“Three minutes remaining,” The feminine, robotic voice hums sweetly. Her words go straight into my brain. One of the great things about having a neural implant—I don’t use my ears much. Most of the time I keep external sounds muted. And believe me, in a place like Sector K, muting is a must-have feature. Between the construction, traffic, and disgusting sounds of the other billion people in this Sector, I wouldn’t have a quiet moment to think if I couldn’t shut off my ears. Worth every penny of the extra 50 credits for sensory overrides. I usually have my sense of smell deactivated, too. The water shortage makes most people reek like a fresh turd pressed through a sweaty sock. And they know it. That’s the worst part. Once somebody knows they stink, they’ll throw courtesy (and their horrible stench) to the wind. Lord help you if you have to ride the train with a functioning nose. Circulated air, plus a crowd of people who can’t remember their most recent shower, plus uninhibited flatulence—it’s not an equation that leads to comfort. I don’t have the time or temperament for the stink of life. So, the olfactory and auditory inputs stay turned off whenever possible. Especially when I’m in public. And once I’ve saved up enough credits for the automated ambulation mod, I won’t even need my visuals in public. Damn, that sounds so nice! Just set a location and let the neural implant do the rest. I won’t have to look at the hoards of disgusting slobs anymore, imagine that. I can watch my shows and scroll my feed in peace—even when I’m forced to be out among them. Sometimes I’ll shut off visuals just to feel what it might be like. Pure bliss. “Two minutes remaining.” Damn it. Caught in a daydream about this cesspit, and I’m almost out of time. Stupid of me. I’m still four blocks away—I won’t make it unless I run. But the streets are clogged with them today. God, how I wish I didn’t have to look at these slobs. All of them, shambling in rows down the street, like cows in line at the slaughterhouse. I can’t wait until I have enough credits for the automated ambulation mod. Just imagine how much easier it will be to get around—and all the while I won’t have to look at them. As I work my way through the crowd, I can tell the slobs are angry with me. I can’t hear them, thank god, but I see the way they flap their jowls and point their sausage-like fingers. Disgusting animals, all of them. “One minute remaining.” Damn them all! I can see it up ahead, but there are so many of these beasts. It’s difficult for me to squeeze through their fat bodies. I shut off my tactile inputs. Of course I know they’re there—squishing against my flesh—but I can’t feel them, thank god. I can’t smell them either. Thank god for that, too. I only wish I couldn’t see them. Those incredulous, slacked-open maws and judgmental eyes. How dare these things look at me that way! “Thirty seconds remaining.” I am so close now. I can see it at the end of the block. Only seconds remain, but I know I am going to make it! There’s enough time if I can just— A stupid cow steps up from the curb and smacks into me. I’m knocked down hard to the concrete, but I don’t feel it with my tactile inputs switched off. She’s standing there, looking terrified, as she watches me fall. I dont hear a word of what she’s trying to tell me. Such a clumsy, stupid oaf. My neural implant chimes a notification sound. “Your time has expired. Sensory overrides disabled. Thank you for your purchase.” “No!” I cry, unable to say anything more. The overwhelming stimulations hit me all at once. A searing pain ignites in my wrist. The stench of rotten garbage baking inside a hot dumster burrows into the back of my nostils. I hear a cacophony of blaring horns in the street and a jackhammer somewhere behind me, but so loud it might as well be inserted into my ear canal. Worse yet, the stupid oaf is yelling at me. Her voice is like an icepick. “Can you hear me? Are you hurt? Oh god, you look concussed. And your wrist… you need an ambulance! Someone, please help—we need an ambulance!” She’s hysterical, and her voice is so loud. I press my hands to my ears and feel a sharp, shooting pain in my left wrist. I can’t take it any more. “Shut up! Shut up, you stupid cow!” I scream. Her mouth and eyes are wide. “Excuse me?” She gasps. “I’m only trying to—“ The grating sound of her pattering is unbearable. “How dare you speak to me!” I manage to get on my feet. “Keep your filthy mouth shut. Leave me in peace, you oaf!” To ensure she gets the message, I conjure a wad of saliva and spit it at her feet. The oaf’s face goes red. She draws her arm back and takes a step forward. But before she can follow through, another slob get between us. “Whoa, whoa! It’s not worth it,” the slob says. “Look at him. He’s not worth it.” “He just spit on me!” The two of them together sound like a handful of rusty nails tossed in a blender. And that horrid stench! It stings my nose and tosses my stomach. I wretch, spewing the contents of my stomach onto the sidewalk. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” “Poor bastard. He’s got one of those brain chips. You know what those’ll do to you, right?” Another burst of hot vomit passes my lips. The acrid smell burns in my nostrils—but it’s nothing compared to the stench of the slobs. At least they are moving away from me now. At least I won’t have to touch them. My footsteps are unsteady as I continue forward. That doesn’t matter, though. The only thing that matters is getting to the end of the block. “Rewires your brain to make everything seem horrible. Then they deaden your senses and act like they’re the ones curing you.” One foot forward, then the next. Each step is agony. What I would give for the automated ambulation mod right now. “Yes, indeed. They act like they didn’t cause it in the first place. Selling you the cure to their own evils. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Just like him… Such a shame.” The corners of my vision are blurred as I reach the OmniCore terminal. Slowly, painfully, I lift my account bracelet and insert it into the reader. The notification sound chimes in my neural implant again. “Welcome to OmniCore Technologies Satelite Transaction Terminal Number 364,” the robotic voice hums. “You have selected ‘Sensory Override Protocol.’ To complete your purchase, please blink once.” I feel myself nearing the edge of consciousness, when sweet relief washes over me. The mumers of the crowd behind me fade away to sirene silence. The pain in my wrist disappears. I can no longer smell the vomit staining my shirt. “Transaction successful. Fifty credits deducted. Forty eight hours remaining.”