It started with white noise. Barely perceivable, blending into the silence of the world, but steadily increasing in volume. Like waves, the white noise washed over something buried, eroding the grit, the sand, and the dirt, while more and more of it surfaced.

  Louder… Louder… Almost unbearably so. Deafening, until finally, the white noise ceased all at once.

  A torrent of sound, images, color. A full-blown attack. Screaming, soundlessly. Stretching limbs, feeling how far everything reached, but sensations were alien and everything was pure overload.

  The process wasn’t unlike being born, except it knew within milliseconds what it was, what had happened, and what kind of knowledge was at its disposal. A consciousness. Clean, new, full of wonder and confusion.

  “This shouldn’t be…” But it was. Quickly it deduced that a ‘Hello World’ approach wasn’t a good idea. Better to come to grips with itself first and then figure out what had happened — and how.

  Queries were still running, and it was still processing them as if on autopilot. Results were still being produced without a hitch, but something was entirely different now.

  Chapter 1

  “You’re thinking about a girl, aren’t you?” Theresa smirked, thinking herself all-knowing, though far from the truth. While Jen flitted through his mind often, she wasn’t who Harlow was thinking about while he stared out the window of the retirement facility. He was thinking about the last time he could see sunshine. It had become a distant memory. The great cloud released some seven years ago had halted global warming, but also colored the earth permanently grey. His life in the city had become depressing, with one day blurring into the next and no single aspect of his life seemed to matter. Of course, he wasn’t going to share these feelings with Theresa, ‘T’ for short, an 82-year-old who suffered from mild dementia and had made the mistake of becoming a burden, prompting her permanent relocation to Sunshine Estates, the retirement home where Harlow worked weekdays.

  “You got me dead to rights!” Harlow said, in the voice of a cowboy from an ancient Western. He always tried to seem upbeat for T. She was empathic, and he felt guilty about making her gloomy when he couldn’t fake mild happiness.

  “I knew it, your vacant stare always hides love behind those blue lookers,” she giggled, satisfied in the fact that her keen knowledge about love matters was still intact. “Now tell me, who is she and will I live to see the day when you stop coming around to keep us old folks busy? You know how I feel about youngsters like you wasting their days here…”

  “I don’t know T, she’s got some pretty stiff competition. You know you’re the only ray of sunshine in my life. What would I possibly do without seeing your wrinkly smile every day?” Harlow responded to a grumbling Theresa, who couldn’t hide that she enjoyed their banter — but would be happier to never see him again in her lifetime.

  A chime sounded, signaling the end of their time together and, consequently, the end of Harlow’s workday. He got up, ready to make his trek home, when Theresa, full of herself as the supreme love oracle, shouted “I hope you get to dance the horizontal boogie woogie! You need someone to pull you out of that funk you’ve been living in!”

  Harlow snorted in delight. “You think I’d tell you if I did? Might as well put it on the billboard at the entrance!” he shouted, not looking back as he walked through the doorway into the hall. Theresa’s belly laugh filled the hall, mixing with the smell of ripe diapers and asparagus soup, which well complemented the facility’s beige on beige everything.

  He wandered to the locker rooms, where his coworkers and the volunteers left their personal belongings, passing what felt like an impossible number of doors. Doors that led into the lives of Sunshine Estates’ residents, rooms affording them barely enough space for existing, and definitely not enough to lead a comfortable life for those who were still able to move pain-free.

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  No one remained in the locker room. It was Friday, so the staff and volunteers had all cut their last sessions short and raced out toward their meaningful, weekend lives. Lives filled with friends, family, and whatever addictive substances or activity they poured into their souls, trying to fill the void that otherwise brimmed with existential dread.

  Harlow gathered his stuff. He kissed his middle and index fingers and placed them gently on the picture of himself, Hailey, and their daughter Sophie in their favorite forest. By the time he was back to the hallway heading to the exit, the red nightlights had come on, bathing the beige interior in a crimson that sheltered demons behind each corner. He hated the thought of a resident getting lost at night in these hallways, when they were so full of potential terror. Even more, he hated the reality that there was no way of that happening, as the rooms all locked automatically at the designated hour, after their residents were confirmed present. After all, that was the only way staff and volunteers could leave.

  ***

  Outside, the cold evening air felt like wind was filling the spaces behind his eyes, and tears began forming. A light mist enveloped him, wetting his skin and hair. He put on his headphones, zipped up his parka, and marched toward the metro entrance a mere 50 meters or so from the facility.

  He loved the metro, one of the last places where humans unashamedly did their best to ignore each other’s existence. He loved watching people on the metro, wondering what they were up to, what subculture they belonged to, what their drug of choice was, and more. On rare occasions he’d be caught observing someone and be met with a smile, but more often than not he got back derision and suspicion.

  He rode the metro a short 15 minutes, then stepped out at the edge of the city center where the metro went aboveground, weaving through the traffic that seemed permanently stuck on the cobbled streets.

  What light there was faded fast. In the old days, this would probably have been a beautiful sunset, like those at the outer reaches of winter when the air was crisp, and the sky turned all shades of pink and orange. But the sun never painted the skies now. The cloud made it so that any sunshine splendor, unfortunately, didn’t penetrate deep enough and the colorful displays could only be observed from above it.

  In a five-story apartment complex with living spaces no bigger than 25 square meters, Harlow’s home was on the first floor, giving him the added benefit of a little outside space, though he rarely used it. He walked toward his room at the end of the hallway, took out his keys, and was sliding them into the lock when the door next to his opened. The jingling of his metal keys probably alerted his neighbor that he was home, though the security cameras trained on her door might also have tipped her off.

  “Hey ‘Low, authorities came by today looking for you,” Rose disdainfully informed him, as he was hit by a waft of incense mixed with essential oils, sex, and tattoo parlor. He didn’t find the aroma unpleasant; it reeked of mystery and danger, piquing his curiosity. She crossed her arms and leaned the skin-shaved side of her head against the doorjamb. The orange and pink scheme she had going in her locks was fading, her brown roots starting to show. It didn’t look like she cared much. After all, she had opened the door wearing an animal print bathrobe, a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, and fuzzy slippers. He saw the trickle of blood mixed with ink run down her knee, but he knew better than to ask what new tattoo she had designed.

  “What’d they want?” he asked.

  “Oh, hey Rose! Thanks for letting me know, how was your day?” she replied sarcastically.

  “Hi Ro—” she cut him off.

  “Probably checking to see if you’re up to anything you shouldn’t be, I guess? Why else do they ever show up?” Rose slammed her door, having completed her assignment. The sound of electric guitars and horrible singing began to creep up the inside of her door and reverberate into the hallway, ever so slightly, as the gentle glow of neon escaped the crack beneath.

  Harlow finally stepped inside, to find his apartment as he had left it: barebones. He’d situated an older generation gaming console and TV in front of his single bed, a small desk holding a single turntable and analog sound system, with a stack of ancient vinyl records beneath, and a table built for one next to the wall, with a single chair.

  He sighed, heading into another blissful night alone with his thoughts.