A Science Fiction Short Story
Sid checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was around. He didn’t actually need to turn, as he had a Third Eye camera implant in the back of his head. Even without appearing to look, he could tell the alley was empty. He tucked the money in his jeans and handed Zoe a white envelope. “Don’t open it until you’re alone. You don’t want anyone else to see it accidentally.”
She turned the envelope over in her hand. It had a spiral stamped on the back in black ink, his logo. Even criminals were into marketing. “I guess I’m a criminal now, too,” she thought. “After all these months of thinking about it and telling myself I’d get caught, I just bought a glyph.”
He tilted his head, sensing her anxiety. “Yes, it’s really happening. Ms. Perfect actually broke a rule. Maybe next you can try jaywalking or littering or war crimes.”
She laughed. “I’m definitely not perfect.” She ran a fingernail across the paper, imagining pulling it open. “How does it actually work? Your message made it sound like a magic spell.”
“It’s not magic. The symbol on that paper causes neurological interference called ‘a soft cognitive halt.’ It’s a syntax error in your gray matter. Zap, system temporarily offline.” He pointed a finger at his temple and made a spinning gesture.
She furrowed her brow. “It sounds impossible. How can looking at a symbol make people’s brains stop working?”
“It’s easier than you think, hon. Ever read about dazzle camouflage in World War I? Some scientist figured out a pattern of stripes that confused people’s brains, so they couldn’t figure out a ship’s speed or heading. Enemy navies couldn’t target the ships correctly, just because some lines painted on a boat messed with their heads.”
“You know I don’t care about that stuff. Old wars are a guy thing.” Guys like Sid all seemed to think they could defeat the Nazis or a horde of zombies, even if their only combat experience was in video games.
He folded his arms. “Okay, think of it like getting a song stuck in your head.”
She huffed. “Well, now you’re just being patronizing.”
He held up his hands defensively. “No, just listen. Certain songs can get stuck in your working memory. Normally, your working memory only holds information temporarily, like when you look at a menu and remember ‘Super Sausage Breakfast Scramble’ just long enough to say it to the waitress. As soon as the waitress leaves, that information gets deleted. No reason to remember it any longer. But when a song gets stuck, it hangs on to your working memory and doesn’t let it go. It just keeps looping. This glyph is the visual equivalent of an annoyingly catchy pop song, just exploiting a different defect in the brain. And instead of a song getting stuck, you get stuck thinking about nothing.”
She ran a hand through her inky black hair, taking a moment to think. She wasn’t sure if anything he said was true, but it was easier to just go along with it. “My mind is always spinning, even when I’m trying to sleep. Some inner silence sounds relaxing.”
“It sure is. No thinking, no worries, no lurking existential dread. You’re just disconnected. No signal. 404 – Thoughts Not Found. It’s a nice break, like a year of meditation in a single afternoon. I do one of these glyphs every month just to clear the cobwebs from my head.”
“After my trip ends, how do I put the glyph away without looking at it? I don’t want to accidentally double dose and miss a class or something. My grades are already terrible.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. I do all my drawing in disappearing ink, like in old spy movies. In eight hours, that’ll be just a blank piece of paper. It’s a safety measure, so nobody’s accidentally exposed.”
“And it means people have to come back to you for their next trip, but I’m sure you’ve only get people’s best interests at heart.”
“Of course. I’m a swell guy.”
Sid yawned and stretched, and for a moment, she could see the gun concealed under his jacket. No matter how often he joked about it, his line of work was a dangerous one. Most glyph dealers ended up arrested, killed by a rival, or destroyed by their own creations.
She tried to relax and not think about the pistol, or the fact that any time she saw Sid could be the last. “How do you draw the glyphs without them affecting you?”
He shrugged. “It’s like drugs. Do it a lot and your tolerance goes up. I’ve been exposed to full-fledged cognitive hazards that would send most people on a grippy sock vacation, but nothing ever happens to me. Basilisks, memetic toxins, hostile tulpas… nothing.” He went on, naming a dozen obscure mental dangers and bragging about his immunity. Guys always thought their random obsessions were the most important things in the world.
