He would always remember the day he met Max Wilson. It was back in his college days, still naïve and innocent, in that way that a child who’d gone straight from school into the realms of academia often is. First time living away from home, he was none too worldly wise, freshly born from a cocoon of middle class suburban upbringing, into a social structure filled with young people from every strata of society, most far more confident and street wise than him. Finding himself out of his depth, and wishing to avoid the humiliation of being shown up as unaware of the conventions and terminology of not only adult life, but also of the free-living student attitudes, he retracted into himself, attempting to almost study those around him, as much as he studied the books and theories he had gone to university to learn. His peers quickly nicknamed him “Head” as they misread this quiet learning of those around him as always being deep in thought about the world as a whole, almost considering him the equivalent of the philosophical hermit, pondering existence on the mountaintop. Well, except that the wise man of the mountain would have probably got more respect, while Head was largely the subject of many mocking jokes when he stepped out of the room. And as long as the jokes remained unheard, which they largely did since most people were mildly concerned about whether or not he would turn up on campus with a shotgun, if they publicly mocked him, Head was perfectly happy with this status quo, often reminding himself that he was there to learn, not to socialise with these almost incomprehensible people, and in fact, since he was a sociology student, studying his peers from this objective outsider’s viewpoint gave him lots of case examples, which often wowed his tutors.
That’s not to say that he didn’t want to interact with the other students he was co-habiting with, but Head realised that he had now had made his place in the social structure of the campus. The repercussions of breaking from this position would place him in unknown territory, and that scenario would require much more second hand study before he was happy that the outcome would not end up in humiliation or personal injury. Which is a nice way of saying that Head had gotten used to never talking to anyone, and was scared witless that if he tried to make a friend or even embark in light conversation, that the potential shame could burst the nice safe bubble of isolation he had built up around himself, and leave him vulnerable to unknown terrors from the strange beings he brushed shoulders with in the corridors.
This fear kept his longings in check, while he watched the groups of friends gathering in their rooms in the halls of residence, talking and laughing until the early hours, and imagined what it would be like to be one of their collective, swapping tales of children’s television they’d watched while growing up, or stories of embarrassing drunken nights out. Needless to say, this fear also kept him far too intimidated to go and actually speak to the girl he had noticed from the back of a student disco during Fresher’s Week, and had stared longingly at ever since, dreaming of what it would be like to be out on a date with her, hanging on her every word as they chatted over dinner, with the faint promise of perhaps kissing her perfectly formed lips at the end of the night. Instead, he just watched, and wished and daydreamed about the life he could have, but in his mind had no feasible chance of actually experiencing.
Head’s one escape from this life of detachment was the small television that he had brought from home, and had pride of place in his meagre little cell. Each night, while his peers marched their way down to the student bar to drink and socialise, his room was illuminated by the flickering light of the screen, as he immersed himself in dramas and comedies, drowning in the fictional lives enacted before him. He would spend hours watching the characters inside his little box, and imagine what would happen if he was to walk into that coffee shop, or got a job in that office, or was trapped on that island. He would daydream that he might bump into the oh-so-quirky girl that was always so unlucky in love, and he would get talking to her, because he would understand her in a way that all her other failed dates couldn’t, and they would grow close, and be so happy together. Unfortunately, it always ended the same way, where one of those detestable ad breaks where celebrities whored themselves out to promote the highest bidder, forcibly interrupted his fantasy. This left him in the bleak reality that it would never work out, as the ditzy happy-go-lucky girl didn’t really exist, but was a talented driven actress, who had recently been linked to that rock-star, and was rumoured to be quitting the show, in favour of a movie career, thus threatening to blink the object of his affections out of existence, save for the repeats. These realisations always left Head feeling all the more empty and alone than before, and each time he would swear to himself that he would have to actually get out there, and start to live his own life, whilst all the while silently knowing that he would get to the moment where he was about to actually talk to someone, and instead end up slinking off to his own little special solitary hideaway.
On the day in question, Head had been spending a good 2 hours sat there, on his chair on top of one of the drama buildings, watching the populace of the campus swarm around on the ground below. He had found the place on his third week at the university, while being chased by a particularly drunken bully, when he had managed to sneak away onto the roof. When he was satisfied that he had lost his attacker, he turned around to find a set of furniture, placed exactly as if someone had taken the contents of someone’s room, and recreated it out on the open roof. This was, in fact, exactly what had happened, when at the end of the previous year, a group of lads had decided that this would be the perfect leaving prank to pull on one of their classmates. However, when they discovered, after moving all the furniture, that said classmate had actually moved out early, as he was more than a little sick of these “hilarious” pranks, they pretty much forgot about the furniture, and since no one had gone up on that roof since, it had gone undiscovered until Head stumbled across it. Head decided that this could be his own little space to flee to, when he felt like he needed to escape from these strangers and clear his mind.
