed each day. Bread was more like a thick cracker. Then there were ‘matties’. A patty of fake meat. Cost: virtually free. It’s the only thing that we can eat without limit. We had long given up speculating what it really was, so the popular debate was, how close to real meat it in fact tasted? *** Your social score is everything today. Those that fall below 8 vanish. Theories as to where they go are whispered in hushed and paranoid tones. Discussing it is taboo on MetaX, the only social media platform that exists. Though strategies on how to improve your score abound and are easily the most discussed topic online, though bitter experience, raising your points was akin to blitzing a snap test in a subject you never studied. But losing points, now that's as easy as breathing. I had 9.2 and John, my brother, had 9.3. Clive, from next door showed me with mock rebellious bravado that he had only 8.1. That was a few weeks ago. I have not seen him since. I wonder how brave he feels now, or indeed where he is. This was the other eternal topic, where did the sub 8’s go. Nobody I know had ever witnessed any abductions, or arrests, but nobody dared to discuss this on MetaX. *** Clive had a sister that I liked, but I was sure she didn't even know I existed, until today. I was coming back to our apartment with whatever I could find at the market for us to eat when she suddenly grabbed my arm in the crowd. What I remember was the look in her mesmerising blue eyes: manic fright, as a bizarre counterpoint was that pink tight cardigan she wore, with the top button undone, hugging her inviting breasts. I could not help but smile to myself for the sudden attention. She grabbed my hand and sharply led me to one side out of the crowd, behind a large dumpster. She pulled my head close to hers and in a raspy whisper said: “Clive, they took him!” Before I could ask where , my smartphone chimed. I looked at it and saw the screen: bright red and in the middle -1 flashing in large bold yellow characters. My knees went weak! A -0.1 was chilling enough, and the rare -0.2, was always accompanied by a colourful story, but -1! I tore out of her grip and boldly reentered the crowded lane. Looking up for a drone, I loudly proclaimed “What have I done wrong, why a minus one”. The crowd gave me immediate space. “What did I do?” I hollered into the air. I looked back at the dumpster and Clive's sister had melted away. I was alone in the crowd. My smartphone chimed again. Another -0.1 gone! “What's going on?” I yelped into the air in desperation. A drone silently approached overhead. Then a second. I was looking up at them questioningly when I felt a yank on the plastic bag in my hand. A grubby child, face hidden in a hoodie, was tearing at it. The strength was unexpected. I lost interest in the drones and began convincingly losing a tug-o-war over the bag down the darker lane behind the dumpster. Only a handful of metres away from the thongs of people, the urchin turned and stabbed my hand with a needle, then everything went dark. *** I woke up lying on warm concrete surrounded by a crowd, all ignoring me. Knots of people stood at concrete tables toiling at some strange tasks. Others just stood or milled around whispering to each other. Everyone was naked except for black boxer briefs. All ages except the very young were there, but no women at all. Everyone's faces: grave and serious, and the smell! An intense mix of faeces, urine, sweat and vomit scorched my nose. An older gaunt man slowly approached me and gave me a hand standing up. “Your headache will pass” he said in a quiet voice. “Whats going on? Where am I?” “Block 9” “What is block 9?” I asked “Everyone has the same questions when they get here. Sorry but it's too dangerous to answer some questions. All I can tell you is where you are,... or else”, the man said, ending with ominous foreboding. Before I could get another question out, a loud siren wailed. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and began to head in one direction. The old man clapped me lightly on the shoulder and said, “Chow time” It took me about half an hour pushing and shoving in the crowd to get to the ‘feed trough’ filled with matties. I managed to grab 2 of them in the melee of hands. They were cold and definitely tasted inferior to those I was used to. There were bits in them that did not feel like food at all which I spat out. As I was retreating through the crowd, the man from before came up next to me and led me away to a quieter spot. “I am A3F49r-9, but you can call me Alex” I gave him a stunned look. “Your ankle tag...”, he added. I looked down to notice the red ankle bracelet fixed to my own right leg with a large bold white number V8h8R2-9 written. “We are the sub 8’s” Alex added while wolfing down his food. A lingering question about Clive was now finally answered. “How long do we need to be in here?” I