Welcome to Argon | A flash fiction story
9 of 💯
Jax took one step forward holding the half-burlap, half-dark-red-stain bag on his side. The line behind him was short, about the same size as the others. He waited for the booth in front of him to become free. Hundreds of doors dotted the huge concrete walls like the visual representation of a metronome beat.
“Free,” the glowing sign above the booth came to life to invite him in.
“Welcome to Argon,” a cheerful voice announced as the sliding doors closed behind him. A three-note melody punctuated the sentence. “Brought to you by Atlanta Inc. — Everything.”
Jax ignored the massive orchestra of buttons and blinking ads in the vending-machine-like sidewalls of the booth. He faced forward, through the opposite set of transparent doors, into the dark guts of the city.
“Would you like to identify yourself?” the voice asked.
“No.”
The voice spat the next sentence a lot quicker, in a less gleeful tone. “Your anonymity doesn't mean your position won’t be tracked during your visit. By proceeding you confirm you understand these terms.”
Jax stood there, immobile and indifferent, the stained burlap bag on his side.
“How long will you be staying with us?” the voice asked, back to its cheerfulness.
“Twenty-four hours,” he answered.
“Would you like to hire Atlanta Security for a limited-time discount price?”
“No.”
The voice took a second to process.
“It’ll be five hundred Atlanta Credits, please. How would you like to pay for your visit?”
“CredChip.”
“Okay,” the voice said. “Please take your CredChip to the detector on your right.”
Jax reached inside the burlap bag and pulled a severed forearm, a limp, gray hand hanging awkwardly to the side. He approached the dead wrist to the detector and a blue dot glowed under the skin.
The doors in front of Jax opened and the voice spoke again: “Thank you. Atlanta Inc. wishes you a happy visit to Argon.”
Jax left the arm on the booth’s floor and walked into the thick air of the city.
< It’s a Feature| Welcome to Argon | Faux Leather >
The nice thing about the 100 Story Challenge is sitting down to write at the end of the day having no idea of what will come. It’s terrifying. Then, sometime later, I have a story, and the sense of accomplishment is delightful. Some days, they come easily. On other days, it can take a couple of hours to get a couple of hundred words to cooperate. But every day they’re there.
