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Date Posted: 15:41:48 09/07/01 Fri
Author: Trevor Deoge
Subject: Look, look! It's a PLOT! And it's starting!

Once home, Trevor collapses into an armchair and stares up at his cracked, peeling ceiling. He's been meaning to complain to the apartment manager for a while, but why bother? It's not going to get fixed, and a million other apartments in the city have the same kind of ceiling. As long as it doesn't leak.

It's safe to think about the ceiling. Safe to think about the potted plant that needs dusting and watering--presently, Trevor eases out of the chair to find a glass and fill it with water--safe to think about the garbage that needs taking out, safe to think about clothes that need laundering, safe to think about writing a letter to his parents on the other side of the city--

His parents. He has parents, doesn't he? Who has he been writing to? Trevor hasn't seen his parents in years. The letters never get returned to him, but is that because someone is reading them? Who are his parents? What are their names? What do they do? When was Trevor born? When was the last time he celebrated his birthday? Trevor stands before the potted plant, trembling, the half-filled glass clutched in his paw as if it'll give him all the answers. He grasps frantically at threads of half-memories but they dance and and slip away from him before he can fully remember. His first girlfriend. What was her name? When did they break up? He can't remember. The name of his secondary school. Did he have any friends there? Was he in any clubs? When did he first hear of Neuracomp? What was his reaction? Elated. Sure that this would be a positive influence on the city. He doesn't know which ones are true and which are false, memories implanted from his time spent in the tanks.

The glass shatters into a million mirrored fragments on the floor, water splashing everywhere in crystal droplets. Trevor cluctches frantically at his face. Is this the face he was born with? Is this the body he was born with? What was done to him in those tanks? Was what was done to him right? He has never had to think about that before. He has never had to question.

Now there are too many questions, not enough answers.

Trevor sinks slowly to his knees, staring dully at the glass and water on the floor, the jagged shards like icebergs staring out of arctic water. He begins to pick them up, one by one, and drop them into the front of his robe. Then he strips the clothing off, not caring when it tears. After wrapping the glass safely in the dark green cloth, he viciously mops up the water on the floor. Minutes later, the trash can slams shut with a satisfying bang and Trevor is on his hoverbike, headed for The Flying Goldfish.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"What, that there's a new pawn in the game?

"Or perhaps a dark horse, hmm?"

"You're such a drama queen."

"A little revolution now and then is a healthy thing."

--Thomas Jefferson

OOC: Feel free to leap ahead a few days or weeks in time. Trevor's going to spread the news that Neuracomp is doing Bad Things, trying to gather support to expel them. It's up to you whether you want to join the revolutionary forces, whether you believe him, whether you stick with Neuracomp, etc. etc.

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