asked. Alex shrugged, then added, “I only know of people going down.” “Down?” “Yes, down. None of us really know for sure, but we know there are levels below us” The stunned look on my face triggered Alex to stand and grab my arm and lead me off through the crowds. The entire place was a single open space with concrete floor and ceiling interspersed with imposing columns, like an ancient car park of old. As we walked on, the smell in the air freshened and a new quality to the light grew. We finally reached a low concrete barrier above which was the outside. A wide brown featureless desert vista yawned open topped with an intensely bright blue sky. The barren landscape was dotted with enormous cubic structures emblazoned with huge numbers: 8, 7, and 6 barely legible in the distance, with many more blocks stretching to the horizon. Block 8 was close enough to make out some detail. The bleached concrete block was ringed with black bands in which I could just make out small figures moving around. There were dozens of layers, which became more tightly bunched toward the ground. The only interruption to the minimal form was a circumnavigating upward facing angled wall protruding beyond the cube’s footprint. I guessed it was to catch rainwater, but that sounded ridiculous. The only other movement was from large drones flying back and forth between the blocks. “Well maybe down is out?” I suggested, but Alex’s jaded look did not boost my optimism. “The only rules I can tell you about are that if you work at the tables, you are rewarded with a few minutes advance notice of feeding time. And if your collar continuously vibrates, that means you are going down. The tubes to take you down are in the corners.” Alex said in a flat voice. I ventured with naive hope: “And out perhaps” Alex just shrugged and cocked his head with mock optimism, then shuffled away. *** Over the next few days, I caught sight of Alex a few times but otherwise I kept to myself like most of us did. I tried to get to the work tables but they were popular. But to my delight I ran into Clive. “Hey neighbour” I said gaily, siding up to him in the crowd. Clive looked at me with shock, then glee. I hugged him despite us not really being much of friends. But then a second later, the mirth vanished from his face and a tear began to roll down his cheek. “Hey man, it will be OK, we will get out of here sooner or later” I said in a vain attempt at levity. His face did not brighten. “I was so stupid. A stupid fool full of bravado, showing off how low my score was. Well now I am here and I don't see how I will ever get out. I don't even know where here is. None of us do.” “Come on Clive, do...” Clive clamped his palm over my mouth with force before I could say anymore. He whispered close to my ear, “I am not Clive. Never use my name. Never tell anyone your name, I mean your outside name. NEVER!” “Ah, OK” I said, trying to fit this new fact into my understanding of Block 9. “How did they get you, aah...” I looked down at his ankle. ‘D2Jf76-9’, “...David?”. He shook his head in short jerky movements, then said: “Have you seen Claire?” I understood his signal and change of subject, and casually answered “Yeah, she’s fine” and I tried to add as much context with my eyes as I dared. “Ahh, she’s a great kid, everything I am not. Beautiful, smart,...” Clive wanted to continue but was unsure what he could safely add. A relief washed over his face. “I feel better knowing she is OK”. He leaned in to me and said in a whisper, “I only have this one thing to remind me of her”, and he stuck out his tongue. On it, in the dim light I could see a pearly pink button glistening. The memory came flooding back. This was the missing top button from her cardigan. One of the last endearing memories I had from the outside. Now it was my turn to shed a tear, at which Clive, no David, gave me a glance with as much concern as he could. I simply nodded and gave a thumbs up to dispel his anxiety. *** If you stay near the edge, then you enjoy the change of day and night. Inmates' jealousy held onto these positions, but the troughs were nearer the middle where the work tables were so migrations around the floor were constant and holding onto any territory was almost pointless. Despite this, bullies still persisted in vain territorialism. I managed to get a few sessions at the tables but this earned me no advantages so I stopped bothering. I was hanging out near the perimeter one day when my bracelet buzzed and would not stop. A few guys nearby gave me looks of trepidation mixed with hope. In the very corner of the level was a group of round disks. One of them was lit showing my number, I stood on it and a metal tube came down around me, then came the sensation of descent. The tube retracted and I found myself on a new level, much the same as the old one, except the ceiling was noticeably lower and the