Story Telling through dreams…

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The cable con­nected directly to a small cir­cu­lar port at the base of the neck, a quick turn, a sharp pain, and it locked into place.

[WKUP] Wake up ini­ti­ated [ACK] Request for hand­shake acknowl­edged. Hand­shake started. New Organic Hard­ware Found. Ini­tialise Ref­er­ence Dri­ver v0.91 Beta. Com­pat­i­ble Pro­to­col Request Ini­ti­ated / Pro­to­col v.HICP42 agreed. Nego­ti­at­ing baud rate / 64gbps agreed. Stress Link test ini­ti­ated. Link test Failed. Down­grade baud rate / 32gbps agreed. Stress Link test ini­ti­ated. Link test pass. [SECREQ] Secu­rity Request Accepted. Dig­i­tal fin­ger­print sent. [SECPASS] Secu­rity Pass received. Pub­lic Encryp­tion key received. Human Inter­face Direct Link Estab­lished. Opti­cal and Audio input disabled.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, ele­gance. Red dress, white train­ing shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Day­light, sta­tion busy. Nor­ton stands behind ticket booth. He sees her. Follows.

/ edit envi­ron­ment : make night / focus girl / edit dress : make black / edit shoes : black high heels / edit cloth­ing : add stock­ings / update / review.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, ele­gance. Black dress, black high heel shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Night, sta­tion busy. Nor­ton stands behind ticket booth. He sees her. Follows.

/ edit scene : remove ancil­lary peo­ple / update / review.

Glide rail stops. Doors open, the girl exits, ele­gance. Black dress, black high heel shoes. Long hair, blonde. Bright red lip­stick. Blue eyes. Night, sta­tion empty. Nor­ton stands behind ticket booth. He sees her. Follows.

/ apply mem­ory frag­ment SMOKE1 / apply pro­file frag­ment dif­fer­ences / update / trans­pose output.


The glide rail stopped. Nor­ton noticed the girl already at the door wait­ing to alight; her soli­tude made her an easy tar­get. A cus­tom­ary pause as the safety locks dis­en­gaged and then the doors slid open.
His eyes were drawn to her stock­ings as her feet con­nected with the sta­tion floor. She had fine legs and he couldn’t deny him­self the plea­sure after all this time.
She moved with grace and ele­gance as she walked across the plat­form and pass­ing by him and the ticket booth. She must have been train­ing for this as she had never before been able to hold her­self so well, never mind walk­ing in those high heels. Her hair was new too; long, slightly wavy, and blonde. He could have expected the length; she had always been par­tial to exten­sions, but the colour, that was a lit­tle odd.
The red lip­stick was also out of char­ac­ter. She would never have worn red with black cloth­ing, not against a back­drop of those deep blue eyes. Blues eyes that she said you would always get lost in like a boat on the ocean, not that either if them had ever seen the oceans. But, Em was strange like that, all the idio­syn­crasies that made her the women he had loved.
Norton’s thoughts were inter­rupted as he watched in amaze­ment her stop­ping, take a cig­a­rette from her bag, brazenly light it, take and drag, and con­tinue on her way.
Very pecu­liar, smok­ing had been ille­gal for thirty years now, what would make her break the law so openly, espe­cially as she didn’t smoke? He made a men­tal note to put all this new infor­ma­tion through his per­sonal roam­ing pro­filer as soon as he got a moment to stop. Maybe that would give him some new clues as to the women she now was.
He gave her a few moments, and then started to follow.

/ stop / save frag­ment as SCENE 5 / exit /

Opti­cal and Audio input enabled. Human Inter­face Direct Link dropped.

It had been ten cycles since Sam had invented the Human Inter­face, and not a day had not gone by with­out him spend­ing some time jacked up to it; record­ing his mem­o­ries, dreams, or imag­i­na­tive thoughts.
He had stum­bled across the plans for the tech­nol­ogy in his fathers notes stuck at the bot­tom of a fil­ing cab­i­net. Sam and his wife Clara had been clear­ing out his father’s office after he’d died. His mother had said she wasn’t up to it and thus the dread­ful job had fallen to them; a lucky turn of events as it transpired.
It seemed his father had been work­ing on a machine that would allow for the visu­al­i­sa­tion of a person’s thought processes, fol­low­ing the notion that he would be able to help peo­ple that couldn’t speak. The machine would con­vert what the per­son was think­ing into vocal out­put. His father had always pur­sued causes that he believed to be noble; a char­ac­ter flaw Sam always thought. For some rea­son that Sam never knew, after twenty years of research he’d canned the idea. Despite the notes seem­ingly to be com­plete, the machine had never been made.
Sam was unable to resist a chal­lenge and had been capa­ble enough to quickly build the machine. Being a soft­ware engi­neer for the defence min­istry he had been able to develop the dri­vers required for both sides of the hard­ware link, and he was there­fore using the machine within six months of first find­ing the notes.
It hadn’t been with­out prob­lems, the dri­vers had crashed on more than one occa­sion, not usu­ally a prob­lem, but when one side of the hard­ware is con­nected to the brain, migraines and hal­lu­ci­na­tions tend to follow.
If was dur­ing a three cen­ti­cy­cle stretch of migraines that Sam really started to under­stand the full extent of the device that his father had invented. A few mod­i­fi­ca­tions to the dri­vers, a few bug fixes, a few more decicycle’s of re-working, and the Human Inter­face was fin­ished. Along with a soft­ware suit that allowed the con­nected per­son to view, edit, copy, and out­put their mem­o­ries and thoughts.
It had been Clara that had given him the final use for the device. He started to write e-novels; by merely record­ing his dreams, thoughts and mem­o­ries, he was able to cre­ate com­plex and detailed sto­ries, very quickly. He was now the biggest sell­ing author that had ever lived. In just his short ten cycles he had sold more copies of his com­bined works than even Steven King had done in the entire pre­vi­ous century.

Nor­ton fol­lowed the girl down the block, she hadn’t turned once, so con­fi­dent and intent in what­ever task she was here to per­form. He kept his dis­tance though as he couldn’t risk being rumbled.
The night remained quite except for the con­stant low ebb of the bio dome gen­er­a­tor. Few remem­bered life with­out that sound con­stantly pro­vid­ing the ambi­ence. A few glide cars swept passed, mainly taxis, few peo­ple dared be on the streets at this time of night.
Em turned into the alley after the cof­fee shop. This would be his chance, he knew that route well and she would likely be alone for the next few min­utes, rea­son­ably guar­an­teed this late at night. He took the blast pis­tol from his coat and broke into a run.
As he turned the cor­ner she stood wait­ing for him.
“I was sure you were fol­low­ing me.” She said.
“Well, well. This isn’t how I intended this to work, never mind, I can change it dur­ing edit.” He said rais­ing the blaster.
“No Sam, not this way.”
“Sorry Clara, all for the art, you know to much.” He fired the blaster and watched her keenly as she fell to the floor; every lit­tle detail absorbed for later regur­gi­ta­tion. He stood over her body for a few moments to reflect on the women he had been mar­ried to for fif­teen cycles, allowed any emo­tion he had left, to add to the char­ac­ter of Nor­ton, and turned and left the alley. He knew he couldn’t leave her alive, she sus­pected too much about how he obtained the mate­r­ial for his device.
Should make and inter­est­ing upload, he thought.

Human Inter­face Direct Link Estab­lished. Opti­cal and Audio input disabled.

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