scattered stinging sensations...
individual nerve-endings firing to indicate... discomfort...
At least, that's how he used to regard them. Ocular ran a gloved hand across his nose, felt the leather warm his skin as it wiped away the drops of melted snow. I could count every single one. The wind gusted sideways, a stiff push, but he had felt/heard that coming. It bit through to his chest where the leather trench was open. He braced himself, and kept walking. It's a dry snow, powdery. Small crystals. Only affect small number of nerves on impact. He smiled a little. Such a funny thing. To put so much effort into details that almost noone would notice.
Ocular was one of the few who would, always had. This was the kind of snow he had always liked. Refreshing, doesn't soak you. Almost evaporates after impact. Almost...He wiped away more water from his cheeks, ran a handkerchief across the drop of mucous just forming at his nostril. Two more blocks, then left one. He had counted each step on his journey. 37 steps per block, 12 per intersection. He knew his own stride, his pace, the details of the ground he had walked. He had to. Especially now. I may be enjoying this, but I am not here for fun. I need to practice.
A scent lingered across his path. He wiped his nose again, turned his head a little to catch it. Faint... smoky... oh! Of course, the angles right from the church. He smiled again. More details. Made just for people like me? Have to give them credit for being thorough. You'd think they could have skipped things like that, with how few of us there are. Pausing for a moment, he made a full 360. Had anyone been watching, they might have wondered at the seeming stiffness of his movements, his head held straight, his eyes obscured by dark glasses, spotted with rain. He listened intently as he turned. His mind ticked off phenomena automatically. Phone, husky man, flirting woman, Ford Expedition with bad muffler, 5 pedestrians, a police siren at a considerable distance approaching indirectly...
Satisfied of no immediate concerns, he continued. The next intersection approached. The steady drone, the hiss of the tires on the pavement, a thud... Pothole. Will have to be careful of that. The wind paused then returned, buffeting from a new direction, bringing exhaust fumes with it. As he reached the corner, Ocular paused, listened. Traffic was steady on this non-descript street corner in the Slums. He waited. The siren from earlier was approaching... Quickly? He strained through the inconsistent wind, seeking more details. There... engine at high rev's, make that two. Only one siren though... The sound approached rapidly from the left. My side of the street. Instinct kicked in and he took a quick hop backwards. He felt the spray, the rumble of the aging ‘80's Mustang as it bounded out over the curb, the shouts and confusion of pedestrians as it and the police cruiser careened across the intersection.
Ocular found himself panting a little, felt the adrenaline surging. That was close. D**n wind, can't gauge things right. He steadied himself, approached the intersection again. His hands in his pockets, He found himself grasping for the extendable cane that wasn't there. He shook his head. Can't rely on that. Glad I didn't jack in with it. For just a moment, the adrenaline made him dizzy. Flicker's of green descended, resting and melting on the street before him, then melted away. He tried to concentrate, tried to bring them back. I just SAW them, I know it, snowflakes on the pavement. No luck, the adrenaline had passed, and the world returned to its visually empty state.
He sighed, and crossed the street. At least now I know that color. Green. How long had it been that he couldn't even describe those flashes? He had figured they were visions, but not having any, how could he explain them? Green...Such a simple concept, Color. The first one that I ever saw. He rubbed the collar of his shirt. Though he couldn't see it, he knew it was a deep satisfying Crimson. The Second Color. His mind wandered to those first confusing, euphoric moments. Ocular had no idea what any of it was, but he had known it was vision. The extraction team had found him ecstatic. My blindness wasn't real! Those first dim red moments had become imprinted. So beautiful.
He counted out 37 steps and turned left, felt the sickly grass under his feet. The wind pattern changed, slackened as he passed between the Project units. I swear you can feel the poverty. The wind slithered along the edge of a broken window, and shouting came down from four floors up, a quarrel. He lengthened his pace and reached the next street in just 32 steps. Then he stopped.
The fluorescent bulb popped and sputtered behind the sign reading "City Phone". He couldn't read the sign, but he knew the sound. He could also hear the distinctive hum of the equipment, and the slight peculiarity in it that signaled a hackable line, and the heartbeat of the man standing next to it. It was dead across the street from him, but Ocular turned right and walked up the street a little ways. Need to get him upwind. Ahh, yes, Redpill. It wasn't so much that the bodies smelled different, but the clothes always smelled new, odd somehow. This one smelled also of gun-oil, but not discharge. The personal odor was not one he recognized. He found himself hesitating. Could be anyone. Could be a Cyph. Could already have spotted me.
His earpiece crackled to life. "It's cool Oc, he's a Zionite. The lines clean." This bothered him slightly, but he crossed the street and went to the line, picked it up as it rang.
He opened his eyes, rubbed them. The ship resolved itself, the dull metal grey's were comforting, the heavy silence was not. Well, not really silent, just seems that way. The machinery of ship played its tune, but to Ocular it lacked the richness of detail he would experience in the Simulation. If only I could take my eyes THERE, and bring my other senses HERE. He stretched and went over to Mica's station.
" Who is he?"
"Grist. Newly awakened, even more than you." Mica grinned. "You did good man, half-way across the slums without a cane or a call. Any luck with the vision?"
Ocular shook his head. "Not really. A little... briefly... after I nearly got run over. Guess it's something though..." He shook his head, headed down the hall to his cabin.
Edit: added series title to thread, 3/2/09
