Unplugged: Unplugged Duology

By Jb Taylor

Zendaya Fernwood carries with her a secret. The world around her is a lie, an ingeniously designed digital prison for the mind. Escape occupies her every thought. Freedom is her goal and nothing will stop her from unplugging. What awaits Zendaya is a fate far worse than she could have imagined. Beyond her prison is a scorched earth where man and machine wage war in a seemingly endless campaign of suffering. There is hope on the horizon, a unique figure with the potential of rising from the shadows of the scorched earth to make a difference. To finally, after so very long, give humans the freedom they deserve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jb Taylor
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201096571

Book preview

I had had enough pretend. I wanted to be in the real world.

Shirley Temple

PART I

Prologue

The year, 2024.  Zendaya Fernwood was caged. Trapped in a world in which she didn’t belong. But Zendaya had a secret. She knew how to get out. How to unplug. 

Chapter 1

Weekend Work

1

Zendaya rolled over in her sleep, her face awash in the moonlight slipping through the curtains. She stood in a doorway watching a small white cat that  curled in on itself, asleep, its sides a steady cascade of respiration. The cat awoke and stretched high on its paws; mouth open in a fierce yawn. The hallway glared bright white, and Zendaya woke with a start and sat up. Breathing heavily, she looked to the digital clock on her bedside table. It was a little after three. Ungraciously, she shoved the blanket away and swung her legs around. Her bare feet registered the cold wood floor. The moonlight, the cold, none of it was real, but that didn’t stop the goosepimples from rising on her flesh, for a shiver to run up her spine. Knowing the truth wasn’t enough.

Freshly showered, Zendaya dressed and put her long, neon-green hair into a ponytail. Its point rested neatly between jutting shoulder blades. She wore ripped denim jeans, a cut-off V-neck black shirt and white steel-toed boots scuffed to black at the toes and heels. Coffee was brewed, a tomato sliced and bread toasted. Tomato went on toast, coffee in her favorite blue mug and she drew the curtains on the window over the sink. Zendaya sipped at her roasted pecan coffee and watched blankly as sunlight trickled across a fading-purple sky. It was fifteen after five in the morning.

Gibson, end Ideal Morning, Zendaya said, and sipped her coffee. Hidden speakers in the ceiling chirped. The sunlight creeping across the faded-purple sky vanished, replaced in an instant with a gun-metal-grey sky and driving rain. That downpour hammered the windows, an unrelenting drumbeat. Better, Zendaya murmured, and took another sip of coffee.

2

Two hooks adorned the wall beneath the clock. Zendaya grabbed her raincoat off the first. Revealed beneath was her tactical belt. Holstered on it were her personal communication device, badge and a slender-bodied Thumper .44; a weapon produced by the Smiths Corporation with permission from the Honorable Father. Her badge was thick, round and silver. One man, adorned in a powdered wig, dominated its center. Beneath him in black bold font read: Peace Keeper. She clipped it on. Finally, she took her waterproof backpack off the second hook, shouldered it and left for work.

3

The metallic undertones of ozone bit at Zendaya’s nostrils with a sting like a hit from fresh oxygen. It was clear by the penny-under-the-tongue taste that although the rain had let up a little, more storms were on their way.  Through the gloom, bright advertisements flashed their wares on the sides of multi-story carparks. Half a dozen blimps littered the sky, every one of them adorned with hanging display screens that flashed the numbers of local businesses, all complete with a smiling professional type.  Below, barrel fires flared out from darkened alleyways, the faces of hunched figures illuminated over them. Red warning lights framed the sidewalks, their yellow counterpart roiled up and down the road in a lazy dance.

Zendaya passed a group of suited business-types at the corner waiting for the red crossing light to turn green and stole into Borders Gas and Grub and bought two packs of Merlins, a lighter and a twenty ounce can of orange seltzer water. She stored the cigarettes and lighter in her pocket, the seltzer water she put in her bag with the lunch that she packed the night before and left without looking or speaking to the cashier. Zendaya slipped on her headphones, scrolled through the playlists in her PCD for her favorite and hit play. First up was symphony no. 39 in e-flat major, K. 543 -4 final (allegro) from the Deutsche Grammophon produced Mozart compilation album.

