Last November, I started on this dystopian sci-fi project, which I call Thoughtless. It is set in a distant future, in which an omnipresent A.I. runs the country and uses mind implants in citizens to give them guidance on how to live their lives. This story specifically follows an elite police officer who goes on an undercover assignment to find a group of terrorists and stop their plans - a mission that would require the officer to operate without an implant, and actually use his mind for the first time, leading to first time experiences and awakenings that makes him realize just how perverse society really is.
Most of the story is drafted, but a few huge plot holes exist, and the ending still needs to be wrapped up. After seeking out some criticism, it was brought to my attention that my first chapter may need work (and this might affect other aspects throughout the whole thing). The biggest thing that worries me is that the character might not grab a reader's attention right away to make them care - this is especially tricky since everybody in the book is an automaton by default. I've been told this chapter moves too fast. One thing that perplexes me is that I've been told some parts do a great job of showing and not telling, but then I also hear that I need to tell some things more - I'm not sure if that's warranted or not. There are probably other issues that I need to fix, but as of now, this excerpt represents the best I currently have. I've revised it to try and emphasize more to the character, but more work may be required.
My biggest hope is that this chapter catches your interest, keeps you reading, and keeps you intrigued enough to see what happens next. And I hope it all makes sense as-is. Enjoy, and feel free to leave critiques of your own in the comments.
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Something was wrong. The stray thought manifested suddenly in Tom Guilding’s mind, giving him pause. When he received his assignment, a rush came over him. He was all too happy to tear away from his administrative duties at the station. He always relished the thrill of being a D-40 officer, always responding to emergencies and distresses. Catching deviants and saving citizens rejuvenated the rush that Tom always yearned for. Why then did he feel so disturbed?
Guided by NORA, the van drove itself down the ultraway at over 200 miles per hour, its red and blue lights flashing urgently. Other cars crossed lanes to clear a straight path. As always, Tom trusted that NORA* would take him safely and efficiently the crime scene, and her voice would guide him through the next steps. He couldn’t articulate the reason for the anxiety, but the sensation grew worse as he watched the monolithic buildings passing by.
There was nothing in his morning routine that suggested anything was wrong. He woke up on time, as prompted by NORA’s invisible alarm. His wife cooked them both oatmeal, before he conducted his daily workout and training sessions at the station. After a fast shower, he groomed his black hair, brushed his immaculately-white teeth, and donned his clean uniform. Like every morning, these actions were silent and mundane.
The order to deploy came through Tom’s head immediately when he entered the station. The only thing NORA told him was that there was a hostage situation in the outskirts of Lansing. Deviants put lives in danger and demanded ten million units. Tom went through the motions of strapping his body armor on his body, checking out his firearm, and meeting with the rest of the team in the motorpool.
It took half an hour for the van to reach its destination: a park nestled between a pair of tall glass buildings. The van parked itself – Tom and five other officers jumped out wordlessly. One of the men pulled out a case from the van’s back and opened it. Everybody grabbed their assault rifles – the scope on Tom’s weapon lit up as he hefted it against his chest.
He heard NORA’s voice speaking to him softly in his mind: go left and take cover behind that parked car. Dutifully, Tom trotted across the parking lot and ducked behind a silver sedan. The other officers followed their individual instructions, taking position all around the area.
Calmly, NORA commanded, The area is safe. Proceed into the building with caution.
Tom stood and rushed forward, keeping his gun pointed ahead. His body was conditioned to shoot all threats he saw, with or without NORA’s voice. He took position by the building’s entrance, and waited for the others. Two more officers stood with him, while the other two aimed their rifles at the door.
All at once, the four officers kicked the door open and hustled into the lobby. At the far end of the room, they beheld a woman tied to a chair with a gag covering her mouth. Wires were strewn all around the chair, connecting to plastic explosives by her feet.