She just nodded, trying not to look uncool in front of her dealer. “Thanks, Sid. I don’t normally do glyphs, but I need a break from worrying about midterms and my parents. Normally, I just go camping for a weekend, but this semester’s been so busy and –”
“Don’t have time for your life story, hon.” He pulled out a vape and took a puff. The vapor smelled like fresh cut grass. “I got another order to deliver. Your friend Calla wants a glyph to cancel her inhibitions, permanent style. She’s going to be popular with the guys this semester.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. But I guess everybody needs a way to relax.” She tucked the envelope in her jacket pocket and began the long walk back to her dorm.
She passed by a bar just as a guy in a jean jacket was stepping outside. He had a horseshoe mustache and slicked back hair that hadn’t been washed in days. He looked like a walking ad for STDs. He stopped and pointed with a dirty yellow finger. “Hey, you got a cigarette?”
“Of course not. It’s disgusting.” She started walking faster, trying to resist the urge to run.
“Wait up. Don’t I know you? We talked at a concert here. I said I’d buy you one of those fruity cocktails all you girls like, but you blew me off. Calla, right?”
Zoe paused and turned around. “She’s six inches taller than me and a blonde, but I guess women all look alike when you don’t think of them as real people.”
He chuckled, apparently unfazed at the accusation. “You got her number?”
“I’m not going to help you get laid. Leave me alone.”
She turned and started walking again, but the man caught up quickly. He lurched forward and grabbed her hand. His grip was tight, threatening to break a bone. She gasped. “Let me go. I’ll scream.”
He growled. “Try it. See my bracelet? It’s a needler. You make a sound and I’ll inject you.” Needler bracelets had syringes hidden inside. They were mostly used to hide drugs, but they could also be a nasty weapon. “Give me your phone, your wallet, everything you’ve got on you.”
“I don’t have anything, she said, whimpering. “I already spent all my money.”
The man shoved his other hand in her jacket pocket, pulling out the envelope. “No cash, eh? Looks like you just stopped at an ATM!” Releasing her, he opened the envelope and slid out the card. “What is this? It’s just some draw… ing…” His eyes glazed over, closing halfway. His arms relaxed, falling to his sides.
She reached out for the glyph and pulled it from the mugger’s hand, but the paper tore. She groaned. “No! That was so expensive!” She managed to slide the glyph back in the envelope without looking at the image. Shoving it back in her pocket, she ran home.
Back in her dorm room, she closed and locked her door. The bruise on her hand was already turning purple. She winced, her eyes squeezing shut. “I can still feel his hands on me. I should have known not to get near that creep. If he weren’t out mugging women, he’d be drugging their drinks. Why are men so awful?” She let out a sigh. “Don’t think about him. This is supposed to be your day to relax, right?”
She pulled her curtains and silenced her phone. Sitting on her bed, she took some deep breaths, waiting for her heartrate to slow. Once she felt calmer, she took off her shoes and changed into the sweatpants she wore for yoga.
She held the envelope in one hand, chewing a fingertip on the other. “I had to sell my meal card for you… Please still work… please still work…” She opened the envelope and slid out the glyph. A corner was torn off and some ink was smeared, but it was mostly intact. “How exact do these things need to be? Maybe the missing lines are the most important part, the difference between stopping your thoughts and stopping your heart. Or maybe I’m just stressing about nothing. That’s probably more likely, right?”
She stared at the torn glyph, waiting to feel something. As she examined it, she noticed the smeared ink was a word: Calla. This wasn’t her glyph! “Sid mixed up the envelopes,” she thought. “I’d better send him a mess…”
But it was too late. The image entered her mind like a squatter making itself at home. All of her anxieties and fears and morals and empathy were taking up far too much space. It was time to do some spring cleaning. Her old personality traits were tucked into a storage cupboard in the back of her subconscious. Her new personality would be cleaner, sharper, and dangerous.
Her eyes widened. Suddenly, the world seemed full of possibilities. She wasn’t going to hold herself back anymore. From now on, she could do anything, to hell with the consequences. She went to the closet for her sack of camping gear, pulling out the hatchet. She stepped outside, heading back to the bar. “Alright… Let’s go find Mr. Trucker Mustache.”