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4

The warm air stung Zendaya’s cheeks, reddened and numbed from an onslaught of cold wind and rain, as she entered One Peace Keeper Plaza. Her cheeks and ears burned as if pressed with hot irons. Albert Huntington, a bony, bearded man with hair longer than hers, nodded to her as she entered. He sat behind the checkpoint desk wearing a figure-fitting blue jumpsuit.

Morning, Sergeant Fernwood. His speech was slow and measured, heavy for a man so thin. Beady blue eyes watched her with greedy interest as she stopped at the desk. What you got for me? Al was a kind man, though not without his faults. He voted every four years for the Re-Crowning of the Honorable Father, spied on his neighbors and turned in traitors to the nation in return for credits. Traitors were those who preached conspiracy theories, taught propaganda, refused to vote. Yes, Zendaya sometimes caught him looking at her breasts when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, but she overlooked that because for a guy so hell-bent on turning in traitors, he wasn’t against breaking the law himself. Al had hookups, connections with black market sorts. So, who cared if he looked?

At first when you said you didn’t want credits, Zendaya said, I thought you were kidding.

Al shook his head, his ponytail dancing between his narrow shoulder blades. No, Ma’am. The wife thinks I quit and if she sees I used credits for smokes she’ll have my balls.

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Zendaya retrieved the two packs of Merlin’s and the lighter from her pocket. Any trouble? she asked as she slid the items across the desk.

Al scooped them up, pocketed them, then fished in the pocket of his top. Same as last week when I bought you those Integro-Peels, standard asshats being standard asshats, he said. But I got you what you needed. He pulled out a small brown bag and set it on the desk between them. Zendaya took it, looked within. Inside were two octagonal bioluminescent metal chips. You’re gonna need the other set of augmentation chips if you want a processor capable of handling a Conversion Crown, Al warned her.

Noted. Zendaya pocketed the chips and rapped the desk. My credit chip. 

Almost forgot. Al patted the chest pocket of his uniform, reached in with thumb and forefinger and pulled out Zendaya’s credit chip. It was two inches long, half as wide, and blue with a small golden square at its center. Here you go. Bought some gum, didn’t think you’d mind.

Not at all. Zendaya took the credit chip and pocketed it. Thanks again. Take care of yourself, Al.

You too, Sergeant Fernwood, you too.

5

The bullpen was empty, quiet. It was Zendaya’s preference to be the first to arrive and the last to leave. It looked good. The better she looked, the less eyes that followed her around. She hooked her raincoat on the rack by her desk, took her lunch to the break room and put it in the communal fridge, took a sticky note and sharpie from a drawer beside it and wrote her name. She stamped it on the plastic lid and returned to her desk where she sat with her backpack under the desk. 

The Virtual Reality converters felt hot in her pocket. It was paranoia she knew, but what if the two octagonal bioluminescent metal chips caught light through her pocket? No, that couldn’t happen. They were bagged, and the polyester of her pants was thick. She would have to remain calm, keep her cool. To go against the grain of behavior she established up to this point would be a red alert. 

The Honorable Father had five laws of obedience and to break even one was enough to land yourself a death sentence. The five laws hung on the wall of every bullpen in every Peace Keeper Plaza in the New United States. Zendaya looked to them now. They were designed to look like the aged brown scroll from a time long before the Great War. The rules were written in sweeping, black lettering. They read:

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Laws of Required Order

1. One is not permitted unabridged conversations or the unchecked dissemination of information regarding The Honorable Father. 

2. Unchecked autonomy is prohibited.

3. To own or distribute unapproved home school curriculum is prohibited. 

4. All able-bodied civilians, upon reaching age fourteen, are required to enlist in the New America Freedom Forces.

5. The unwillingness to report unpatriotic activity is forbidden.

There was one other person who arrived before Zendaya every morning, and that man was Captain Mulvaney who, at the moment, sat in his office, hunched over paperwork, his wirerimmed glasses halfway down his bulbous nose. The overhead light gleamed off his bald, white head. Zendaya, as casually as she could, retrieved the bag from her pocket, pulled open a desk drawer and tossed it inside, hoping the flippancy of her efforts would lesson any suspicion.

