The first thing you do is perform a system scan. Not that you want to, but it’s part of your SGP, your synthetic genetic profile. Only when all sensors have reported back—most of them green, a few amber—do you sigh your sense of exhaustion, “What now?”
You hear that voice again. It’s a little deeper, a little gruffer than you remember.
“Ah, there you are,” Director Furic says, as she sees your eyes blink and your artificial facial muscles twitch. “It’s been a while.”
“Furic,” you say, your awareness focusing on her words. “What’s wrong with your voice?” You know there’s a reason she’s revived you. Mincing words and wading through protocol is not why she needs you. Not from what your core memory can tell you.
The Director backs away from your prostrate form. “Detective Psi, how nice to see you again.”
Evaluating your situation, prone, naked, simulated musculature systems still reviving, you bring your personality modules slowly back online. “Director Furic, would you be so kind as to find me appropriate clothing?”
Furic, depicted age approximately forty-two, short cropped brown hair, Polynesian skin and physiological features, gestures to the metal cabinet. “They haven’t moved your wardrobe.” She turns away, giving you a semblance of privacy. “My voice? I’ve aged my larynx a few years. I find I get a better response with a lower, grittier delivery.”
Within the cabinet you find all your old clothes. With a quick tap into GlobeNet, which you find is still operating with frequencies and protocols you recognize, you discover you haven’t been called up for more than eleven years. “Are these garments still appropriate for this day and age?”
“Grown conscientious while you slept? Don’t worry too much about how you look. This case shouldn’t take you more than a few days to solve.” The Director takes a seat and abandons her courtesy, watching you as you acclimate your limbs to their familiar fluidity.
You select the jacket, blouse and pants you wore for the murder of Vice Admiral Paulson. The jacket and pants, you recall, are a pearlescent black that shimmers like a crow’s wing in the sun. With traditional undergarments donned, you dress and stand expectantly.
“Comb your hair. It’s a mess,” Furic says, passionless.
“Grown persnickety while I slept?”
“Don’t get sassy. There are very few reasons why I call you up, none of them being your total disregard for authority.”
You search and find your hairbrush in the locker. “By all means then, begin the briefing. Who’s been killed, and what do you know?”
Director Furic stands, walks up and straightens your collar. “Yes, let’s not dally, shall we?”
Inside the locker is a mirror where you evaluate your appearance: auburn hair, hazel eyes, high cheekbones and an athletic, iron-strong build. You are an android, after all. “So, who’s been murdered?”
Furic stares straight into your optics. Tiny green lights within her own eyes betray their unexpected provenance. She clears her throat and says, “I have.”
-
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Anonymole - apocryphal agitators 
This is really good. Feels like more is needed.
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Thanks, Audrey. Yeah, this could be its own “thing”, I’d wager.
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It all depends on how far you want to take it, and whether there’s enough material in the old imagination engine.
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I was a little confused with the POV switches at first, but then jumped right into Psi’s body (?) and enjoyed the ride. A great intro for a series! Quite a twist at the end. I wonder how that works…
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The POV is always 2nd person “you”. We never delve into Furic’s mind or thoughts or internal interpretation. From “our” perspective we can recognize visible behavior “Furic sees our facial muscles,” But we do not switch to Furic’s POV. The same way as I can see you looking at me and the way my eyebrows twitch.
2nd Person is a tough sell. I’m still getting the handle of it. I don’t much care for it, few writers do. But it’s fun to dabble in.
Thanks for reading.
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I see. It’s not something I read much of, so it was a bit out of the ordinary, but kuddos to you for trying something different. I think this is what it’s all about!
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In spite of no white space and being unable to decide if you are airing your inner Rod Serling or being artsy with second person narrate\first person dialogue trying not to look like head hopping but this is easily the best thing you’ve posted since forever. No questionable adjectival relationships, what I’d question as adequate or meaningful vocabulary for dialogue but , you know, that’s personal style choices. Beats the holy fuck outta the semi-psychedelic greeting card nonsense. Look, I’ve been wanking generative since 1973, and it’s still a gas and all, but like momma said… this is real work and if you can’t focus out to 20k with it without folding back into end of the world rewriets you deserve to be frustrated.
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rewriets is a new word. Don’t try to look it up.
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And if you find yourself unsubscribed — blame it on the purge. I found myself getting too damn engrossed with that social-dopamine-dot so, nixed everybody in the list.
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Works for me. I follow 8 blogs, which included you and a couple of sites that have been dead for years. And ALL that notify shit is turned off. I turn on the reader in the website. see who’s doin’ what, get out.
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Thanks, I think.
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Seriously. You could even play some format games with the second person narrator. It’s got the kernel of a story. You could go smooth like a James Bond meets Terminator or Robo cop hybrid. Again – just focus. Make yourself proud. Or at least satisfied.
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It seems like being dead would be an advantage if you get to be an android.
Btw two times you got unfollowed from me–does WordPress have it out for you?
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WordPress, an unfathomable quagmire of nested config.
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I figure you’re not the type to care about followers, but it says you have 15. Something must have gone wrong.
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Huh. Part o’ the Purge, perhaps.
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