light dimmer. *** And so the next few weeks progressed and I moved down the levels. I ran into Alex one more time but only in passing. An oppressive unspoken resistance seemed to be associated with any kind of bonding between inmates. Like an infection of the mind, but I could not say what it was and I was not keen to discuss it either. Nobody seemed to know each other well, nor cared to become friendly in any way. It was very lonely being in such a densely crowded space without anyone to really talk to. The days were very long and tiring, shuffling around the huge featureless space. I developed some painful sores on my hip from sleeping on the filthy hard floor, but there was no one to complain to. One day I found a spot close to the elevator tubes. They were constantly busy with people vanishing and appearing from the tubes. At least it was something vaguely interesting to watch. A disc lit up with a number. A tall man approached with trepidation and stopped just short of it. He was hesitating. This began to attract attention. The buzzing grew louder and more urgent and he was experiencing increasing obvious discomfort from the bracelet. The disc began to flash along with his bracelet. His head was just shy of the concrete ceiling and I empathised with his plight. The flashing and buzzing intensified, then the ankle bracelet suddenly exploded with a dull thud. The man fell to the ground, his right foot blown off up to the shin. A large bloody stain spread out on the floor with pieces of meat and bone strewn for a metre or so. His scream was not what I expected. It was not one of shock and pain, but a cry of pathetic defeat. A sound I will never forget. Nobody came to his aid, instead many just turned and left the scene. Three discs which I assumed to be lifts raised out of the floor and disgorged three drones. Two came to either side of the man and lifted him bodily into the air. He made a feeble attempt at resistance as they moved to the low wall and threw him over. The third busied itself cleaning up the mess while playing a kind of pacifying elevator music as it worked. An AI’s demented idea of a ‘human touch’. It was completely surreal and horrifying. The whole episode took under 20 seconds. *** The inventor of this abomination must have had a macabre sense of humour, or was an especially bitter midget indeed. The lowering ceiling over the next 2 levels brought almost everyone to a permanent slouch or hunch, with the tall reduced to sitting or crawling. Defeated and broken would sum up the collective mood perfectly. Few bothered with the work tables any more. The hymn of droids as they carried out their grim work was heard more down here. The only highlight I can share is spotting Clive. I tried to approach him but paused when I got up closer in the dim light. Sallow and gaunt, he was blindly shuffling about with his chin buried in his chest. I had to admit that I was not far behind him, but I am an stoic optimist by nature and was probably proving harder for this prison to break. I found stupid trivialities funny and broke out in manic laughter at the slightest prompt. Others would look at me like I had succumbed to insanity. Perhase I have in my own way. Everyone had to dig deep into their souls to find a way to cope. Staying near the edge was popular down here. The light hardly filtered to the centre of the floors anymore. I was scared to even venture into that darkness fearing what I may find. Around the edge, the air was somewhat more bearable, but the price was steep: being a witness to the stream of human tragedies. I watched as inmates would take their own lives over the edge. The regular monotony of it destroyed our souls. Some prayed beforehand, some just lept, and others hollered their epitaphs. I began to guess that this was the only way out. *** I just got sent down this morning, but where I landed can only be described as abominable. As the tube retracted, it stopped at my waist. I squatted down on rickety knees and froze at the scene I beheld. A dim light filtered past figures crawling on hands and knees. The ceiling was so low even standing on your knees was impossible here. The moaning and despair filled the air along with the heavy smell of death. Inmates now uncaring about their fate ranted and raved. Their echoes tormented those still clinging to sanity. I crawled away from the lift, but not far. I don't think anyone gets far down here. I lay down the first chance I got and stayed till the siren howled for meal time. It took an enormous effort to crawl to the trough. I grabbed a mattie and shuffled away to eat it in peace. As I chewed it, I bit down painfully on a pebble or a rock. I spat the piece out into my palm. This was no rock, it was a broken piece of plastic. Not just any plastic either, this was a broken piece from a pearly pink button. Claire’s button. That was the moment I died inside.