Perfectopia - Part #5/8
In an ideal world, YOU are the imperfection.
PART #4 RECAP:
On the run, Sigmund drives south, all the way to Calgary, where he’s finally identified by a police cruiser. A car chase ends up in a huge mall, packed with holiday shoppers, where Sigmund hopes to lose the pursuers in a crowd. The escape is cut short when a security guard tackles Siggy to the ground, causing the pressurized Neurils container to fall out of his pocket. During the tussle, someone steps on the cylinder, rupturing it.
Part #5
1 year later - December 2030 | Edmonton, Canada
Sigmund lay sprawled on an armchair, half-listening to the news, running on the sole TV set in the Edmonton Institution’s newly installed “break room”, oddly empty for this hour, considering the limited selection of available alternatives.
“Earlier today, honoring the peace accord signed in June this year, the Russian Federation has announced a full withdrawal of its troops from all Ukrainian territories it held since 2022 as well as Crimean Peninsula and insurgent-controlled areas in eastern Donbas, effectively restoring the pre-2014 de jure borders. This latest move was widely welcomed by the international community. In his address, the UK’s Prime Minister…”
A knowing smile crept onto Sigmund’s face. Months spent in this hellhole, ruined career and bleak academic future, all of it wasn’t for nothing after all. Not that he expected a call from Oslo anytime soon. He didn’t believe in pompous titles, fame and similar hogwash, but fuck, he could really use the money right now.
“In other news, countries across the world continue reporting dramatically plummeting levels of crime, down by almost 90% since the beginning of the year in some regions. Joining us is the head of Canadian Centre for Justice and Community Safety Statistics — Mrs. Marion Morano. Welcome!”
“Thank you for having me.”
“Mrs. Morano, such a sharp fall in illicit activities, not just in the country, but world-wide, is certainly unprecedented. The big question here is: how? What is the cause? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” An anchor shares a laugh with his guest.
“Yes, thank you—I’m getting this a lot lately. The short answer is that there’s no single factor that we can attribute this sudden and welcome change to. We’re still in the process of learning about this new phenomena, but my money is on the compound effect of the shift in societal norms that we have been observing during these past months. As much as I would love to pin a medal on someone’s chest, there are no suitable candidates.”
“Suck my societal norm, bitch!” Spat Sigmund, before he could catch himself, raising a few heads in the room. “Sorry, folks. Carry on.”
That was an interesting development to say the least. Nudging some pretty VIP heads to work towards peace was exactly what they designed Neurils for, but this crime sitch, as good as it sounded, was bothering Sigmund. How in hell were they able to clamp down on crime in such a short span of time?
A heavily tattooed hand poked his shoulder, startling him. “Yo, man, why you hatin’? This solid stuff, eh?”
A huge mountain of a man leaned in closer, the threatening nature of the posture utterly cancelled out by a sincere smile, his inked face contrasting with an open tome of Kafka in the thug’s lap.
“I, uhhh, was just expressing my disagreement with parts of the… ah, fuck, nevermind.” Sigmund slumped back into the chair, praying for the conversation to be over.
“Nah, for real,” no such luck, apparently, “this is solid, man. I get it now. Just wish I’d smartened up before I went and pulled all that messed-up shit. So what’re you in for? Name’s Gene, by the way.”
“I stole proprietary technology from my workplace.” Replied Sigmund dryly, meeting Gene’s extended hand for a shake.
“Huh? How the hell’d they end up tossin’ your white-collar ass into a supermax then?” The new acquaintance shut the book, seemingly settling in for a long talk.
“Theft of intellectual property, misuse of state equipment, conspiracy to commit large-scale criminal acts, not to mention a pre-meditated malicious intent to distribute potentially hazardous materials in a populous area.” Rattled out Sigmund, then, seeing a puzzled expression on his new friend’s face, added. “They pinned terrorism on me, bro!”
A friendly smile faded from Gene’s mug. Without saying a word, the giant shrunk back into his seat and reopened the book like the conversation has never happened.
Fine by me, thought Sigmund, pulling his attention back to the TV’s screen, now filled with a color-coded map of the world.