From his chair, Head had been watching one person in particular that day. It was the blonde English Literature student that he had seen in the bar on Fresher’s week, and had since overheard her friends calling her “Sophie”. She was a bubbly, popular girl, always smiling and laughing with her group of buddies, and on this particularly sunny day she was sitting with a small group of them out on the grass, eating a makeshift picnic, chatting, and making a vague effort to read some of the poetry books that they were meant to have studied for the following days classes. Head watched her and her friends as if they were one of his programmes, making up dialogue for them, since they were too far away to make out the true conversation they were having, the subject of which kept making Sophie flash her kind and perfect smile, and occasionally fall into fits of genuine laughter, the kind that made you ache to be the one that had blessed her with that much joy. Head watched all this, and daydreamed about what it would be like to be part of that group, exchanging stories and jokes with these shining people. Maybe he would strike up a meaningful conversation with Sophie, and bask in the beam of her smile, as she realised that he was actually a really nice guy. And as they spoke, a fondness would grow between them, as her kindly eyes gazed at him, and they would relax with each other, revealing more about themselves in conversation, occasionally shocking themselves with how open they could be, and how at ease they felt. They would find that as they felt closer to each other, that they were physically edging closer, starting to occasionally find reasons to playfully touch each other. Their hands would meet, and they would both look down, realising that they had made contact, and they would look back up at each other, and she would smile sweetly, with a coy look in her eye, and he would tell her how much he’d enjoyed chatting with her, and how he’d like to get to know her better. He would ask her out and she would say…
He snapped out of his daydream, not allowing it to go any further for fear it would be corrupted by his own self doubts. He could already feel the moment looming in his head where her smile turned cruel, and her reply was a mix of mocking rejection and emasculating ridicule. He tried to cast these thoughts out. It might be possible. Someone could love him, couldn’t they? The wave of what if’s and missed opportunities washed over him, and he knew he couldn’t continue like this. This time, he was going to try. This time, he would take the chance. This time, he would talk to her. He summoned up every small ounce of courage he could stir, hauled himself out of the chair, and made his way down the fire escape. In the distance, he could see Sophie, still chatting with her mates. He started to make his way down the path towards them.
The walk seemed to take an age, and with every step, Head’s mind was a battleground, where fear and panic struggled to try to make his legs stop, fighting against his determination, as he tried to ignore his inner battle and put one leg in front of the other, until he would have no choice but to talk to her. Unfortunately, he was halted, when an unexpected impact to the back of his head startled him, and made him stop in his tracks. An empty beer can clattered to the ground, and Head knew exactly what was happening, as it wasn’t that uncommon an occurrence. He could hear a group of rowdy sport students behind him shouting childish insults at him, and he had stopped and stood there instinctively, as he had previously found that if you didn’t rise to them, they just got bored, and wandered off to find another victim. But what they hadn’t counted on, was that today, Head was not going to be that victim anymore. He had swallowed down his fears, and put himself on a quest, and these guys had become an obstacle.
Head whirled around, fixing his eyes squarely on the face of the leader of this pack, a man called Rob, who spent the majority of his time either in the gym, or in the bar. He and his thugs were taken aback, not used to having someone actually stand up to them, as Head said “Leave me alone. You don’t know who you’re messing with”. For a moment, Rob paused, realising this was true, but what Head hadn’t accounted for was that now, he had threatened Rob’s position as a tough guy, and if he was to keep the respect of his brethren, he would have to show that he couldn’t be intimidated by this skinny punk. Rob charged at him, swinging his massive fist squarely at Head’s startled face, while his friends cheered him on. It’s difficult to say who was more surprised when, acting on instinct alone; Head dodged the blow, and drove his elbow into the back of Rob’s neck, sending him stumbling. With a previously unused skill trained into him by every kung fu movie and wrestling match he had ever watched, Head gave a side kick to Rob’s leg, making him fall to his knees, and then delivered a knockout punch, making the athlete go limp, and fall unconscious onto the floor. Head whipped round to look at Rob’s astonished posse, and growled at them: “Anyone else?” The pack ran, not wanting any part of this, as the gathered students cheered on this man, who had finally defeated these bullies who had made so many of their lives a misery. And in the distance, Head could see Sophie looking at him with admiration, and maybe even a longing…
The second impact to the back of his skull brought Head out of his fantasy, as Rob smacked him while the group walked by, still calling him names, and joking with each other about how pathetic he was. He was still standing motionless on the path, the force of the slap having driven his head forward so he now stared at his shoes, trying not to cry at his inability to act once more. All his determination and momentum had now gone, obliterated by these alpha males, who had highlighted every fear and insecurity he had about the consequences of interacting with these strange creatures. Then came the cruellest blow of all, as when he raised his gaze back up from the ground, he saw that his abusers were headed over to Sophie and her group of pals, and were being welcomed and greeted warmly. Sophie herself had gotten up from the blanket, and trotted over to Rob, gently kissing him, before they embraced with the kind of longing affection that Head only dreamed of. As Rob held her, Sophie noticed the misbegotten figure standing staring at the two of them, and in her eyes, Head could see that look which he feared a thousand times more than cruelty or disgust: Pity. He turned around, and started to make his way slowly back up the path.
As he walked slowly back towards the drama block, Head retracted back into his own mind, allowing his intellectual side to take over. He found that letting his cold detached sociologist side take over, and analyse the social interaction he had been involved in, acted almost like a balm, soothing the sting of his own humiliation, by looking at it as if it happened to someone else, so that he could try to analyse the pack behaviour and mating rituals involved. He took out his notebook and pen from his rucksack, and lost himself in a frenzy of scribbled notes as he walked along. In fact, as he made his way back up the fire escape and to his secret outdoor room, it took him a good couple of minutes until he realised that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t alone.
