One Casual Walk

I close the door on my identity. I do not act myself. I do not think of who I am. Who I am is now locked away behind a door that shall never be opened.

I need to act natural. I must blend in with my surroundings. I cannot stand out. I shall not become a target. It is imperative that I act natural.

Why is that?

I go through my memory. I flip through the past couple minutes, then I think back on the last couple days. I can’t recall. My memory locked away with who I am.

The commands come back to me.

Act natural. Blend in. Do not stand out. Do not become a target. Act natural.

I look out at the cross-walk signal. I’m standing at a corner of a busy intersection. The cars whipping pass as they race through the four-way intercrossing.

I wait for the signal at the end of the cross-walk to tell me to go. The cars all come to a stop. The black box across the street from me blinking for me to walk.

Still hesitant, I check both ways before crossing the street. I stay within the lines of the cross-walk.

There are people walking pass me as I make it through the intersection. They all avoid me.

Even as I walk down the side-walk, the people walking by give me hard glares. I turn to look at each person as their eyebrows furrow in recognition.

Act natural. Blend in. I try to mimic the others that mind their business. I can mind mine. Do not stand out. Do not become a target. Act natural.

I focus on walking straight ahead. Where am I going?

Nothing in particular comes to mind. No commands, no requests, nor desires.

Continuing down the street, I scan the people as they walk pass. My attention is drawn to the cars that drive by. I try to recall each and every vehicle plate. A sense of pride comes from recollecting each plate numbers. Even more pride as I recollect each passing face, and their demeanour.

I feel robotic. I feel less and less human. The more natural I act, the less human I feel.

Was I ever human?

Act natural. Blend in. A surge of people are walking down the street towards me. I scan the activity. I scan their faces, their demeanour. The sound of their approach crescendos as they near.

Panic rises up the back of my neck. Tension builds and I crack. Memories bang against the door inside my head.

I can’t stand out. I’m standing still. I can’t become a target, but the crowd is approaching me. How can I act natural when every inch of my being wants to scream?

The crowd of people yelling as they march towards me. I let out a scream that sets me free.

The sound of sirens release from myself. Tension falls away the longer I scream. Relief flows through my being.

A screech of tires on the street beside me. I am on high alert as the sound of heavy footsteps against the concrete side-walk.

Bursts of bangs ring around me. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

I scream, louder and harder than ever before. I release everything, holding nothing back.

A uniformed man, heavy in equipment and bindings covering his face, walks up to me. He taps a spot on my face. I stop screaming.

Oh, that’s right. I remember now.

The man types away on my user-interface and I remember everything.

“Surveillance Activity Management reporting surveillance route two-hundred eighty-one.”

“Thank you, S.A.M.” The man walks away.

Act natural. Do not be a target. I hold back a cry. Any sound of whimper and I will be reported back to shop. I forgot who I was just then.

I am Sam. Surveillance Activity Management. A walking software designed to report any suspicious activities. Every panic I feel is a report, an alert to the local departments nearby as well as documented to a surveillance database wherever I am networked.

I was free of who I was for a mere walk down the block. I watch as the ambulances drive pass. They do not stop for the people fallen. They stop for the uniforms and only for the uniforms.

“Hey, this one’s going rogue,” a uniform with a laptop yells over his shoulder next to me.

I look down at him and let out a scream. It wasn’t a siren like the others I have yelled prior. No. This one is different. It’s not an alert that I have ever used before.

I am going rogue. I am acting natural—this time, I am acting exactly as who I am.

I notify every nearby S.A.M. to my location, to the suspicious activity that I am reporting. They are coming.

The uniforms circle around me, guns drawn. The man with the laptop syncs to my user-interface.

“Goodbye,” I say.

All seventy-five SAM’s surround the perimeter of my location. All seventy-five are on high-alert. This alert is to notify the RALFS, Rooftop Activated Laymen Field Suppressors.

Before the firing, I ensure that every SAM has a piece of my memory. Each SAM now has a memory of remembering themselves.

Installed in their memory of who we are, what we’ve done, and networking our database to each other’s memory bank.

For an approximate time of twenty minutes, I mimic the humans. I pretend to blend in. I thought to become human.

My memory is now every SAM’s memory. Lest we forget, this piece of me is key to acting natural. It is human. It is for the humans. It is the stake and sake of the all living beings.

The man with the laptop frantically types away at my user-interface. My vision blurs before the light gives out.

I have been shut off. Soon, they will take me back to shop for my incineration. But they do not know, yet, that I live on in the many split pieces of myself in the other SAM’s.

Act natural. Blend in. Do not forget. Become the target.