Magnus Opus With Rodents

Since then a lot had happened to Magnus and the world. The water levels had risen as predicted. He now lived on the fifth floor. The crafty developer had located all the mechanicals on the roof, so a new lobby door was retrofitted at the new sea level with a dock. It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone made adjustments to live in Manhattan. 

“Your breakfast has been delivered,” said Lucille, his PA. She sounded miffed.

He watched the halo-ad, checked yes and opened the bin.

Watercraft or drones delivered everything. Meals came from chain restaurants, since the pandemics made person-to-person contact iffy. Three meals a day, six days a week, two on Sunday were placed in the insulated bin installed in his front door on a set schedule. Non-perishable items were delivered to the other bin, but Magnus was a minimalist so he hardy ever ordered anything. 

The temperatures in New York had gradually risen to an average daytime temperature of 130° Fahrenheit year round, so everyone over fifty-five or with small children had been relocated to Alaska. He heard from his parents that some things still grew up there and they could sit outside in the evening and watch the sunset. He missed them, but it made sense to have all the seniors and parents with kids living in one location where the air was cleaner and cooler, much more efficient. They Skyped every Wednesday night. He’d be joining them in three years, if there were still enough space for his age group. He didn’t like to think too far ahead.

Chelsea-cat rubbed against Magnus’ shins. It was relaxation hour and she was looking for attention. He loved petting her soft fur, smooth as a seal. She cuddled against his chest her whiskers tickling his chin, so he had one hand free to surf. He never tired of stroking her, but she’d slink away after an hour and curl up on her bed to recharge. She was the ideal pet.

“Magnus, it’s time for your news feed.” Lucille never gave him any slack. He’d look into reprogramming her next week.

The last twenty-four hours had been so jammed with activity and emotion that he was drained. He needed to calm himself down. He liked predictability. He liked order. His mom used to tell everyone Magnus was, in the best sense, a dog. Like a dog, he found comfort in doing the same thing at the same time everyday. When all employment was changed to five hours a week so all working age adults could share jobs and keep everyone employed, Magnus was on board. He’d been a serious gamer since birth, so the mandatory two-hour game play twice a day was perfect for him. Truth be told, he’d have preferred three-hour sessions, but he’d learned to adjust. Every few months, the federal government, who controlled social media, 

debuted a new game. No one watched rom-coms, crime dramas, tela-novellas or talk shows any more; even the reality shows had shed their audience. 

Reality sucked for just about everyone, except for the young and the old up in Alaska, so stimulating entertainment was critical to avoid unrest among the Millennial2s and the Gen-X2s who still lived and worked below the 49th parallel. Synthetic food had caught on better than synthetic booze and drugs, since most kids had become acclimated to it in the 21st century. People being people, they still needed distractions. The new game was called R.O.U.S. and it was to launch on February 2nd at 2pm, Groundhog Day. 

Magnus’ birthday was February 1^st and to celebrate he’d opened the bottle of wine Hester had given him in 2152 before she left. He drank the whole bottle in one sitting. It was exceptional, having been vinted from the final batch of Saskatchewan grapes ever grown. Now he was 52 years old. It didn’t seem possible. As a result, he stayed up well beyond the mandatory bedtime and overslept.

He slumped at his desk pod and re-watched the required holo-ad on the lid before he opened his breakfast box. 

Lucille perked up at the sound. “Good morning, Magnus. Or should I say afternoon? Would you like to know today’s program?”

Magnus swallowed quickly. “Sure, lay it on me.”

“I’m not sure of your meaning, Magnus.”

“Sorry, please tell me what’s on the agenda, Lucille.”“Use Schedule D today. And R.O.U.S. releases this afternoon. I noticed you stayed up much later than recommended last night and slept through the 7-9 news feed, as well as, mandatory Face-time from 9-10. I’ve added these omissions to your database. Please be more aware of your time. I took the liberty of scanning your cell which seems to be in 

working order.” Since they’d imbedded Quantum cell units in everyone’s arm ten years ago, they seldom malfunctioned. She knew that.

During Lucille’s commentary, Magnus continued to eat his flatbread egg and cheese, taking extra care to keep his eyes relaxed and expression neutral. He would’ve loved to blurt out an excuse, but he knew explanations were useless and Lucille recorded every emotional deviation. Some days he really hated her. 

Magnus gathered up the packaging from his breakfast and shoved it into the refuse pneumatic tube, which whisked it away. He diligently worked on the programmatic ad sequence needed for the afternoon upload. Analyzing spreadsheets was boring work, but he knew he was lucky. It was a good job, indoor, no heavy lifting, and still legal. The hour went by so quickly he jumped when his arm cell vibrated. 

He always enjoyed exercise period – getting his blood pumping, sweat dripping down his face, stretching his leg muscles. After hooking up his life monitor, hydration tube, and removing his robe, he activated the bi-flex machine that was installed in everyone’s unit. This and the air quality monitors and hi-efficiency waterless showers were installed fifteen years ago as part of the universal upgrade. It took a little getting used to, but Magnus appreciated the convenience.

Game period at last. He’d been reading about R.O.U.S. for months on his news feed. Its release was much anticipated among his 352,627 Facebook friends. They’d TEXTed and Tweeted about little else for weeks. He took a swig of his Vitamin water and limbered up his fingers. The monitor was black, but he knew what that meant. He took a few deep-cleansing breaths, never letting his eyes stray from the screen. Bingo! It came alive with color simultaneously with a brain numbing blast of sound. Magnus nearly fell off his chair, but the five stabilizing wheels prevented a mishap. 

(Click on number 3 to continue reading the story.)