Head looked up from his book, and across the other side of the roof, he could see another figure, with his back towards him, peering over the side. Fortunately for Head, this other figure was so engrossed in whatever he was looking at, that he hadn’t noticed his arrival, so Head quietly snuck over to that side of the building, and hid behind an air conditioning box, along the roof edge from the stranger. Now that he was closer, Head could get a better look at the man, and realised that it was a science student called Max, who lived on the other side of the campus. Head only knew his name because he had heard the same bullies that had tormented him earlier referring to him by it, as they were beating Max up one day. Head had watched them from his safe rooftop, part wishing that he could help Max, part wondering why the skinny scientist had spoken back to the Rob’s crew, thus earning this physical reprimand, and partly just thankful that they were picking on someone else for a change. As he quietly peered around the metal box, to get a better look, Head realised that Max was dressed very strangely, with a headband on that was festooned with computer chips and blinking LED lights, trailing cables like dreadlocks down into a device he was holding in his hands. Again, the device was a mix of electronic components which frankly meant nothing to Head, with the most dominating parts of the contraption being and antenna, and a single red pulsing light. Max was fiddling with the device, and concentrating intently on a single figure below them. Head followed his gaze, and spotted the object of Max’s attention was Mark, one of Rob’s friends, who was standing below them, leaning against the wall of the opposite building. Mark was looking off into the middle distance, like his mind was a million miles away, and standing completely motionless, almost as if he had been frozen to the spot. As Head looked at him more intently, he noticed that on Mark’s wrist was what appeared to be an oversized wristwatch, which was pulsing with the same red glow as the light on Max’s device.
“MARK!” The voice startled Head, and he was immediately terrified that Max may have heard him jump, and crouched very still behind his cover. When he felt brave enough to peer round the box, he realised that Max was far more interested in this new player in the scene before him, to even be conscious that there was anyone else on the planet, let alone the roof. Head looked down to see Mark’s girlfriend shouting and waving as she walked down the path towards him. Mark, however, was not directly reacting to her calls, although as Max’s manipulation of his device became more involved, Mark moved away from the wall, and turned in the direction of the girl calling his name. Head looked back and forth from Max, to the scene unfolding before him, scarcely able to believe or fully understand what was happening. When Mark reached into the pocket of his hooded top, and pulling out a handgun, the full scope of the situation snapped into focus. There was no one else walking along the secluded path, meaning that no-one could tackle Mark and stop this. The entranced boy had the pistol aimed at the now terrified girl at point blank range. Max’s manipulations of his contraption appeared to be reaching a crescendo, while the scientist grinned at his imminent success. Only Head could do anything to stop this.
Roaring at the top of his lungs, Head sprang from his hiding place, finally getting the attention of Max, who looked up at the skinny figure charging towards him, and momentarily stopped working the controls of his device. This sent Mark back to his fugue state, his arm dropping back to his side, allowing the terrified girl a chance to make a run for it. Meanwhile, Max tried to defend himself as Head bundled into him, pulling out the wires that connected the headpiece to the machine, trying to do as much damage to it as he could, while Max tried to block the attacks, and wriggle his way free from under his assailant. Having pulled out as many wires as he could, Head turned his attentions to the device itself, grabbing hold of it, and trying to wrest it from Max. While the two engaged in this tug of war, Mark snapped out of his trance, and horrified dropped the handgun, and started to run, only to be blocked by the campus security, who had been summoned by the petrified girlfriend. After pinning Mark to the ground, they were quickly distracted by the scuffle going on above, and upon making their way to the rooftop, they found the two geeks rolling around, punching each other, fighting over some strange gadget. After easily separating the two, the burly security guards summoned the police, and due to the accusations by Mark and Head, Max was taken into custody. Mark was so thankful to Head for saving him and his girlfriend that they became the best of friends, and…
BANG! The first gunshot snapped Head out of it, and he looked down in horror as the limp bloodied figure of Mark’s girlfriend flew backwards and landed in a crumpled heap on the path. Max leapt with glee at the success of his experiment, with such excitement that he nearly dropped his device. However, he was immediately back on it, initiating the final test. As he worked his machine, Max quietly said four words, and in the near silence following the first gunshot, Head heard Mark repeat them as he raised the gun to his temple, just in time for campus security to come running round the corner. “She… asked… for… it…”
BANG! The second gunshot slammed Mark’s head sideways so hard that it nearly ripped it from his shoulders and his body then fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut.
“no” Head’s voice croaked the word out, almost against his will, as he now stood petrified to the spot, pale with shock from what he had just seen. Unfortunately, Max was now relishing his victory, and was not so deep in concentration, whirling round to confront the witness to his actions. Head looked back at him, trembling, tears pouring from his eyes, unable to move as the murderer slowly walked towards him. Head wanted to run. He wanted to fight. He wanted to turn back the clock, and stop this all from ever happening. But all he could do was stand there, as Max walked up to him. Max leaned in close, and quietly said two words “Nothing personal.”
