Omega Point

She took a step back from the wall in front of her, admiring her latest fight against the few remaining corporate pigs. The red and white logo of the company still stood out on the background of her latest attempt at rebellion.

The wind caught her bright turquoise hair and whipped it around her face, bringing with it a cold chill, which was common on the streets of Sector 25, especially at night.

This was the third time she had marked this particular building. Each and every time she did, it was painted over by the time the shadow had passed the Catedral de Toledo. A shiny new trademark to cover up the fact that someone, somewhere had a mind of their own.

After sighing to herself, she walked back down the street, pausing just before the Iglesia de San Ildefonso. She took in all of its beauty. It still stood, almost untouched by vandals, and it hadn’t been replaced like so many of the beautiful triumphs of architecture around Gemini had been.

Quickly, she continued towards Calles de Toledo, where she would spend the night with her eyes wide open, afraid to shut them. She wasn’t alone on this particular street. She had made friends, simply because it was too dangerous to be on your own.

Sitting up against the wall, Gemini Agadez thought back to the day she met her companion, who was lying next to her, snores slightly muffled by his dreadlocks, which fell down past his shoulder blades. After snorting softly, he rolled over, making Gemini laugh. Life without him here would probably be bleak.

Smiling to herself, Gemini thought back to when they had first met. It was not long before she had woken up bruised, bloodied and alone in the middle of an empty street, the sun beating down on her back.

She always used the night time to remind herself of what brought her and Rasta Man together. She had wandered past him as he painted his insignia over a large corporate logo and asked her to help him fill in some of the colours and, not wanting to be rude, she had obliged. The feeling of freedom she felt from that day on was immense. Immense enough that after that, every night, she would paint her own insignia over anything corporate.

As Gemini stood up and stretched her legs, stiff from hours of sitting wide eyed, Rasta Man woke from his slumber and muttered something. Together, they searched for some source of food, finding it, as always, in the same mega-centre. They had a certain way of slipping the food, if you could call it that, out of the shop. Gemini would start a conversation with the person on duty to look after the desired product, and Rasta Man would slip it into any space on his body he could find – in his hair, under his shirt, and sometimes, on the odd occasion, in his pants. All the while, Gemini would be laughing with her new best friend, stalling for as long as possible, waiting for Rasta Man to escape with their meals for the day.

Even though most of the time, the meal was unsatisfactory and underwhelming, it was still a meal and meals were too uncommon to whine about.

Together, they waltzed back to the small alleyway, in which they resided most of the time, giggling to themselves. Rasta Man continuously pulled food samples out of odd places around his body – from up his shirt, down his pants, palmed like a card trick. He continued to make jokes about it and force laughter out of Gemini. They ate together, as always, and considered where they would make their mark that evening.

Every day was the same, with little to no variation. It didn’t bother Gemini though. Life was better for her now, than it had ever been when she lived in her perfect little house, with her perfect little family, all of them with their perfect designed faces and perfect designed minds. She had been one of them. But now she was free to think for herself.

Gemini and Rasta Man wasted the rest of the day wandering around, passing the buildings in the sector and deciding which they would hit. Upon passing the largest building, Gemini noticed that her insignia was no longer visible – it had been overtaken by the bold black, white and red logo.

“It looks like they don’t appreciate you,” Rasta Man spoke her mind, his accent drifting with the cool breeze.

“Nah, they just didn’t want to take my suggestion, which is a shame really. I thought I would have been a real asset to the company,” Gemini shrugged, deciding to continue moving, as a shadow formed at the window, obviously watching the two homeless people standing outside a building belonging to the largest corporation in Sector 25.

“Yeah, you’re exactly what they need,” Rasta Man replied, following Gemini away from the skyscraper.

The streets were always empty at this time of day – all of the teenagers were at school, having their minds pumped full of useless knowledge, taking their daily dose of the drugs that kept everyone in line. The thought made Gemini sick.

She used to be one of them, taking Synthestane to make her sleep at night, pumping drugs into her system to force her to learn, taking injections to get energy, using credits to get everywhere, relying on the system to keep her safe at night. No rats, no art, no freedom of thought. That’s all it was.