The officers looked all over the lobby, scanning it with their eyes and sweeping their guns back and forth. Once they determined that the area was clear, they approached the woman. She whimpered, and her face was wet with tears. One of the officers bent down and started to examine the explosives. He went through the motions of defusing it.
Once again, the intrusive thought floated through Tom’s mind – something was wrong. He couldn’t understand the basis for his random, deviant thoughts. It intensified the rush he felt. He looked around the lobby – he didn’t know what to expect and he couldn’t even imagine what could go wrong. The anxiety guided his focus away from the situation.
He wasn’t sure if NORA detected his rogue thoughts, but her command was a constant, soothing song in his ear – he had to cover his partners and the civilian and protect them from threats. The culprit was surely lurking somewhere in the building.
Tom suddenly had another strange, random thought: what if he wasn’t? The building was completely empty – the woman’s crying were the only sounds in the area. Some inexplicable urge made Tom look closer. He started walking past the desk, and he continued deeper into the building.
The other officers didn’t look up, but NORA’s voice sounded firmly in his mind: Tom, return to your position. The team needs protection.
He blatantly ignored the command. It felt wrong to disobey NORA, but Tom couldn’t stop himself. He instinctively knew that there was a reason behind his apprehension, and he had to find it.
Down the main corridor, Tom passed by several empty offices and a pair of elevators. Seeing nothing, he started back. A part of him felt foolish for ignoring NORA.
Suddenly, her voice sounded in his mind: Stop. Look at the elevator.
Tom moved his eyes to the elevators. One of the doors was wide open, revealing the empty shaft. The edges of the door jamb were bent. Looking down, he saw the elevator car a hundred feet below. He didn’t need NORA’s input to know this was unusual. His anxiety spiked, compelling him to look closer.
When Tom pressed the button to call the elevator, nothing happened. He carefully moved along the ledge of the shaft and reached a maintenance ladder. Sliding down it, he reached the bottom.
When he passed through a maintenance hatch, he came out in a wide, open corridor beneath the building. Fresh air touched his face, and he heard the city traffic from topside.
A hundred feet ahead, he saw a glow against the concrete walls. He approached the light with his gun raised, and he found an alcove in the wall with electrical panels open. A computer was lying on the ground, with wires connecting it to the panels. Its screen gave off the telltale light, and it showed grids and patterns on it.
Tom’s eyes darted among the electronics, and his pulse raced. What is this? Tom asked himself.
NORA responded, I detect variances in the electrical grid. Somebody is sabotaging it. Tom, investigate with caution.
Tom ran down the corridor, until he came out next to a squat, blank-looking building. Two roads led in and out of it, continuing beneath the city blocks and the layers of civilian roads. One of the doors was wide open.
NORA told him, That door should not be open. Somebody hacked into it, and tricked us into believing it was closed.
What is this place? Tom wondered.
That’s not important now, NORA said.
Creeping around the corner of the door, Tom peered into the building and saw a loading dock. There were dozens of black vans parked inside. He also saw three strange vehicles, the likes of which he never saw before. They were small motorcycles, haphazardly welded together from scrap materials. Pieces of metal plates, tubes, pipes, and random parts made their bodies appear jagged and rough. If it wasn’t for the thick welds holding every piece in place, the bikes looked like they could fall apart.
Near the makeshift motorcycles, Tom saw three figures standing in front of a wall. One of them was a black man with dreadlocks and a leather coat. He had a computer connected to the wall panels, and was typing furiously on the keys.
A panel opened along the wall, and another man appeared with a satchel. His skinny body crawled out of the shaft, and he threw the bag at the third person. Even though the third person faced away from Tom, he could make out locks of black hair and an undeniably feminine shape.
NORA informed Tom, This is a robbery.
“That means the bomb is a diversion,” Tom muttered to himself.
NORA told him, Yes. You always were astute. Tom, you are authorized to intervene. Arrest the deviants.
Holding up his weapon, Tom approached the figures and shouted, “Freeze!”