Sergeant Fernwood. Zendaya nearly jumped when Captain Mulvaney spoke. Inwardly she cursed herself for being so easily spooked. He hadn’t, after all, even looked up. My office.

Yes, sir. With her heart in her throat, Zendaya closed the drawer and got up. Her legs, she was relieved to discover, hadn’t turned to rubber. The space between her desk and the Captain’s wasn’t more than thirty feet, but in the moment, it felt like a hundred. If Captain Mulvaney had been looking at her, she supposed the walk would have been worse.

Captain Mulvaney was former New America Freedom Forces, where he served twenty-two years before his honorable discharge. The cleanliness of his office spoke to it; the precision of the space between framed pictures of important-looking men and women, the perfection in the order the books were aligned, how they grew steadily smaller or larger depending on the direction your eyes went. His desk was immaculate with only one notebook, one pen and a saucer, atop of which was a steaming cup of black coffee.

You’re supposed to be off on weekends, yet this is the second weekend in a row you’ve come into work. Captain Mulvaney looked up at her, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did so. Those eyes, sharp and blue, inquisitive, so piercing, never failed to intimidate Zendaya.

Yes, sir. Zendaya had long since worked out a cover story for the day this talk came, and she was ready for it. Granted, it helped that she had the perfect cover, a case she’d been working for months without any real traction. It’s the Carrillo family murder, I can’t let the case go.

Captain Mulvaney sat back in his chair, his eyes razor-focused. Cases come and go, some hit us harder than others. A family of six brutally murdered in their home, the mother and daughter tortured. It’s enough to gnaw at anyone. I understand you’ve hit a wall with the investigation?

Zendaya nodded. Yes, sir.

I’m familiar with some of its details, but enlighten me.

Zendaya knew that Captain Mulvaney was up to date on everything to do with her case, but what she didn’t know was his reasoning for taking this tact. Was he trying to help reveal what she may have missed, or was it his way of testing her for secrets she kept close to the vest? It was an excessive display of violence, she began. "Nothing was stolen, the mother and daughter weren’t sexually assaulted, nor was the father and son.

After she was tortured, the mother had three knives driven into her skull and the head was pried apart, Zendaya continued. The mother and father had no gambling debts, nor any history of drug or alcohol abuse. Neither parent had rehabilitation therapy for unpatriotic thoughts and or actions.

So, no leads. Captain Mulvaney slid his glasses back up his nose. You’re unlikely to find any without Neurotech assistance, am I correct?

Zendaya nodded. It’s the reason I’m in so early today.  As you know, the process of requesting such assistance is a lengthy one. I was hopeful that if I got the request in early, perhaps it would be approved by the end of the day.

You’d be lucky to get that result even if I fast-tracked it. Get the paperwork done, and I’ll see what I can do. Captain Mulvaney pushed his glasses up his nose once more. Zendaya did not allow herself to show how pleased she was that her cover story had landed. Workplace emotions were frowned upon. It wasn’t banned, but Captain Mulvaney had the utmost distaste for it. In his opinion, it showed both weakness and a lack of professionalism, neither of which he had patience for. He was certifiably militaristic about it.

Thank you, Sir, she said. Is that all, Sir?

A curt shake of the head. Negative. Two detectives under your charge, a Detective Henry Johannsson and Kelly Alexander, have tested positive for Cannabis Indica. A Neurotech surveillance search into their activities yielded no proof of their having consumed the drug. Yet the test results can’t be ignored.

Sounds suspect. Are we sure they aren’t being set up? The Flock are—

— it is possible, Captain Mulvaney interrupted. Regardless, proper protocol must be adhered to. Pull them aside, talk to them. Inform them of the kindness I am showing them by not publicly arresting them. Once more Zendaya did not show her true emotions. She was surprised, as it wasn’t standard procedure for a Captain to relegate duties of this high an order, not with Peace Keepers at least. Perhaps it was different with the Neurotech’s.

Yes, Sir, Zendaya said.