“Please, no!” Head pleaded as Max pushed him over the edge, sending him plummeting down from the rooftop. The last thing Head saw before he hit the ground was Max Wilson’s face staring down from above him, grinning like a madman. Then it all went black.
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Head woke in the hospital, and was told that he was one of the luckiest people the doctors’ had encountered. After the 3 storey fall, he’d only suffered a broken collarbone, some cracked ribs, and a severe concussion that rendered him unconscious for a few days. Upon his release from hospital he found that his parents had sued the University for compensation, saying that there should have been better safety precautions put in place to stop people being able to fall off roofs. Head used what money was left over after paying his medical bills, to get himself a computer for his room, and resumed his studies. Only he now barely left his room, organising for food to be delivered to his lodgings, and doing most of his studying online. He stopped going to lectures, which his tutors weren’t very happy about, but as he always e-mailed his coursework on time, and it always got top grades, so they couldn’t really justify reprimanding him for it. When the police paid him a visit to ask about what happened that fateful day, he decided not to mention about Max, partially because he thought that no-one would believe that a mad scientist with a mind control machine caused a student to shoot his girlfriend and then himself, and partly as he was scared that Max would come after him.
Max never did come after Head to finish the job, maybe because he had come to the same conclusion that no one would believe Head, or more likely, Head was simply beneath his notice. But Head kept an eye on Max. He followed his every move through the safety of his computer screen. He saw from the university’s records when Max dropped out, presumably as when you find you can create a mind control machine, you assume that the teachers don’t have much else to teach you. A few years later he found the patents that Max had approved for parts of his infernal device, primarily the wristband receivers, although not the broadcaster itself, presumably not wanting to let the workings and application of the machine fall into public knowledge. Head then started keeping close tabs on the new company Max set up, “I-Vert”. Once he had completed his university education, with distinctions all along the way, Head still kept watch over Max’s activities in between writing award winning novels on the behavioural patterns of the human race. He became something of a mythical figure, as his inability to interact with other people meant that he was never seen at award ceremonies or academic functions, and even his whereabouts and appearance were kept a closely guarded secret by his publisher, who believed the concept of this mysterious writer helped bump up the sales of his books, which suited Head just fine.
This isn’t to say that Head had become a total hermit. He had bought a top floor apartment in the middle of the capital, deep in the heart of the bustling city. For his books, he would get source material by either watching the people, from a specially constructed rooftop perch, by consuming every piece of news, rumour and gossip he could find online or by occasionally going out, dressed in such a way as to be completely unremarkable to the people around him, who in this city were mostly far too engrossed in their own lives to actually take much of an interest in anyone else anyway. On these little jaunts, Head would purposely loose himself amongst the throng that surrounded him, becoming part of the swarm that shuffled constantly through the streets. Occasionally he would wear his worst clothes, and sit with the homeless, feeling somewhat more at home with the rejects kept on the outside. Quite commonly though, he would simply head to a café, and just sit there, drinking coffee and pretending to read a book, while he silently listened to the conversations and stories that went on around him.
The other reason for Head buying his apartment where he did, was that it was only a couple of streets away from the head office of I-Vert, and when Head wasn’t watching the populace of the city, getting inspiration for his writing, he was carefully watching Max’s company, and trying to figure out what was going on inside. However, it was when Head was out amongst people, that he came into contact while the real impact that I-Vert was having on the world. For Max’s innovation had revolutionised one of Head’s most hated things, and made it even more detestable to him, which was no mean feat considering it’s sinister origins. You see, I-Vert was the future of advertising.
The I-Vert revolution had begun, as with so many successful products, with its use by celebrities. Over a matter of weeks, actors, singers and television stars started being seen wearing a very familiar device, a bracelet with a pulsing red light, resembling an over sized wristwatch. Very quickly, these gadgets were being touted at the must have fashion accessory for anyone who was anyone, but strangely, the origin of these devices was shrouded in mystery. Then, after a couple of weeks, a teenage popstar named Sindee broke the silence in a television interview:
Interviewer: So, Sindee, you have your autobiography coming out this week. Tell us all about it.
Sindee: Well, first of all, I know that, like, a lot of mean people are like, totally taking the mick out of me bringing this out, when I’ve like, only had two singles out… but I think a lot of people want to know more about who I am, and where I’m from, and if anyone’s gonna tell em, it should be, like, me. So, I sat down in front of my computer, drank a load of coffee, and when it comes to coffee the only brand for me is Smooth Blend, with a saucy aroma and delicious taste that always satisfies, and like, started writing it.
Interviewer: Excuse me?
Sindee: Oh, sorry about that. It’s this I-Vert wristy-bandy thingy. I’m doing, like, an advertising campaign for Smooth Blend, and every time I talk about something like, coffee-ish, it makes sure I totally tell everyone about how cool it is! And I don’t even have to, like, remember anything about the product, or anything! It’s SO totally futuristic!