As they passed a church, Gemini noticed writing on the pristine white marble walls. Death to all but Elite. God does not forgive the undersigned. Such was life. Life as a Ficial was becoming harder as time passed, discrimination was at an all time high and hate crimes against Ficials, Pures and Naturals were becoming more and more common. She allowed herself a dry, humourless laugh before taking a step towards the holy place and forcing herself to lay a hand on the cross hung overhead. She forced herself to recognise what it was she was touching and everything it represented. There was nothing to be afraid of. She did this every day without fail. After a minute, she jerked her hand away from the chapel and ran back to Rasta Man who stood in the shadows, watching her.

“Let’s continue, shall we?” Gemini suggested, out of breath and shaking, holding her hand as far away from her body as possible. This little phobia of hers was annoying beyond relief. Sometimes, on the odd occurrence of sleep, she would dream about dying in horrible ways and being refused at the gates of heaven, instead being sentenced to an eternity in purgatory.

They ended their walk back in the alleyway, deciding to sit back and let the rest of the day roll on by. The time passed quickly as they made jokes and started discussing certain designs they could use that night. Gemini decided she couldn’t wait until after to eat, so she took out one of the boxes from underneath a flimsy blanket. Upon opening the packaging, she came to the conclusion that the congealed mess, which was contained by a thin plastic sheet, was supposed to be a mixed chicken paella.

After forcing herself to swallow the soggy ‘rice’, covered in an oddly suspicious murky brown sauce with lumps of indistinguishable ‘meat’ floating to the surface, Gemini had to put the food down for a few minutes. Several hysterical fits of giggles came from Rasta Man, and many exaggerated facial expressions, from Gemini. Later, the entire plastic bowl was empty, and Gemini’s stomach had ceased its protest against the lack of food.

Standing up, she stretched slightly, muttering to herself in the language that had, supposedly, once been native here. Rasta Man had told her that, many years ago, Sector 25 had once been a city called Toledo, mixed up among other cities, in a place called Spain.

As the sun slowly dropped below the horizon, painting a deep blue, tinged with purple, Rasta Man and Gemini made their way towards yet another corporate building. As Gemini was partway through one of her many distasteful jokes, this particular one about a man walking into an all Ficial injection bar and of course hilarity ensued, they were stopped by words painted onto the church in front of them.

The deep burgundy letters sent a jolt right down Gemini’s spine. Rasta Man edged towards the church, keeping Gemini behind him at all times. The letters were wet enough to leave a puddle on the ground below it. Staring into the blood coloured pool, Gemini could see her and Rasta Man staring back, their skin tinged with red. Rasta Man shrugged away from the building and paused, waiting for Gemini to join him.

She continued to stare at herself before turning briskly and jogging to meet Rasta Man at the gate. Her skin still crawled, long after they left.

She reached out to hold Rasta Man’s hand as they walked through the darkness, the sun having set while Gemini stared into the pool of blood coloured paint. With the image of the message currently flashing through her mind, Gemini did what she always did – she made a joke about it.

“Hey, Rasta Man?” She asked, trying to come up with something.

“Yes?” He answered, sighing to himself.

“You know how in the Bible, they say that Ficials, Naturals and Pures are all abominations and how Elites are the only ones worth keeping alive?”

“Yes...” Rasta Man nodded cautiously.

“Well... if God created man... wouldn’t he want to be the one actually creating man? Wouldn’t he get mad that other people were doing his job? I mean... what’s the deal with Elites anyway?”

“I see your point there, why would he hate something he created and love something made by someone acting against his will? That’s a good argument.” Rasta Man’s free hand wandered up to his dreadlocks, twisting them around.

“Oh... can you?”

“Why is that so surprising?”

“You just ruined my joke is all...” she muttered, dropping his hand and staring at the large building in front of them in all its unlit glory. Smiling to herself, she wandered forward and made the first mark against the perfectly clean windows. The first mark of the night was always the most exhilarating.