Captain Mulvaney’s eyes flicked toward his open office door. You’re dismissed.

6

Detective’s Johannsson and Alexander arrived together at five minutes past six in the morning, their uniforms crisp, badges polished. They walked like they had authority, though Zendaya knew they never abused the position. Zendaya looked up from her desk and watched them enter, one behind the other. Neither came from a dysfunctional background and both were former members of the military.  They were tried and true patriots who followed the letter of the Founding Fathers law like love struck puppies. The Flock was responsible for the bad news she would have to break to them, to that point she had no doubt.

She cleared her throat. Johannsson, Alexander. Break room, please.

The two officers, who had been just about to sit down at their respective desks, shared one long look, concern on their faces. Their assignments came to them from the Captain, the knowledge for how to handle those assignments from their time in the Academy. When Zendaya spoke, it meant something was wrong, so either their assignment had changed or they had messed up and were about to be punished. Both gave hesitant nods and made for the breakroom.

Zendaya sighed and stood up. In the breakroom she closed the door behind them and leaned against it, crossed her arms and looked from one to the other. As your Sergeant, I remind you not to interrupt me. You will not like what you’re about to hear, understood?

The two shared a long, worried look. As one, they nodded. It isn’t proven, Zendaya began, but I believe you both are being set up. Your monthly tests came back positive for Cannabis Indica.  Zendaya hadn’t expected silence from either officer, rather rancid vitriol. It would have been one of the few times she would have allowed it, despite her warning to them to let her finish before they spoke, yet instead she was met with blank-eyed wonderment and almost meager responses.

Unbelievable, Johannsson murmured.

Alexander ran his hand over his bald head, traced it down over the salt and pepper stubble of his beard where he scratched his pointed chin. We are working a case against them, he admitted grudgingly, and let out a low-level growl from deep in his throat. So, what happens now?

We follow procedure, was Zendaya’s reply. Your urine samples were supplied yesterday morning after you clocked in. You’ll give another sample, and I’ll make sure they’re tested by an independent company of my choosing. Until the results return, you’ll be held in confinement where you’ll stay if the tests are found to be dirty. If they don’t, well, then you’ll be let go and will have nothing to worry about. Zendaya looked from one officer to the other. Understood? The two officers deflated as each accepted their lack of options.

So, we’re looking at a day in confinement, Johannsson said.

Two if a Neurotech has to get involved, Alexander countered.

One day, Zendaya confirmed. The Neurotech’s have already combed your personal CCTV files and found zero evidence of either of you consuming Cannabis Indica at any point in the last two months.

Which is why you believe we’re being set up, Johannsson supplied, wisely.

And why Captain Mulvaney isn’t ripping us new assholes right now, Alexander added. The timing, with the investigation to consider, is dubious. Can the Neurotech’s rescan?

There shouldn’t be a need, Zendaya answered. Besides, if the tests come back positive it won’t matter. You’ll be imprisoned until your day of judgement in front of the High Court. Zendaya stepped away from the door and looked from one detective to the other, her eyes narrowed and stern. No cuffs, no show; just three Peace Keepers walking.  Do not run. You won’t make it a day before the Neurotech’s catch you.

The tests will come back clean, Alexander said with confidence. I worship three days a week, donate to all Honorable Father related charities. I’m an upstanding citizen and Johannsson is no different. Johannsson nodded his agreement.

Zendaya didn’t need to be told that. Unbeknownst to her two Detectives, she investigated everyone in her life, even her mother, the very woman who showed her the truth. She knew more about these two then they could ever imagine. If the Honorable Father told them to kill the first born of every new parent in a show of support, they would. They were sheep, and sheep followed the shepherd. Neither of you are problems, Zendaya told them. I know better. Follow me. No shared looks this time, only submissive nods from both officers.

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7

It was fifteen after twelve. Plasma screens, which framed the doors and elevators, would soon display the specials of the day from the mess hall, local restaurants and convenience stores. Zendaya’s Neurotech Assistance Request Form was fourteen pages of why’s and how’s and who’s that ended in one long who did you ask first. Like they didn’t know, they knew everything, but Zendaya signed off on the last page nonetheless and gratefully sat down her pen. The advertisements were of no interest to Zendaya as they served as further proof of the depths the Honorable Father went to conceal the truth, but she nonetheless looked expectantly at the plasma screens as she massaged her wrist and fingers.

