Ty, a shift manager with an alcoholic wife, creates a female replicant in a dystopia veering toward full mechanization. For Ty, the surreal drudgery of working in a retail environment is interrupted when robotic interfaces are installed at his job...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Traffic flowed lightly. Sunday mornings made for easy sailing, and Ty got to work early. He tied his bike to a tree in the parking lot and sauntered to the entrance of the Good Time Party Emporium. Antoinella stood at the front, cleaning the doors off with a rag. Dark smudge marks that looked a lot like fingerprints covered the plate-glass surface, which as it turned out, were blood stains. Ty wondered who had been murdered, and voiced his concern to Antoinella.
"Who did this?"
"Darren," Antoinella said, cursing in Spanish under her breath.
Ty answered her back in their native language, and they laughed.
"How is he?" He reverted back to English, not caring about Darren much, but the blood mildly interested him.
She threw down her rag and retrieved another from the front counter. "All I know is he came here drunk last night and tried to fight a couple of guys on the closing crew. Somehow, his blood got fucking everywhere. He was hauled off by one of those State cars. Firefighters hosed blood off the sidewalk. Pen's in the back, mopping up puddles of it right now."
His workplace had turned into a crime scene, and it was the first Ty had heard of. He worked at Good Time for two years and the biggest scandal had been a klepto-manager from years back. Don't pull a Hampton, the associates would joke while counting down cash-tills. Darren had replaced Hampton, and his exit from the Good Time Party Emporium turned out to be more spectacular than his predecessor's.
In the stockroom, the general manager Pen East mopped up crimson puddles from the concrete floor. Dark platters covered rows of cardboard boxes used to store costumes. Pen's belly bulge swayed back and forth as he mopped, a jelly of a pendulum. The work seemed time-consuming, if his boss's reddened face was any indication. Then again, Pen's pasty-skin usually took on a mottled red hue.
"Hey Pen." He stood a respectful distance away, also weary of stepping in blood. "What's gonna happen now that Darren's gone?"
Pen kept his eyes on the mop. "Let's head to Dave's Shack for lunch later. I have a proposition for ya."
The invitation was curious, like the blood, but Ty guessed at Pen's reasoning. If Darren lost his mind, the front-end manager position was open. Naturally, he wanted Ty to fill in the void.
Pen shared an overview of daily tasks to complete, reminding him to be ready to leave come lunch time. He nodded as Pen spoke, only half-listening. Errant thoughts of a pending promotion took up most of his attention.
While considering the possibilities of his new future, he packed out varied pieces of merchandise. His mind flipped to auto-pilot, grabbing boxes, tearing them open, and shoving product onto pegs without a glance.
I'll only take the job if it offers health benefits.
The State covered Helia's medical bills, but the other three adults of the Benning household were shit outta luck. Between their three combined incomes, they made enough to get by from month to month, with little money left over for frivolous spending. Damon's recent purchase of the 3D printer was the product of more than three years of saving, with everyone pitching in weekly into a large jar in the kitchen, everyone meaning Damon and Ty.
The 3D printer dominated the market for years, and the commercials promised: Be like your neighbor, and get a 3D printer today! Make composites of anything you need, be it organic or inanimate! However, when Ty needed anything, he asked Damon to print it for him. The tech was too strange, too new.
