rest of his generation reached out to indulge idleness. The Crypt was a speed bar. Most people there were hyping out on Brain, a pure form of amphetamine. It had become the fuel to stimulate their continuation as they raged against their culture and their life. They wanted to feel alive.
Fillion found crystal meth and speed disgusting. But this was where his particular circle of influence chose to consume their drinks and entertainment most nights. It was their social anti-depressant, watching people in worse conditions than their own. They were a cerebral group, all graduating high school early, skipping grades, some even with college degrees, and all under the age of twenty. Humanity had no place for them, too young to be of use in the real world and too intelligent to be wasted. Tech and science jobs were a dime a dozen. Regardless of their achievements, they were treated no better than average, hence his job in the dungeon.
Three girls paused in front of him deep in conversation, distracting his introspective rants. He slowly slid through their group with a playful grin and a wink, and then continued toward the bar in search of his friend. Fillion easily found Mack, his blue, white, and green hair made more vibrant with the black lighting. He eased up next to his friend at the bar with a mischievous smirk, and gave Mack a shove, sloshing his beer.
“Watch it, dumb ass!” Mack turned his head, and gave a rascally grin when recognition hit him. “Flew the coop?”
“Fire broke out in the core processor.” Fillion waved over the bartender. “Double whiskey, neat.”
“Yeah? There are other ways to get a fifteen-minute break, Fillion.” Mack took a sip of his stout, nodding to the music.
Fillion gave a small smile. He turned and leaned against the bar to view the scene, brooding over his discovery at work and the judgment to come later in court. Mack knew him well; no other words were necessary.
His eyes roamed the pulsating crowd, entranced by the rhythm. He wanted to join the gyrating bodies, to lose himself to the rave and forget the ache he felt deep inside. The holographic confetti fell over the crowd and intensified the rush for the drugged-out dancers. Some were tweaking, their twitchy paranoid reactions laughable as the confetti burst over their heads. The computerized DJ smiled at the crowd, and then showed an old-school iPod, changing to a new song. Dirty bass thumped through the floors, and Fillion felt it resonate throughout his body.
His eyes wandered back to his friend. “Anyone we know?”
“Nadine came in earlier, but she left an hour ago after finding her target. Poor man,” Mack derided, making Fillion laugh. His friend turned and faced the dance floor. “Kev hooked up and is off, too. It’s been me, all by my lonesome, for the last hour or so.”
A young woman sauntered over with bright purple hair past her shoulders, curled slightly at the ends, and gave Fillion an invitation as she slowed her pace. Her hips swayed in purposeful tempo with the music as she enticed him with another look that aroused him. His eyes traveled over every curve she presented for his enjoyment as a flirtatious grin formed on his face. He sipped on the whiskey, and the burn brought him back to his senses as she approached.
“Are you Fillion Nichols?” the young woman asked, leaning against him.
“Never heard of him.” He gave a bored expression, taking a sip of his whiskey and turned his head away.
“Seriously?”
Mack darted a quick look his direction and then said, “He really doesn’t know who that is. I don’t think he ever spends time on the Net. The guy lives in the Dark Ages.” His friend finished with a gesture that suggested that Fillion was crazy. She raised her eyebrows and gave a little laugh.
“Did I ruin your fantasy?” Fillion asked the young woman and slowly met her gaze while maintaining an air of detachment.
“Not really.”
He felt her hands travel down his waist, and her
Fillion found crystal meth and speed disgusting. But this was where his particular circle of influence chose to consume their drinks and entertainment most nights. It was their social anti-depressant, watching people in worse conditions than their own. They were a cerebral group, all graduating high school early, skipping grades, some even with college degrees, and all under the age of twenty. Humanity had no place for them, too young to be of use in the real world and too intelligent to be wasted. Tech and science jobs were a dime a dozen. Regardless of their achievements, they were treated no better than average, hence his job in the dungeon.
Three girls paused in front of him deep in conversation, distracting his introspective rants. He slowly slid through their group with a playful grin and a wink, and then continued toward the bar in search of his friend. Fillion easily found Mack, his blue, white, and green hair made more vibrant with the black lighting. He eased up next to his friend at the bar with a mischievous smirk, and gave Mack a shove, sloshing his beer.
“Watch it, dumb ass!” Mack turned his head, and gave a rascally grin when recognition hit him. “Flew the coop?”
“Fire broke out in the core processor.” Fillion waved over the bartender. “Double whiskey, neat.”
“Yeah? There are other ways to get a fifteen-minute break, Fillion.” Mack took a sip of his stout, nodding to the music.
Fillion gave a small smile. He turned and leaned against the bar to view the scene, brooding over his discovery at work and the judgment to come later in court. Mack knew him well; no other words were necessary.
His eyes roamed the pulsating crowd, entranced by the rhythm. He wanted to join the gyrating bodies, to lose himself to the rave and forget the ache he felt deep inside. The holographic confetti fell over the crowd and intensified the rush for the drugged-out dancers. Some were tweaking, their twitchy paranoid reactions laughable as the confetti burst over their heads. The computerized DJ smiled at the crowd, and then showed an old-school iPod, changing to a new song. Dirty bass thumped through the floors, and Fillion felt it resonate throughout his body.
His eyes wandered back to his friend. “Anyone we know?”
“Nadine came in earlier, but she left an hour ago after finding her target. Poor man,” Mack derided, making Fillion laugh. His friend turned and faced the dance floor. “Kev hooked up and is off, too. It’s been me, all by my lonesome, for the last hour or so.”
A young woman sauntered over with bright purple hair past her shoulders, curled slightly at the ends, and gave Fillion an invitation as she slowed her pace. Her hips swayed in purposeful tempo with the music as she enticed him with another look that aroused him. His eyes traveled over every curve she presented for his enjoyment as a flirtatious grin formed on his face. He sipped on the whiskey, and the burn brought him back to his senses as she approached.
“Are you Fillion Nichols?” the young woman asked, leaning against him.
“Never heard of him.” He gave a bored expression, taking a sip of his whiskey and turned his head away.
“Seriously?”
Mack darted a quick look his direction and then said, “He really doesn’t know who that is. I don’t think he ever spends time on the Net. The guy lives in the Dark Ages.” His friend finished with a gesture that suggested that Fillion was crazy. She raised her eyebrows and gave a little laugh.
“Did I ruin your fantasy?” Fillion asked the young woman and slowly met her gaze while maintaining an air of detachment.
“Not really.”
He felt her hands travel down his waist, and her
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