Prologue

Real time 1st December 3004

Anderson knew something was wrong. He could not put his finger on the niggling sensation of disquiet rising within him. Awake, wide awake! The relaxing process of emerging out of REM sleep. Sidelined for the stark reality of full consciousness. Something else amiss, a process that should occur as a matter of course.

Realisation came to him, the simplicity of the notion making him feel foolish. His penthouse apartments’ A.I should have recognised his stirring and responded. 

A gradual increase in illumination. Punctuated by his favourite piece of music. Wafting out of hidden speakers in the walls and ceiling. Should have transported him into complete consciousness. Not this sudden jolt of confusion.

Anderson sent orders to the apartment net via his on-board processors, to turn on the lights. To begin playing his soothing choice of music. A simple request, no more complicated than the blinking of his eyelids. Complete silence met the command…

He was going to crucify the firm that had installed the system, it was only a month out of warranty! They had tried only two weeks previous. To sell him a support package costing fifty thousand a month to keep it up-dated. He had declined, believing the aftercare to be a lucrative scam, bought only by the naive and paranoid. 

The building had its own set of countermeasures. Buying a one-off extra layer of protection to his individual apartment out of his own pocket. More than enough to keep the riff raff from his door…wasn’t it…?

He swallowed in contemplation, beads of sweat began to gather on his forehead. Despite the room temperature set to its optimum level of comfort.  A tiny seed of doubt started growing within him.

The lights came on of their own accord. Anderson lay dead centre in the expanse of his luxurious bed, staring at the ceiling. He did not want to raise his head the couple of centimetres needed. To view the scene his imagination was conjuring up at the base of the bed. If he looked, it would become real, too real.

A polite cough forced his hand. Raising his head with reluctance, fear now dominant within his consciousness. The vision of a tall black man appeared at the bed end. 

 Anderson observed him, the face neutral, eyes devoid of expression. Fostering little hope in Anderson. The tall black man pointed a weapon at Anderson’s head. Underlining confirmation of the futility of the moment.

The black man’s expression changed. Anderson saw his eyes fill with pity. The assassin shook his head, slow from left to right, rebuking him, as the weapon discharged, silent. 

A dart left the muzzle embedding itself into Anderson’s right shoulder. He felt pain for less than a second, a neural toxin entered his bloodstream. His head fell back onto his pillow. The toxin worked fast, shutting down his major organs: liver…kidneys…lungs and then his heart.