Cursing, the three robbers immediately rushed to their vehicles. Tom opened fire, spraying a burst of nonlethal rounds across the chamber. One shot hit the skinny man in the leg, and he stumbled to the ground. The other two hopped onto their bikes and took off. The vehicles roared loudly as they sped out of the loading dock and onto the sublevel roads. Tom shot at them, but his bullets ricocheted uselessly off of the motorcycles’ metal armor.
Approaching the fallen criminal, Tom bent down and handcuffed him. Lifting the man up, Tom proceeded to walk him out of the building.
As they walked, the man remarked, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did you find us?”
Tom didn’t answer as they continued down the maintenance corridor. Halfway down the passage, a man’s voice sounded from the deviant’s body. “Renard, talk to me buddy. What’s happening?”
In an instant, Tom realized that the culprit had a radio. He stopped, unsure about how to proceed, and intrigued to hear more from the other voice.
Renard stood still. Holding his skinny arms up, he showed off his handcuffs and said, “I can’t exactly answer him with these on.”
NORA told Tom, The handcuffs remain on.
In his mind, Tom argued, If we get them to talk, they could give us more information. If there’s more deviants, we have to find them.
That is for us to determine. With NORA’s affirmation, Tom knew that the department was already processing new information and issuing new commands. The oligarchy would run the investigation, and give officers direction.
The voice erupted from the radio again, “Renard? Hello? Is this thing on? Ah hell, you got caught, didn’t you? I knew you were a good-for-nothing piece of sh*t. Didn’t I tell you this would happen if you didn’t shape up?”
Renard rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, “This can’t be happening.”
“Hey, are there any zombies out there listening? Any cops around you? If there are, listen to this: Lucy is going to take NORA down. If you think you have a chance, you got to think fast.”
Tom felt alarmed – even though the stranger’s message didn’t say it outright, Tom’s gut instinct told him that his unit was in danger. Before NORA could instruct him, Renard’s jacket started beeping.
Wide-eyed, the man looked around frantically and patted his clothes. He murmured, “No, no, this can’t be happening. I didn’t think he’d go through doing this to me! This can’t be real!”
Tom didn’t need any more confirmation – the alarm surging through his body spurred him to run. As he turned, the beeping sound became more and more rapid. The man struggled to yank the jacket off.
With no more time to speculate or observe, Tom bolted away from him. Gaining distance was his only thought and concern. He cleared a hundred feet, before the beeping stopped.
A deafening boom erupted. Tom was knocked ten feet forward, his body tumbling on the ground. All he heard was a high-pitched ring. Looking back, he saw a cloud of dust and fire wafting all over the loading bay. Pieces of shrapnel and rubble clattered on the ground – there was nothing left of the suspect.
It took Tom a matter of minutes to return to the lobby. When he climbed up the elevator’s maintenance ladder, he stopped short in the hallway. The walls were charred. When he continued into the lobby, dismay overwhelmed him when he saw the entire area in ruin. The floor was blackened, with debris strewn in all directions. The bodies of three officers were thrown across the floor, partially mutilated. The only sign of the victim in the chair were scattered body parts.
Tom’s hands shook and his feet felt weak. His first thought was that the officers failed to defuse the bomb. Then he wondered if that was true, or if it was remotely triggered. What if it was set off by the same signal that set off Renard’s bomb? The thought that Tom caused all this death and mayhem made him sick.
Firemen already responded to the explosion, and rushed into the lobby to collect evidence. One of them guided Tom outside, where a paramedic tended to his ears. Tom shook the whole time, unnerved by the blast and disturbed that the mission failed. What bothered him the most was the fear that his own deviations were to blame.
* = NORA is short for the Neurological Oligarchy of the Reformed America. I did define this acronym in the original draft, but somebody told me "don't give too much at the beginning." I still don't know if I agree with witholding this definition, but I'm looking for alternate ways to reveal this.
Copyright 2016.
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