Once the news was out, journalists started scouring footage of celebrities wearing the I-Vert bracelet, and the more you looked, the more you could see it’s effects. It turned out in almost every interview or quote they were giving, at some point, they would turn it into a blatant plug for a one of any number of products on offer to the general public. It turned out that the bracelets, connected to a feed from the special servers at the I-Vert head offices, would monitor the brainwaves of the person wearing it, and when their thoughts went to a subject that related to a product that they were down to promote, the bracelet would hijack their brain, have them speak an endorsement of whatever was being sold, in what became known as “FeedSpeak”, and then return them to what they were speaking about, with a vague memory of what they had said.
Three days later, Max Wilson himself appeared on television screens, due to much public demand. However, he didn’t try to engage with the questions of academics or scientists, eager to know the intricacies on how the device could possibly work, or the moral and philosophical implications of having your brain taken over for advertising purposes. His message was for the general populace of the planet. The Common Man. And his message was “You too can be part of the I-Vert Revolution”. He offered everyone the opportunity to have one of these most sought after accessories of their very own, and what was even more amazing was that it wouldn’t cost them a thing. In fact, for every hour that they were connected to the Feed, they would be paid for doing so. This would be funded by a huge consortium of companies, in exchange for the fact that if people were talking about something that related to one of the myriad of products that the companies made, the I-Vert would kick in, and that person would say some form promotional spiel about the product, as part of their everyday conversation. People jumped at the chance to be just like the Celebs that they idolised, with demand overwhelming supply at times, much to Head’s horror. He observed the events unfurl from above, searching for every TV and internet story about the phenomenon, certain that there was something more sinister going on behind the scenes. Then, he started to encounter I-Vert directly.
The first time it happened, he was sat at one of the cafés he frequented, nursing a large cappuccino, and pretending to read “Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”, while actually listening in to the conversation going on over on the next table.
“So, the other day, Jeff forgets his briefcase, and it’s got all his expenses in it, which had to be in by the end of the day. So he pop’s home in his lunch hour and when he walks in, he can hear a load of commotion coming from upstairs. So he rushes up to the bedroom, thinking they might be being burgled, and finds Jessica and the next door neighbour’s 18 year old son in bed together! Mind you, with the comfort and quality only offered by a Twilight Slumber mattress, who could resist the temptation to enjoy a truly blissful bedtime experience?”
Head fought the urge to spit out his coffee, and glanced across in disgust at the bracelet on the lady’s arm. The two friends were laughing about how silly the FeedSpeak had sounded, and carried on with their chat. But over time, Head heard more and more of these types of conversations from people; and the more he heard them, the less people reacted, and the more they started to treat FeedSpeak almost as a natural part of their speech. Those without the wristbands started mimicking it, and once they started that, it didn’t take them long to decide they might as well get paid for talking FeedSpeak and went and got I-Verts for themselves. More and more, Head found there was no escape.
This isn’t to say that Head was the only one disapproving of this new innovation. Certain religious groups spoke out against it, mostly after attempting to subvert the Feed to convert people to the “True Way”, and failing miserably, as the server tech of the Feed was known only to Max. They then proclaimed that I-Vert was corrupting and tainting people’s eternal souls, over-riding the spiritual essence with software and electricity. Some even said that the reason that Max didn’t reveal the origin of the Feed was that it was coming straight from Hell. Philosophers were also having a field day with the questions that arose from the existence of this machinery. Does the Feed make you say these things, or does it temporarily replace you, saying them itself? And if it replaces you, what happens to the essence of you when the Feed takes over? And if it can inhabit a body and make it communicate, does that mean the Feed is alive?
The critics that posed the greatest threat to Max and his company were the scientists. As Max never allowed anyone to see the Feed server, let alone study it, there were outcries from the scientific community, since there was no evidence that adequate testing had been done on the I-Vert product, and no proof that the Feed was safe, or that it wouldn’t have some form of side effects. They petitioned governments to ban the wristbands, and demand that they be given access to the Feed servers, to properly analyse them. However, a lot had been done to set I-Vert up as a global concern even before the first wristband hit the streets. It was now a massive manufacturer, employing hundreds of people in factories worldwide to produce enough I-Vert bracelets to meet the ever growing demand, not to mention acting as at least a part time employer to all of the people that were wearing the bracelets. Worldwide industry would argue that the I-Vert and the Feed were now THE essential marketing resource for them, meaning that very quickly, the idea of shutting the company down, pending investigation, would be a global economic nightmare, effectively tying the hands of almost every government. The politicians still had to show that they were taking this seriously, trying to put various bills through to force Max to be more transparent in the workings of his company and system. However, when any of these bills got too close to actually making him reveal something, Max would state that if it was a choice between giving up his secrets, and destroying his life’s work, he would choose the latter. The resultant public outcry from loyal Feed users, or “Feeders” as they were becoming known; and big businesses with vested interests, would cause those in power to have to back down, and since such u-turns harmed the politicians’ positions of strength, and threaten their re-election chances, many decided that this was one dog best left sleeping.