“In the past month alone, the U.S. has signed free trade agreements with multiple countries, including the United Kingdom, Canada, Mexico, Japan, China, Brazil, and the European Union (marked in green on the map) with many more currently in the final stages of negotiations (painted orange), removing all the obstacles for the international trade.” Beamed a disembodied voice in the background. “Investors took it as a strong signal, with both NASDAQ and NYSE surging by 14% yesterday alone—the largest daily growth since 2001.”
The mostly green and orange map on the TV’s screen was replaced by a graph, its single line happily curving upwards.
“You’re very fucking welcome, motherfuckers.” Hissed Sigmund, carefully under his breath this time.
***
9 months later - August 2031 | Edmonton, Canada
-----------------------------
This notice is issued by the Correctional Service of Canada and addressed to the legal representative of the incarcerated person, Mr. Sigmund Roth.
We wish to advise you that your client has been deemed to meet the criteria for inclusion in the secondary wave of sentence terminations pursuant to the Federal Rehabilitation Act (S.C. 2031, c. 12).
-----------------------------“What exactly does this mean?” Asked Sigmund, looking up from the printed document, laid on the table in front of him. The words on paper sounded beyond anything he could’ve hoped for. If anything, he was mentally prepared to rot away to oblivion in this prison.
“It means exactly what it says—you’re free to go.” Replied the lawyer, not even bothering to hide a smirk. During the months of trials and legal hassles, the two men hit it off, their relationship verging on the threshold of friendship, marred only by the fact that one was a respectable citizen while the other, well, a convicted terrorist. “Congrats.”
“But how? Why me?” Inquired Sigmund, shocked and not yet ready to embrace the genuineness of this news.
“Don’t consider yourself exceptional. It’s not just you. They’re releasing prisoners en masse, closing prisons left and right, all done quietly and under the radar. I guess they don’t want to disturb the public or something.” Replied the man in a suit. “And it’s not just here, in Canada. The whole world has gone pardon-happy. I hear Finland has shuttered the last of their jails this week.”
“So that news about plummeting crime wasn’t bullshit after all.” Mused Sigmund, more as a reaffirmation to himself than a question.
“Nope. It’s all true.” Replied the lawyer anyway. “They’re even talking about redirecting massive amounts of funds from law enforcement and defense to other initiatives on the account of there being virtually nothing that needs enforcing or defending from. Let’s just say, environmental restoration projects are about to get significant monetary injections.”
“Well alrighty, then.” Sigmund stood up. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
***
2 days later - August 2031 | Edmonton, Canada
Sigmund trailed behind a group of twenty inmates or so, met by a small crowd of relatives and friends outside the exit gate. A bored looking reporter stood to the side, barely raising his camera to snap a single picture.
“And here I thought the press would give more of a shit about this.” Exclaimed Sigmund to no one in particular.
“Pffft, why would they?” Chuckled a freshly free man with a shriveled face to his right. “I hear there were at least five groups before us. We’re old news, bud.”
Both groups converged, its individual particles snapping together like magnets. As the crowd thinned, Sigmund’s gaze finally locked onto a familiar face.
“C’mere you little shit!” Thundered Paul, grabbing Sigmund into a bearhug. “Let’s get ya home.”
“Yeah? And where’s that?” He shot back, trying but failing to hide the disappointment. Up until this moment, a tiny irrational part in his brain kept the hope for Gaby accepting him back simmering. She’d be waiting out here, holding back tears of joy, blah blah blah. The same girl whom he betrayed and probably have gotten into all kinds of trouble, but who still came to see him in the prison once. A single visit was enough to cement the undeclared truth: they were over as a couple. He did something irreversibly stupid behind her back, violating the trust between them. No coming back from shit like that, yet the persistent daydream refused to go away.
“There are six bedrooms in my house.” Replied Paul, motioning for them to start moving towards the parking lot. “You’re welcome to crash in one of them until you figure out what’s next for Siggy.”
“So,” began Sigmund, once they both were in the car, “we actually fixed the world after all?”
Instead of responding, Paul just let out a weak chuckle that sounded more like a sigh than a laugh.
As they were pulling out onto the street, a large billboard caught Sigmund’s attention.
“Hey, P.” He said, turning to his friend. “Who are Mindstray and why are we supposed to report them?”