Chapter 2 - CODE ZERO AT THE GATE
The pneumatic hiss of the rising steel bollards echoed sharply against the glass facades of the downtown medical district, sealing Julian and Clara inside a concrete perimeter that felt more like a prison yard than a city sidewalk. Officer Miller stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his dark blue trousers while glancing down at his wrist terminal, where a steady stream of data flickered across the OLED screen.
“I told you, kid, pleading to me violates section four of the public engagement protocol,” Miller said, his tone remaining infuriatingly clinical. “You’re wasting emotional bandwidth. If you want those barriers to drop before your mother goes into active labor, you need to generate active shares. Right now, your feed is dead weight on the municipal server.”
Julian stared at the terminal screen reflecting off the officer’s polished badge. “We don’t have time for this. She’s bleeding, can’t you see that?”
Clara bit her lower lip so hard a thin line of crimson appeared, her breathing shallow and ragged as another contraction rolled through her frame. She gripped the metal armrests of the wheelchair until her knuckles turned translucent. “Julian, stop arguing with them. Just… take out your phone. Do what they say.”
“I’m not a content creator, Mom! I’m twelve!” Julian cried, pulling the cracked-screen device from his jeans pocket with trembling fingers. He tapped the live-stream icon, watching the viewer count hover stubbornly at fourteen. Two of them were automated municipal bots; the rest were indifferent commuters walking past the digital blockade.
Officer Vance crossed his arms, leaning back against a smart-kiosk that continuously flashed public safety announcements about civic score deficits. “It’s harsh, sure, but think about the infrastructure. If we let unverified citizens clog up the priority medical lanes, the whole algorithm crashes. Fifty thousand followers is the bare minimum to prove social utility. Without it, you're statistically invisible.”
“We’re people, not statistics!” Julian screamed, stepping in front of his mother’s wheelchair as if his slight frame could block out the towering officers and the oppressive surveillance cameras mounted every ten feet along the lampposts.
“Emotion doesn't update the ledger, kid,” Miller said, stepping past him to tap a key on the terminal built into the nearest steel bollard. “In fact, shouting at an enforcement node adds a penalty multiplier to your family’s collective index. You just dropped another twelve points.”
May you like
Julian froze, his phone slipping an inch in his sweaty palm as he looked at the family rating widget on his screen. The number blinked from an already dismal 42,100 down to 42,088.
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