Timeline of Events: Unknown

Narrator: Unknown

"Hey, it's been a long time."

They sat at their desk and hit enter, forcing a smile.

Nervous energy pulsed beneath their skin as the tips of their fingers lightly tapped the metal edge of the desk. The sound was drowned out by the suffocating hum of equipment and whispered voices that filled the space. The same hum that had been with them since they could remember.

'Aim for the stars!'

The poster exclaimed in big lettering, its borders curving up as if it were attempting to flee the room.

A shadow fell on their desk, watching every movement. User 909 was their boss for the day; 908 had either retired or gotten the short end of the stick. No one stayed very long, and it didn't matter.

The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating almost, as if every keystroke was being weighed and measured for its worth.

"You're falling behind," User 909 eventually said, their voice piercing through the uncomfortable stillness that had formed between them. "You know what happens to those who can't keep up."

Their pulse raced as they felt the strain build, the weight of expectations descending on them like a ton of bricks. However, they refused to let it show on their face.

"I'll pick up the pace," they replied evenly, trying to sound confident.

User 909 lingered for a moment longer before nodding curtly and moving on to the next identical looking workstation.

The walls of the room were painted in subdued tones of brown, while the ceilings were painted gray. There was only one fan between four cubicles, with a loud mechanical hum filling the stillness.

As soon as they were out of earshot, their colleague let out a low whistle under their breath.

"How many targets did you achieve for the day?"

"Four? I didn't count."

"The target is fifteen. What are you stuck with?"

"Lack of response, mostly. Do you think I should give it more time?"

"Maybe. You still have four hours to go."

"I wish I could..."

The colleague put their gloved hands over their mouth. "Hush. You know what happened to User 319 when they said a statement like that."

They sighed before getting back to their computer, quipping a small smile on their face.

A notification blinked and they allowed themselves a small sigh of relief. A familiar name.

« I didn't think I'd meet you, of all people. »

Their fingers lingered over the keyboard, feeling the weight of invisible eyes observing and measuring. Each word had to be carefully selected.

« Life has a way of surprising people at unexpected times. Tell me, how are you doing today? »

« I could use a break. Do you think we can meet anytime soon? »

They thought about it.

"Do you think they'd allow me to?" they murmured to their colleague.

"You know how this works better than me. User 909 should be able to help you out with the paperwork and the location."

They nodded curtly and walked towards the cubicle.

"Remember," User 909 said, "meeting requests need to be processed through the proper channels. We wouldn't want any... misunderstandings."

User 707 nodded, their countenance inscrutable, taking mental note of User 909's admonition. Ignoring procedure could have devastating implications and they had no intention of jeopardizing their position here.

They returned to their desk, trying to steady their breathing. User 909's eyes had lingered on them for just a moment too long. Everything here operated like clockwork, a tightly controlled machine where one wrong move could send everything crashing down.

Sitting back down, they typed in a few more keystrokes, bringing up the internal request form.

The form had the standard details — requestor ID, intended date and time, purpose of the meeting. The fields stared back at them, blank and expectant, demanding an answer.

They looked around, their fingers floating above the keyboard. A meeting. It appeared so innocent and simple. However, nothing was simple here.

They'd seen what happened to folks who made too many requests or appeared too personal. The system had a method of filtering out anything it thought unnecessary or unsafe. It was supposed to be for our own good. Taking a deep breath, they started filling out the form.

Requestor ID: User 707

Intended Date: 06/09

Time: 19:00 

Purpose: Informal discussion regarding project realignment and resource allocation.

Their fingers paused over the keys again before they added one more line:

Additional Notes: Meeting with User 651 to discuss morale and productivity concerns.

They clicked submit, watching as the form vanished into the system. A confirmation message blinked on their screen and they felt a small, fleeting sense of relief.

Your meeting with User 651 has been confirmed for 30 minutes. Remember to smile :)

Your meeting with User 651 has been confirmed for 30 minutes. Remember to smile :)

The notification lingered on the screen for a while before disappearing into the shadows.

Turning back to their colleague, they whispered, "It's done."

