Chapter 8
Y314 heard squeaks in the wardrobe. Of course! If he were a boar he would have bristled. But he only felt the sensation on the back of his head and neck. His primal self was preparing for a confrontation.
The door was slightly ajar and he found a mouse trying to drag his letter into a hole much smaller than its body. He hated rodents but didn't mind them outside his space. Well outside his space. It tried to leave the paper and hide into the hole but something was different and it was not able to move in. It squeaked in frustration and he sensed that it was about to dart around. He closed the door and stood staring at it not knowing what to do.
He cursed the building management and the maintenance man. If only they were a bit sensitive. If only he didn't imagine them laughing in his face for calling for help over a tiny mouse. No use even then. It was too late in the evening.
He was not able to think straight. The fake peace he had felt moments ago, after writing the letter, exploded. Appropriately enough, like a mouse trap.
"Calm down," he told himself. "Don't do anything. Wait until you know what to do."
He looked away from the wardrobe's door. The room was softly lit with the light filtering through an off white curtain that matched the wall color. He was not a fan of any color bold but had started liking more colors so long as it was not his. This was just off white. A shade of pink? He ran out of thoughts. He wanted the mouse out. Try again... to not think about it.
He separated the curtains and made the room brighter. Opening the window let some fresh air in. Five floors up, the traffic was not that noisy but he could do without it. The eyes of the tiny mouse was shiny and stood out. His arms responded with a tingling sensation at this thought. He quickly rubbed his arms and behind the ears, shuddered and shook his head.
He found the phone on his bed and noticed that he had an urgent assignment from work. He glossed over the details about Zi. This added to his welling panic. He didn't want to be confusing himself by bringing one more woman into his life, given his tendencies. Or was it a girl? He never could decide what to call them. He was in a happy space. Though right this instant something else was on his mind.
Confirmation dialogues might as well not exist. His practiced hands always confirmed just through muscle memory. So when he rejected the assignment by a button click he couldn't stop himself when the warning about three rejected assignments showed up. He threw his head back in disgust.
The implications of this started dawning on him and the mouse squeaks seemed to be a mocking laughter.
A few agonizing minutes later he received the ultimatum: become a subject or quit.
Ever the one to want to fix things quickly, he chose to be the subject immediately. He had a stash of the medication meant for subjects from when he was a minder, not more than a few minutes earlier. Maybe the medication will help him face the four legged intruder. He went through another rush of unpleasant fight or flight response at this thought and felt reassured that he was doing the right thing. The system told him that he can start anytime he was ready since he already had the medication with him. He was ready now. He noted the time. He had the option to choose his own task. He chose to face the mouse before and after taking the medication. Only the second half of the task remained anyway.
He swallowed the pill and waited. The imminent effects already made him feel confident and he calmed down. After twenty minutes he could feel the difference. He was ready for the confrontation.
He moved like a cat. The mouse was making another attempt to hide into the hole. It was tenacious alright. He quickly opened the wardrobe and his right hand pounced on the mouse as it tried to leap into the room. His left thumb and index finger then took it by its tail. Its wiggling and squeaks didn't bother him. He took the letter and placed it back on his desk.
If it was daytime a few jaws would have dropped when he took the mouse to the manager's office and released it there.
With all the medically induced calmness he finished the letter:
"Don't believe a word I say. I am only kidding myself."
Without medication, Y314 preferred orders. He didn't like choices. Ultimatums with choices practically kill him.
Five minutes later his head was resting on the desk, his mouth drooling. The letter was safely away from his head. His right palm rested on the letter. He was dead.
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