...new attack expected in the next few days! An evacuation order is expected, but...

I cut the radio off mid-tirade. The news was, as always, depressing. I didn’t need any more depressing in my life.

Today was supposed to be a good day.

I swiped left twice on the dashboard screen, accessed the scheduling control app, then took out my phone and synced my calendar to the car’s. I’d forgotten to do it earlier. The snooze button debacle had downshifted my morning routine from the usual distracted scramble to a minor disaster. A disaster that ended with me running out of my apartment at full speed, slice of buttered toast in mouth and shirt half-buttoned.

“Car, confirm today’s pick-up time, please.” I made sure to enunciate each word carefully. The voice recognition software for the car’s Artificial Proto-Intelligence was 2 years out of date, but the best I could afford.

“June 18. 9 a.m. appointment at Map Lab. Pick up outside Lobby Entrance at 12:20 p.m.”

The unaccented, stiff, mechanical voice of the car’s API was off-putting, but you get what you pay for (or don’t pay for). As long as it got all the pickup details right, I didn't care...much.

I pulled up to the curb and slid out of the driver side. The door shut behind me, and I thumbed the fob as I moved around the trunk toward the sidewalk. The reassuring double-clunk sound of the door locks engaging followed me through small open plaza in front of my destination.

I glanced back, making sure my car joined the queue heading toward the parking garage down the block. Sometimes it got confused, and I had to use the command app on my phone to get it moving back into the flow of traffic.

I stared up at the glass and metal behemoth looming over me. The mapping project was just one small cog in the Delphi Industries corporate machine, so they’d tucked the lab in a seldom-seen corner of the sixteenth floor of the company’s downtown-situated hi-rise monstrosity.

I hated the place. Every time I visited I had to jump through a bunch of security-related hoops just to reach the elevator. Scanning my ID at the lobby doors, rotating metal detector booth, and two separate pat downs by bored looking security guards. The same routine, all twelve times I visited.

Once I was through the gauntlet, I signed in at the front desk terminal with a distracted flourish, nodding at the coffee-swilling receptionist sitting in the booth behind. We exchanged nods, but his glazed, thousand-yard stare hinted he didn’t seem any more interested in chatting than I did. He handed me my visitor badge and lanyard without a word.

The panel next to the elevator scanned my badge and 'dinged' pleasantly in confirmation of my identity. The elevator itself opened its doors to me with a warmly inviting ‘Good Morning’ seconds later. I pressed the button for the 16th floor and said muttered a ‘no, thanks’ to the elevator’s conciliatory offer of music selections, weather forecast, or news updates.

The doors opened after a long six seconds and I stepped out into the hallway, nodding absently at the elevator’s “Have a pleasant day.” that called out behind me.

I unsuccessfully tried to suppress a surge of irritation. It sucks when the vocal software of my car can’t stack up against that of a random elevator.

The hallway was blandly sterile, with off-white walls and slate-gray carpeting. I turned left and hurried along to the heavy reinforced door at the end. A small, discrete sign at eye height was staring back at me.

NEURO MAPPING PROJECT (LAB C).

Dr. Morrow was waiting to buzz me in and greeted me at the door with a distracted smile. She was a small woman, with greying frizzy hair and wide, continuously surprised-seeming blue eyes. Her lab coat was the only thing neat about her, doing little to hide her rumpled blouse or tan slacks. I glanced down at her feet as she led me from the tiny waiting room to the slightly larger lab space. She’d remembered to wear two socks today. They even matched.

“How was your week, Ash?” She asked the question over her shoulder, sounding anything but interested in the answer. I didn’t blame her. She’d know exactly what I’d been up to by the end of the session, so asking was more politeness than anything. I appreciated her attempt at friendliness, though.

“Not too bad, Doc. Nothing too exciting.” This was, depressingly, true. Still, my exceedingly mundane life was what had gotten me this gig.

“Wonderful,” murmured Morrow, “That’s great.” The Doctor was busy tapping at something complicated on her ever-present tablet. I doubted she’d even heard my answer. Her inattention didn’t bother me, though. I was plenty used to her absent-minded professor style by now. Truthfully, I preferred her to some of the creeps I’d had to deal with in previous research studies. I’ll take a distracted kook over the cold, dead-eyed types you typically find running experimental drug trials.

I deposited everything save my clothes in the plastic bin near the door, then lay down on the scanning bed. Morrow snatched up the bin and closed the door behind me. Seconds later she appeared from behind the observation window inset in the far wall. She blinked owlishly at me, then stared down at the large bank of controls and started pressing buttons. I could see her visibly relaxing as she got to work. She always seemed more comfortable in the control room, with some plexiglass between her and another person. A sentiment I could get behind, most days.

Then I lost sight of her as the bed slid me head first into the waiting mouth of the machine.

I ignored the humming and clunking as the scanner surged to life. For a high-tech brain scanning device, the thing always sounded seconds away from breaking down. I waited, patiently, to get started. I could afford to be patient. This was my last session, and my project completion check would be deposited in my account three short hours from now. Soon, I could afford to pay off my credit card bills, renew my gaming accounts...hell I could maybe even afford an upgrade to my car API.

“Ash,” said Morrow, her voice only slightly tinny as it came over the intercom, “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright, Doc,” I said, smiling at the thought of debts repaid and smooth-talking vehicles, “Let’s do-