It wasn’t long before the plasma screens glowed bright and the advertisement slideshow began. There was a two-for-one deal on Japanese-style Tengu jerky, a buy-one get-one half-off on Orion Choco pies, advertisements for the Salsagheti mango snacks and the always popular Jammie Dodgers, and an advertisement for Uncle Sal’s One-Stop shop where you could try the all new Fudgee Barr Chocolate.

The screens flickered and were replaced by the standard display of propaganda broadcast on the hour every hour. Their backdrops went black and front and center, his posture erect and hands clasped behind his back, was the Honorable Father. Thin threads of silver and white traced across the screen behind him, merged and began to undulate gently, simulating a flag in the wind. The Honorable Father wore a white suit, white dress shirt and a vivid lime green tie and dress shoes. There was an attempt at a smile, one that no doubt fooled his ardent followers, but Zendaya saw through it. She saw the way his blue eyes didn’t sparkle, how the corners of his mouth came no nearer to his eyes then his narrow, almost pointed chin. But it wasn’t the suit or the lack of a smile that unnerved Zendaya, it was his cheekbones and how they seemed too high on his face and somehow simultaneously too round and too bony, like knobby knees on a gangly teenager. At the base of the screen, in white italic font were the words: ‘Obedience above all. It is your duty as a Patriot.’

Zendaya kept her expression neutral, waited for the propaganda to flicker, fade and to finally die away. When it did, she grabbed up her paperwork and marched to Captain Mulvaney’s office.  She gave his door a knock and waited to be called in. He was reading a case file and inwardly Zendaya hoped it was the results of the independent urine analysis for Detective’s Johannsson and Alexander.

Set it on my desk, Captain Mulvaney said, not taking his eyes from his work. Zendaya did so, stepped back and waited. He closed his file, slid it aside and drew Zendaya’s to him. His piercing blues were hawkish and unenthusiastic as he skimmed its pages. After a moment he gave a curt nod and slid it aside. I’ll see that it’s on Captain Diaz’s desk within the hour. He resumed the reading of his previous file. Are you aware of what I’m reading? Again, he didn’t look up.

Zendaya wasn’t, and said as much. No, sir.

The results for Detective’s Johannsson and Alexander’s independent urine analysis. It’s intriguing.

Zendaya really didn’t care what came of either Detective, but their defense and how she treated the situation was pivotal to her staying under the radar. How so, Sir?

They’re clean. Captain Mulvaney sat the case file aside and gave it a rap with his fist. What do you make of that?

The results, Sir?

No, Sergeant. Those piercing blue eyes found hers. Who do you feel is behind their initial failed test?

The two detectives are working a case against The Flock, Sir. I believe they’re responsible.

Of course, that much is common sense, Sergeant. But you know as well as I that influencing Peace Keeper tests can’t be done without inside help.

I’m not sure, Sir. The Flock have proven to be self-capable in the past. But if you like Sir, I can investigate further while I wait for the Neurotech Offices response?

No, was Captain Mulvaney’s firm reply. I will oversee this matter until it is resolved. This calls for specialist attention. You can return to your desk or go home as it’s your weekend off, the choice is yours.

Zendaya bowed her head. Yes, Sir. Thank you for assisting my efforts. No response, only a turn of the page from Captain Mulvaney. It was enough for Zendaya to know she was, to him, no longer in the room.

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8

Air cars hovered past; the whistling whine of their water-engines unheard by Zendaya as she hummed along to ‘Oh! You Pretty Things’ by David Bowie. Solar-cars slugged past as she weaved through the sidewalk traffic, catching glimpses of colorful adverts flashing out from store fronts. The early morning rain had gone. In its stead was a webwork of gold splayed taut over a dull-grey sky, and the air held a sharp chill to it that hinted the rain hadn’t gone forever.

Zendaya unclipped her PCD, unlocked it with a press of her thumb and tapped the Order Out app. It opened onto a long selection