Sylvia Redux (Monotone-y)

Every day was the same in the In.

But the same means regular, and regularity was the key to a Comfortable life.

Order. Order that actively fights against chaos, with tanks and missiles and rules.

If there were no surprises, if chaos was systematically hunted down and destroyed, then the mind could be set free to ponder other tasks without frivolous distractions. One could devote all one's energy to the Sciences, to Philosophy, Literature, or Art, without getting bogged down by the uncertainties of life.

Routine governed the Inner Districts, with the precision of an atomic clock—one could even call it a Regime.

Every day was the same in the In, and this day was no exception, Transfer or not.

At exactly the designated hour every day, Sylvia would be woken gently by her PAL Penny, the right time chosen with great care based on her Passive Encephalogram readings used to monitor her REM wave-patterns—abrupt waking in the middle of REM sleep was not conducive to efficient work and a healthy mindset for the day's activities.

And every morning, Sylvia would lie in her soft, standard-issue double-bed and pretend to be asleep, stewing with the knowledge that when she opened her eyes, Penny would be there, invariably, its bright sunny smile positively beaming in the soft morning light.

Of course, there was no use in pretending.

Good Morning, Miss Sylvia.

The way Penny said it, with exactly the same cheery intonation and modulated inflexion every time, invariably smiling sweetly with a carefully calculated cuteness, really made Sylvia uneasy sometimes.

“Dammit, Penny, can’t you just call me Sylvia, just once?”

Even after three years, she just couldn't get used to that constant, measured smile—the artfully simulated facial expressions of her Personal Assistance Liaison were just too human.

Sylvia had to constantly remind herself that Penny was merely a standard-issue Service Drone equipped with a holographic projector, same as everyone else's—her cherubic face, framed by short sable bangs, neatly combed and held in place with a hairpin, her elegant semi-circular glasses that complimented her violet eyes perfectly, and her immaculately pressed standard-issue uniform, was all merely a High Definition Projected Avatar.

There was talk that some of the other Ins had personalized their own Penny's, paid someone to hack her code to customize her wardrobe, or lack-thereof in some cases.

But no matter how much she would like to do the same, being a Brass employee stationed in the Central Tower, it was expected that she and her colleagues should set an example for all the other Residents of the Inner District, meaning that Sylvia's habits at home were most likely monitored and evaluated. She had signed the waiver after all.

And then, as usual, Sylvia's still half-dreaming, waking thoughts—the best part of waking up—would be unobtrusively interrupted by Penny's sometimes painfully bubbly and cheery voice-synthesizer, as she started listing the Morning Announcements:

Today is Day 3 of Week 37, Year 21.

Rolling her eyes, Sylvia slowly got out of bed, she had to remind herself that 'Day 3' used be a 'Wednesday' in the Out.

The temperature is a lovely 24 degrees Celsius; Humidity at 20 percent.

“So, same as every day. Thanks for the update, Penny.”

No problem!

For all her feats of programming and design, sarcasm was still something that Penny had trouble recognising—Sylvia enjoyed that immensely.

Item One: 
Oh, there’s a Notice from the Central Administrator: 
Rainfall has been scheduled for Hour 14.
Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to put your umbrella by the door.

“Great,” Synthia sighed to herself, “I guess I haven't been allocated a Transport for today. Again. Not that I ever get one.”

Item Two:
Be advised that Water Allocation has been reduced by 0.5 percent. 
All Ablutionary Services will be moderated until further notice.

Penny tutted and looked at Sylvia quite morosely.

Ouch, I know how you like your showers, Miss Sylvia.

Sylvia stood up on the perfectly warm tiles of her luxuriously spaced Apartment Unit, with its white walls and floors, crisp white surfaces and spartan modern furniture, well aware that every resident of the Inner District was currently doing the same thing, looking at the same sight.

“Penny, why don’t you ever have good news?”

Penny, didn’t respond but had a mischievous look on her face, which was quite alarming and disarming at the same time, probably a design feature they Sylvia fell for every time.

Item Three: 
Here we are, good news! 
Nutritional Resource Allocation is Normal. 
Let me know what you want me to request for your meals today.

"Breakfast: Waffles, Lunch: Waffles, and Dinner: More Waffles," intoned Sylvia loudly and slowly, a sly grin on her face.

Request Sent.

There was a brief pause, a quizzical look hanging on Penny’s face almost like a screensaver, which Sylvia took as a sign to begin her morning stretches.

Oh no, your was Request Denied.
Maybe try something else?
Don’t worry, though.
I’m sure the Central Administrator will approve your request.
One day.

Penny smiled sweetly, winking, as if she got the joke, enjoyed it even. Her life-like expressions really did give Sylvia the creeps sometimes.

Sighing once again, she told Penny her actual order.

Approved, thanks!
I’ll have your Allocated Breakfast ready for you after your workout.

"Yaaay," Sylvia droned in a deadpan tone, “I can’t wait for whatever Genetically Modified mutation they serve me next.”

Now Penny seemed too excited about something to even not-notice Sylvia’s sarcasm.

Item Four: 
Ooooh, Miss Sylvia!

There was a hint of teasing in Penny’s voice.

The Central Administrator has approved your Transfer Request.
You need to report to the Department of Outer Affairs, Floor B12.
Congratulations!
You see, there IS good news!

Mid-stretch, Sylvia caught herself just in time, about to launch into Penny for a massive hug. She cleared her throat, "Thanks."

To cover it up she threw on her standard-issue tracksuit—white, of course, with a single, elegant black stripe down the sleeve—and began making her way towards the door, heading for the Apartment Complex's gym.

She had to stop dead when the door didn't smoothly slide open like it usually did.

Uhm, Miss Sylvia, one more thing...

Something in Penny’s voice, almost disconsolate, caught her off guard.