The behaviour of the Feeders had now become Head’s pretty much sole subject of study. People were exhibiting what almost amounted to an addict’s dependence on the Feed, not only due to the money it was bringing to them, but also because it was giving a lot of people purpose, making them feel that they were now connected through the Feed, and part of something greater than themselves. Since I-Vert had become available to the public, Head had enough notes and theories to fill two books on the subject. However, he was telling his publishers that he had nothing for them at the moment, and was taking a sabbatical. The reason was that he feared that actually writing something about Max’s company and it’s customers/employees, might put him back on the radar of his would be killer. He also feared the subject of his study, as he was starting to notice that these people’s dependence on the Feed was starting to make some of them dangerous. Violent attacks on the critics of I-Vert were becoming more and more common. Then came the day that a University lecturer and doctor of Neuro-Sciences by the name of Greame Niles, who was well known for speaking out against Max and his creation, was shot dead by a member of a fanatical group called “The I-Con-Verted”. When Head read the article, his blood ran cold. It wasn’t because this confirmed his fears for his own safety, by these extremist groups. It wasn’t even that this was a sign that the world was falling into chaos and barbarism over a gadget that was essentially trying to sell you shoes. No, what gripped Head with a terror that he hadn’t felt since that fateful day at university, was the eyewitness account of what had happened after the gunman had killed Dr Niles. The news reported that the witness had said that the young man seemed almost possessed, shooting the Doctor five times in the head, and then having made sure he had killed him, he had turned the gun on himself. However, before he pulled the trigger, he said four words: “He asked for it.”
These four words confirmed every fear that Head had about I-Vert. The wristbands did indeed work in exactly the same way as the prototype that Head had seen Max use back at Uni, and now he was using them to take control of people, and use those people to eliminate anyone standing in his way. These unwitting assasins would then be made to turn the guns on themselves, in the same way that Mark had, so that they couldn’t tell the police that they had not been in control of their actions at the time, and instead came across as fanatics and terrorists. Soon, more killings were being reported with exactly the same M.O. and the same slogan being spoken before the killer blew his or her own brains out. Some, Head theorised, were copycats, by people who truly did believe that the Feed had become their new religion, and that Heretics like Dr Niles and the like, must be silenced, but Head could usually figure these out, as they invariably couldn’t bring themselves to actually finish the job and kill themselves, instead ranting about the love of the Feed as they fought with police, with the usual bloody conclusion that they ended up being gunned down, as they were too frenzied to be safely taken into custody.
Max made another of his rare television appearances, in a statement recorded at I-Vert HQ and sent to all stations. In it, he pointed out that neither he, nor I-Vert, were involved with, or condoned, the killings of these poor misguided opponents of their work, but that this merely showed how important the Feed had become to people, and how it was improving people’s lives. He also stated that as he felt an indirect responsibility, due to the fact that the victim’s appeared to have been killed for their objections to his product, he was setting up a fund to support the relatives of those slain. Head noticed that Max stopped short of actually telling people to stop these killings, but then Head knew that this would have pretty much been Max talking to himself, and what would have been the point of that.
Head sat back in his chair, and silently contemplated the situation. Max was now so powerful that he was pretty much untouchable economically and politically, able to hold nations to ransom with threats of stopping production and turning off the Feed to their country, if his demands were not met. He had also effectively set himself up as the leader of a vast majority of the people of the world, and now had the power to take control of any of them, at any time, and have them commit any act he wished, with complete deniability. And to make matters worse, only he was aware of the full scale of what Max was capable of. He considered going to the Police, as they had been banned from connecting to the Feed, as it was deemed unprofessional and distracting, with the worry that they would start doing things like unintentionally promoting the benefits of hair dye, when informing someone that their husband had passed away in a car crash. However the rule only applied in work hours, and Head had also read reports that some officers were getting around the rule by wearing the I-Vert bracelets on their ankles to avoid detection, meaning that there was no guarantee of his safety if he did try to speak out. It all came down to him. Only he could stop Max effectively taking over the world.
Over the next few weeks, Head increased his surveillance of the I-Vert Headquarters, studying everything he could about the behaviour of those coming and going from the compound. He analysed them as if they were test subjects for one of his books, and applied every behavioural theory at his disposal, until he could almost predict every action that each person was about to make, before they made it. He then scoured the internet for the construction plans of the building, and the employment records of all employees and their positions within the company. He also studied the records of the suppliers for the company, and looked into the information about the employees who had direct contact with I-Vert. Once he had established his opportunity and was comfortable that he knew the place better than most of the hundreds of people who worked there, Head started practicing, standing in front of the his mirror for hours at a time, trying out the conversations he envisaged having, again and again. Over time, the acted-out monologues sounded more and more natural, as Head carefully reconstructed himself into the character he would assume. Then, when he could see that the time was right, he dressed in his best suit, slicked back his hair, and stepped out onto the street, and into a taxi that would take him straight to I-Vert HQ.
Once there, the taxi had to slowly make it’s way past the sizable throng of tourists that regularly gathered outside, excitedly snapping pictures of this now legendary company that had such an impact on their lives. Once it had managed to get the attention of these distracted fans, it then passed the handful of screwball soothsayers, complete with placards and tin foil hats, who camped outside telling of the doom that the Feed was bringing to the world. Head silently contemplated how right they truly were, as he mentally gathered himself for the job at hand. At the gate, he introduced himself to the burly guard as Jeremy Coleman, Sales Liaison for Duplic8 Reproduction Services. Head knew that I-Vert’s regular contact for this company, Tricia Bunting (who had recently announced the birth of her son Samuel Jack on her personal webprofile) was currently on maternity leave, and that Jeremy, who had yet to visit with I-Vert, was looking after her workload. The security guard carefully studied his clipboard with a confused expression, and eventually said that he didn’t have a record that Mr Coleman was due to visit today, but after he called through to the appropriate manager, he raised the barrier, letting the car pass.