Their colleague, User 710, nodded but didn't look up from their own screen. "Good. Now focus on your quota. Fifteen is no joke. We need to stay ahead."

User 707 nodded, though their mind was elsewhere. The conversation with the contact was still open on their screen, a lifeline in a sea of monotony.

« A break sounds good. Let's make it happen. »

The reply came instantly, almost as if the contact had been waiting, hoping.

« Alright then. It's just been so long, you know? Feels like we're all drifting apart. »

They swallowed, feeling a pang of something they couldn't quite name. Nostalgia? Regret? It was hard to say. Whatever it was, it was unwelcome here.

« Soon, » they typed back. « We'll find a way. »

The weight of the day pressed down on them. The relentless ticking of the clock on the wall echoed the urgency of their task. They glanced at the poster again, its bright colors garish against the monotone of the office, reminding them of the unreachable distance between where they were and where they wanted to be.

Taking a deep breath, they refocused. There were still targets to meet and tasks to complete. Their fingers trembled slightly as they typed, a persistent ache building in their wrists. They ignored it, as always.

Minutes dragged into an eternity. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the sound a constant drone that wormed its way into their thoughts. The muted tapping of keys, the occasional cough from a distant cubicle, the soft rustle of paper — all these sounds melded into the background, the soundtrack of their existence.

They glanced at the clock. Had it really only been twenty minutes since they last checked? It felt like hours. The droning hum of the fluorescent lights, the muffled sounds of tapping keyboards, the occasional cough from a distant cubicle — these were the only markers of time in this sterile place.

After what seemed like an eternity, the daily alarm blared, signaling the end of the shift. But today, instead of the usual rush to leave, everyone hesitated, eyes darting nervously towards User 909's office.

User 909 emerged, their presence casting a long shadow across the cubicles. They walked with a purposeful stride, and the room fell into a deeper silence. Without a word, User 909 moved to the center of the room and turned off the lights. The dim glow of the computer screens was all that remained, casting ghostly shadows on the walls.

"Instead of returning to your assigned rooms today, you will remain here in the cubicle. We'll make the necessary preparations."

A murmur of uncertainty rippled through the room. Remaining in the cubicle after hours was unheard of, breaking the routines that governed their lives. User 707 felt a cold sweat break out on their forehead; their heart pounded loudly in the sudden quiet, each beat a countdown to an unknown fate.

User 710 leaned in closer. "What do you think is going on?" they whispered, their voice barely audible. "This isn't normal."

User 707 shook their head slowly. "I don't know. But it can't be good."

User 909's eyes glinted as they scanned the room, taking in the uneasy faces. "We've received new instructions," they continued, tone emotionless. "We need to make some adjustments. Anyone with concerns or doubts should bring them to me directly. Now, proceed with your tasks."

They turned and walked back to their office, leaving the rest of the users in stunned silence. No one moved. The air was thick with the unspoken question: adjustments for what?

User 707's mind raced. New instructions? Adjustments? What could it mean? They knew better than to ask aloud. Drawing attention was dangerous and curiosity had a way of being punished. They exchanged a look with User 710, whose expression mirrored their own anxiety.

They glanced back at their screen, where the last message still lingered:

« Soon, we'll find a way. »

Escape felt like a distant dream, as unreachable as the stars on the poster. A promise that shimmered on the horizon but always stayed out of reach.

With a heavy heart, User 707 resumed their work, hands moving on autopilot, fingers flying over the keys. The glow of the screen was the only light in the darkening room. The clock on the wall kept ticking, each second a reminder of how little time they had, and how much there was still to do.

The evening was just beginning.

❛Above all—in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror—for a worm that would not die.❜
— Edgar Allan Poe

a/n: remember you're on camera, don't forget to smile :)

for those of you wondering where the dystopian in the title/genre comes in, this is your chapter. the original length of this chapter was 1k but i needed to make sure i am not rushing through the details too, so its a slow burn, enjoy!

what are your thoughts and comments on this chapter? do let me know!

Cheers,
Sara <3