“Penny…”

Slowly, Sylvia turned to look at Penny questioningly. The PAL unit’s Avatar was awkwardly pressing her two index fingers together and squirming meekly, like she was uncomfortable, steeling herself for something, as if it was gathering the courage to say something—the gesture was disquietingly human.

"Yes, Penny?" said Sylvia flatly, her heart sinking, "Get on with it."

Um... 
Your request for a match-date with Resident 73490 has been declined.

Penny grimaced awkwardly.

So sorry.

Programmed or not, the pained expression that was reflected on Penny's face, like she was truly empathetic and apologetic for breaking some bad news, at the very least softened the blow for Sylvia.

Sighing for what felt like the thousandth time this morning, Sylvia muttered, "Oh. Did she leave a message by any chance?"

No... Sorry...

Brightening up almost immediately, Penny continued,

You could always put in an Allocation Request, you know.
The Central Administrator will find a perfectly compatible match.
No problem at all.

All Sylvia could do was blink repeatedly, like her eyelids were attempting to send coded messages of condolence to her brain.

Should I send one?

"…."

Miss Sylvia…?

Getting ahold of herself, Sylvia managed to respond, barely. She felt like her heart had just turned into a vestigial organ for a second.

"No... that's alright. I'm going to the gym now."

Dejectedly, Sylvia quickly turned and walked towards the door. This time it glided open with barely a whisper.

"Thanks, Penny," she called back over her shoulder.

Not a problem at all, Miss Sylvia!
Enjoy your exercise, I’m sure it will do you some good!

Penny’s reply was cheerful and upbeat, perfectly timed to finish just as the door slid closed again.

Sylvia sighed the heaviest sigh of the entire morning, like her very essence was trying to leave her body through her own windpipe.

Say what you want about PALs, at least with them everyone was an In, no matter if they happened to be born in the Out.

After the gym and her just ever-so-short shower, Sylvia ate her toast and dressed in her clean and pressed white uniform with its crisp black trim, which had been laid out for her by Penny.

Then, the usual walk through manicured streets, and past white, box-like Apartment Complexes—all exactly the same—towards the Central Tower, the usual dirty looks from the Born-Ins included , which she tried to brush off.

Inside the Tower, Sylvia gave her usual nod to the Security Drone as it hovered perfectly in place by the elevator, the sight of which filled her mind with nervousness as she suddenly remembered her Transfer.

As the elevator slid smoothly downwards, her nervousness only intensified, and she desperately tried to distract herself. She couldn’t help but think back on the events of the morning.

Her nervousness was immediately replaced with frustration and dejection, which then turned into something else, something darker.

Sylvia felt angry. Angry that despite all her hard work to get here, it still meant jack-shit.

Very few Outs got a chance to work for the Brass in the Central Tower—Lotto winners were few and far between, usually working closer to the Edge of the District, or not at all.

One would think that being one of few Outs would be a mark of of Honour, but to the Born-Ins she was merely a piece of gum tracked onto a new carpet.

The usual feeling of being stained and unwanted was nothing new and would probably never change. Eventually, you just incorporated that feeling into yourself, where it festers.

Everything would continue beingthe same, and that was the problem in and of itself.

Sometimes it felt like parts of herself were being drained from her, escaping the gravity of her being like thick nebulous smoke, being cast-off into an empty, monotone void of pale sameness.

She felt trapped in this elevator, trapped under the Dome, behind the Barrier, and all the while she was being homogenized into an amorphous, boring, unfeeling blob of nothingness, of chewing-gum clinging to underside of perfect white shoe.

She felt like she needed to do something about it.

The Out, no matter how bad it was, at least there you were free. Slowly dying of dirty oxygen and squalid conditions, praying for the unlikely day that you'll win the Lotto, but free nonetheless.

At least it was better than being locked in a Prison of Comfort.

Sylvia banged her fist against the smooth white interior of the elevator, as the thoughts got too much to contain, sending a spasm of feeling shooting up her arm.

Just then, the elevator stopped with barely a tremor and its doors slid open effortlessly.

Taking a moment to compose herself, she made sure to check that her bun was tightly in place, corralling a few loose strands with a throbbing hand, before stepping out into the hallway.

Immediately she stopped dead in her tracks, momentarily disoriented.

She was aware that her transfer to the Department of Outer Affairs was on a different floor, but she wasn't expecting it to look exactly the same.

She should have known, though—why would anything be different?

Sylvia was looking at the same perfectly white tiled floors and walls, unwaveringly straight, level and sharp, that extended all the way down a windowless corridor.

She saw the same row of evenly-spaced pot-plants, bright-green and well-watered, in their identical white ceramic pots, extending into the infinity of the corridor, which served to break-up the almost blinding display of white perfectly.

There were even the same pictures of idyllic last-century landscapes, hung perfectly straight, their tones precisely calibrated to complement the greens of the plants.

Taking a deep breath, desperately trying to tame the butterflies that were flying around in her stomach as if she was a lepidopterist caught in a hurricane, Sylvia took a cautious step forward, then another, and began heading down the echoing corridor.

For a few minutes at least, Sylvia continued walking down the almost endless corridor, passing countless plain white doors, seeming to her like sterile tombstones. This floor's corridor was much longer than the one that she previously worked on.

Finally, one door slid open quietly just as she reached it, taking her by surprise.
There were no signs to say otherwise, but no other doors had moved since she started walking, so this must be the one.

The Department of Outer Affairs.

Another deep breath and she strode through the door with purpose.

"Ah, Resident 83451, welcome. You are 23 seconds late."

Without pausing, the voice, formal and cantankerous, continued:

"Please take a seat. It seems you've joined us on quite an interesting day indeed. The DOA seems to have a bit of an issue on its hands..."