The taxi drove up to reception, where Head was met by a young man he recognised as Steven Lobdell, the office manager of the site. After getting out of the Taxi, and shaking Steven’s hand, Head made a frustrated rant about the fact that “the damn office was meant to call ahead and warn that I was coming”, which seemed to put Steven at ease about the unscheduled arrival. Head then informed Steven that while he was covering this patch, he wanted to come, introduce himself, and check over the copiers, to make certain that such an important customer as I-Vert’s needs were being fully met. Steven, who Head knew always seemed to be sitting in his office browsing the Internet on a Wednesday, was only too happy to have the distraction, and after Head had gone through the metal detector, had his briefcase x-rayed, and been issued with a visitor badge, started to escort him on a tour around the building.
As they walked around, Head recited all his rehearsed small talk, most of which were just prompts to make Steven feel important and talk about himself, while Head pretended to listen, Instead, he was keeping track of where they were in the building, against the building schematic he had memorised, while occasionally stopping to look at each photocopier, while talking about the schematics and functions of each model, which he had picked up from the manufacturer’s website. Then, at about 11:30, they arrived at the central offices, next to the high security core of the compound, where the servers had to be housed. Just as he was about to look at the photocopier there, Head stood up, and said “Actually, is there a toilet I can use?” He knew that Steven usually went outside for a cigarette at this time, so predictably, Steven explained where to go, and then wandered off for his fix, agreeing to meet up there again in about 10 minutes.
Now that he was unescorted Head made his way to the server block, walking confidently past anyone he encountered with an air of authority that made a few people actually look away, almost feeling worried that he would ask why they weren’t at their desks. He soon got to a door, with an armed guard standing nearby, and an impressive electronic security lock. Head walked up to the guard, and barely breaking his stride, said “Hello mate, just here to check on the power couplings.” The guard started to look confused raised his arm to block Head’s path. As he opened his mouth to speak, Head stopped in his tracks and before the guard could get a word out, said “Oh, tell me Fred at the gate called up to say I was coming. I had this last time…” The guard relaxed, having suffered this sort of thing before, and said “No worries”, letting Head past. Of course, if he couldn’t get past the key coded security lock, the illusion would have been ruined, and Head would be due for the beating of a lifetime, if not worse. Fortunately, Head had already researched the makers of the security system used at the site, and found that there was a manufacturer’s override code, which they use for when people forget what numbers they programmed into their own system. Head typed the magic number in, and with a hydraulic hiss the door opened. As he walked inside, with the thick steel door automatically closing behind him, he found himself thinking this was almost too easy. He then mentally slapped himself for jinxing it, as the lights activated, illuminating the room before him.
Head slowly walked forward, gazing awestruck at the room before him. It was the size of a school hall, and as Head walked down the central corridor, he was flanked on both sides by row upon row of server cabinets. Power cables snaked their way across the floors, leading from the company’s own generator, housed on the floor below, which meant that even if their power was cut off, The Feed would continue to flow. The corridor then opened to a huge space, and Head was faced by the main control server itself. It stood 15 feet tall, and was a mass of flashing red lights, and clicking switches, connected to the smaller servers behind him by a web of wire suspended high overhead. The machine was dominated by a six foot tall computer screen, which was currently scrolling name after name, presumably monitoring when each of them hooked into the Feed. In front of this goliath, was a single controller’s chair, with it’s own keyboard, some form of joystick, and most importantly, a dome attached to the top, that looked like something more at home in a hairdressers, but he presumed was how Max projected his own thoughts.
It was at this point that Head realised that, in many ways, he had never quite believed that he would actually get this far. He stopped for a moment, to gather his thoughts and reassess the situation. In about another 8 minutes, Mr Lobdell would realise that Head should have been back from the toilet by now, and would quite possibly raise the alarm. Before that happened, Head needed to disable this machine, so that it could never be used again, and since there would be nothing to stop Max from rebuilding his creation, Head would have to stop him too.
Head was just trying to figure out how the hell he was actually going to get to Max, when a loud PING rang out amongst the clicks and clatters of the switches in the room. Looking to his left, Head saw a green lighting shining above a metal lift door, and as it slowly started to slide open, Head instinctively dived behind one of the server cabinets. Thinking back to the building schematics, he realised that the lift led up to the private office directly above this room, and sure enough, the figure of Max Wilson walked out, and headed towards the control chair. Head watched silently, as Max sat down, and started typing on the keyboard, until suddenly a view of the city filled the screen. There was the sound of two people talking, and Head realised that the screen was showing what was being seen by one of those connected to the Feed. One voice, a female, was louder than the other, and this was the person whose eyes they were looking through. She turned, and Max and Head could now see the other half of the couple walking out onto the high rise balcony, naked apart from a robe, and carrying two glasses of champagne. Head instantly recognised the man as Alfred Hamilton, a politician who had recently put forth a bill suggesting that there should be more regulation of I-Vert, so that Feedspeak for products like cigarettes and alcohol should not be allowed, especially since many children were now connecting to the Feed. From the conversation, Head deduced that the lady had to be Mr Hamilton’s mistress, as they were talking about how his wife didn’t understand him, and the like. Max reached above the chair, and placed the domed headpiece over his skull.
