When midnight came and went and all that was left on the road was a pile of discarded microchips that were thrown out by passing groups of savage thrill seekers that got high on them.
Every day in and every day out, when the Sun starts to set and the dodgy streets of this part of the city that is seemingly abandoned by daylight is resurrected each night by the power of the Moon. This inconspicuous neighbourhood springs to life, filled with its inhabitants that thrive in the bustling activities that only the night can truly provide.
The lustful; the greedy; the ignorant; the addict.
The forgotten, the narcissist, the depraved; the deprived; the deranged.
This underbelly of the daylight beast serves as sanctuary to unspeakable trades that exist to fulfil the worshippers of the Cardinal Sins. As you venture deeper into its guts, greasy hands of shady characters tap you left and right asking in a somber voice : “ Do you want a piece of M.E.?”, handing out small pieces of MEMORY EXPERIENCES without any official logo and casing, forcefully stripped off from the origin source to enter the black market. These are the highly sought after crowd pleasers that intoxicate the users with artificial experiences that allow them to escape justice and fulfil the dark desire of unspeakable motion just by plugging them in to the cerebral cortex. Ever since the invention of chip implants and insertions, the dark side of humanity has managed to push its boundaries in capitalising on raw rotten human mania.
People start to line up in different sections of booths with indicators of different genres. Some pulling their cap low, hiding beneath the shadows while they choose from a selection file under “Rape kill”. Some proudly display their nature whilst flicking through files of “Asphyxiation / Arson”. These choices of artificial experiences that exist in this side of town are never naturally harvested. The ethical way of extraction is never considered by these seekers as they feed on pure self pleasure once the cartridge is inserted. Pumped with adrenaline of being the abused or the abuser in their selected scene of poison. Drunk on the temporary moment of manipulation of time, space and perspective.
This great satisfaction of indulgence ingrained in the individual only makes them come back for more; for here and now, they can be whoever they wish. And slipping into the dead of the night, this panic disco continues to play as long as it can remain before the interruption of light. A vicious cycle that is vivid yet unspoken.
Dawn broke with an audible crack, a back stretching itself out of a long night-time cramp. And all was still.