2300 hours

I found it odd that City hadn't notified me, but the replacement transbox was waiting for me outside of the gate. I didn't get in; my perception of the thing had changed, as if its clean white shape had become alien and I was looking at it as someone who belonged on the outside. And I knew that the second that I stepped into the transbox I would be inside again. Sick and tired as I was, and even with night hours approaching, I wasn't ready to hand my life back to City. Not yet.

I made it to the place where the old man's dog had been killed. The ruined transbox was gone, but the animal's body was lying in the same spot. I picked it up by the back legs. It was not as heavy as I thought it might be. The gathering took me a while, but I soon had enough fallen old bricks and bits of rubble to pile over the top of the animal next to a wall where I was sure no one would disturb it. When done, I retrieved the white rose that I'd put safely aside and took in one last deep breath of its fragrance before passing it on to the dog, placing the flower gently on the top of her rock pile. "This is your purpose," I said out loud and resumed my walk back to City.

Even in the dark, it was easy to find my way as City rose up in the sky ahead. I didn't need to use a guideline until I was close to the walls.

After a windy trek along dark and narrow streets, and luckily not having seen or heard signs of any other life, I finally made my way up a set of metal service stairs and, just like that, was back in civilisation. The vast grey tarmac of the commute platform was as empty as it had been earlier. The only decision I had to make now was where I was going to go so that I could continue on the hopeless task, too many eights. I had only a few hours before my findings were due.

I decided to return to my workbox, knowing full well that the building would be closed until start time. But this was not the case. The main entry door slid open, welcoming me as I approached the building. It was dark inside until I entered and the lights went on. I made my way up to my level and through the empty grid of hundreds of boxes. I went to the toilet box and then to my work box that was open and waiting for me with lights on. I sat on my chair as the hatch closed, and the lights dimmed. I loosened my harness and fell asleep almost immediately.

0550 hours

I awoke to the hiss-shuffle-hiss-clank of workers opening and entering the workboxes around mine. Yawning, I wiped sleep from my eyes. In a few minutes it would be 0600. Not quite ready to rejoin my fellow auditors, I decided to log on exactly one minute late. While the seconds ticked by, I became transfixed by the chorus of "Good morning, Supervisor." While observing this from the outside, it was clear to me that the morning routine wasn't just auditors signing in for duty; it was a ritual in affirmation of our compliance and servitude, and the sound it produced, although born of men, was utterly and wholly inhuman. It was the sound of City.

0601 hours

I too signed in. "Good morning, Supervisor."

"Good morning." It was unusual for them to reply. "I hope you had a good night." And, unheard of for them to strike up conversation.

"Yes, I did, thank you." That was the truth.

"Really? And, I trust you're ready to submit your findings for the problem of Too many eights?"

"Yes." The words drew me back into the moment. I was now resigned to the fact that fate would determine my future.

My overlay's task list lit up, prompting me to choose either my ongoing regular pax audit or the task titled Too many eights. I threw the opcode to initiate task closure on the latter, and Supervisor directed, "Submit your findings."

I paused for the briefest moment thinking of the old man, his stories and his rose. The fluffy white dog and its broken body; its killers laughing at me; probabilities; the perpetual pax audit and the round eternal of my boxed-in life ahead. Then, in a moment of clarity and beyond worry, I thought to the immortal's advice, of him telling me what to say.

I was sick and tired of people telling me what to say. Without hesitation, I completed my report: "Finalising protocol: G-A-2-3, for task: J-3-0-T, titled Too many eights. I can confirm with the utmost certainty that Supervisor's assertion is correct. Yes, there are too many eights."

fin.