The wristband on the girl started pulsing bright red, and when the politician noticed this, he said “Oh, do you have to wear that all the ti…” He didn’t have a chance to get the whole of the last word out, before Max swung his arm, and the young girl smashed her glass into the side of Alfred’s face. The overweight 60 year old tumbled backwards onto the floor, lacerations all across his eye and cheek, but before he could even try to defend himself, the girl was on top of him, hands tightly wrapped around his throat, squeezing with all the strength she had. He tried to free himself from her grip, but before he could, Max had spotted the broken stem of the shattered champagne glass on the ground. Max stretched out making the girl grab it; and at his command, she plunged the glass prong over and over into the politician’s throat, sending blood spraying out from the multiple wounds, until the man lay dead, unmoving on the tiles of the balcony. With her job done, Max instructed the girl to stand up, and walk over to the edge of the balcony, climbing up on the little wall that surrounded it. He looked down, and the screen showed the 12 storey drop before her. Then, both he and the girl threw their head’s back, and they shouted out in unison “HE ASKED FOR IT!”
However, before Max could instruct the girl to leap to her death, something unexpected happened. With all his concentration being on the job at hand, Max had not been in the slightest bit aware that he was not alone in his control room. He had been even less aware of Head creeping over to where he sat, while he carried out his foul deed. And he was blissfully ignorant of the hardened ceramic blade that Head had managed to sneak in, undetectable by the metal detectors on the way in. Head stood behind the seated figure, looking down on this man who had ruined his life and the lives of so many, leaned in, and said “You asked for this.”
“What” was all Max managed to say before, with a single swing, Head cut through all the wires that connected the chair’s headpiece to the machine itself.
With the connection so abruptly severed, Max found he couldn’t feel his own body back in the chair. When he tried to raise his arms, to operate the release on the headset, he found he could barely move the arms of the girl he was inhabiting, let alone those on his own body. He started to shout in desperation. “What the f**k is going on? Why can’t… Get me OUT! GET ME OUT!” In his mind, the last words he heard echoed around and around. Where had he heard that voice before? Suddenly, he remembered that day back at university. The witness, begging and screaming as Max pushed him off the roof. “YOU! You spineless piece of s**t! Fix this! Get me OUT or so help me, I will hunt you down, and…”
Back in the control centre, Head stared at the screen, and listened to the girl’s voice expressing Max’s panic and rage, while Max’s body spasmed and twitched in the chair beside him, in a state of shock, trying to keep going despite having it’s mind brutally ripped from it. Head ignored this, transfixed by the scene unfurling on the screen. Max was still shouting, although amongst it, Head swore that he could almost hear the girl’s screams, almost as if the two of them were now wrestling for control of the one body they now inhabited. Unfortunately, the internal battle going on inside the young girl was cut brutally short, when a stray gust of wind, combined with the lack of balance that comes from wearing high heels while standing on a balcony wall, swept her body off the wall, and tumbling over the edge. Head couldn’t help but remember how it felt the day that Max had pushed him, as he watched the screen, and saw the balcony speeding away, as the girls eyes looked to the sky, while screaming all the way to the concrete below. The screen went black. The room fell silent. Max’s body stopped moving, almost as if it gave up, somehow knowing of the death of it’s mind, so many miles away.
CREATOR HEARTBEAT MONITOR NO LONGER RESPONDING.
SELF DESTRUCT INITIATED……
10…
The screen filled with these words, and a loud siren blared through the room, pulsing like a heartbeat monitor, but with a growing speed.
9…
The switches on all of the machines started clicking more and more, like a thousand mechanical moths trapped in a lampshade.
8…
The siren beeping out was getting faster and faster, as Head realised there was no way of getting out of here in time, and no way of possibly knowing how to shut it all down. He started kicking at the server, vainly hoping he might somehow manage to get lucky and stop it.
7…
An arc of electricity shot out of the machine, striking Head in the chest, and sending him crashing to the floor. He lay there, still conscious, but now unable to move, watching the place fall apart.
6…
More lightning bolts went sparking between the servers, as the whole building felt like it was starting to shake, cracks appearing on the walls.
5…
The sirens pulse getting faster and faster, like a tribal drummer, heralding in the coming of some ancient being.
4…
Another electric shock shooting through Head, his body twitching and thrashing, as masonry rains over him, pinning him down.
3…
The room falls apart. The lights all around seem to be flashing brighter and brighter, whiter and whiter.
2….
Siren throbbing so fast and frantic, almost like someone knocking, desperate to get in.
1….
Room filled with lightning, Head’s body on fire, the siren now one long continuous note, dominant over the noise, chaos and commotion.
0
The siren tone blends into nothingness, as the world collapses into a white emptiness. And as Head dissolves, becoming one with the white light, he accepts it, knowing that now, he can know peace.
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