The year is 2052

Global population: 11.2 billion.

Air toxicity index: 330 AQI (avg). Oceans are 83% ‘dead zone’. Global green cover <3%.

State religion adherence: 98.6%. Church of the One Truth merged with U.S. executive branch in 2051 in an event dubbed YEAR ZERO.

Surveillance coverage: 99.97%. Citizens chipped at birth. National AI monitors 1.8 trillion data points per day.

Average screen time: 17.6 hours/day. A social credit algorithm called Civix governs employment, dating, housing and access to amenities.

Marcus Ryland, 32, Civix Score 697

The city itself was grey. Its bones were glass and cement that could have been any metropolitan area on Earth from the 21st century. Automated electric vehicles rushed by, the hum of their tires and the rush of air the only sounds they made. Every fiftieth vehicle was an automated police car. They drove laps around the city, their thirty-six cameras gleaming like the multi-faceted eyes of an enormous housefly. Although the city was, in reality largely unadorned, it didn’t appear that way.  The overlay of augmented reality that was accessible to every citizen of Metro7 with a working pair of TechLens AR glasses bathed every surface in lights and colours. Product advertisements, news headlines, stock exchanges and movie clips danced across the pavement and every wall. The world was a screen, tailored specifically for each wearer’s consumption. Every person in Marcus’ field of view had a halo of light above them. The halos informed others about one’s social credit score. Marcus could see dozens of people as he waited in line for the pedestrian tunnel. Most halos were blue (Stable), a few yellows (Limited Proxy), fewer still were green (Societal Asset).

The tubes hissed as the toxic air inside the pedestrian tunnel was vented outside. Marcus barely heard the noise. It was as much a part of the background bustle as the electric busses and people talking into their phones.

The red light on the tunnel door changed to white, as the air inside was deemed acceptable. Walking in single file, the tunnel was able to scan people’s Civix score quickly enough that nobody had to break their stride. Someone with a score of less than 400 wouldn’t be allowed in the tunnel. They would have to use the walkways with unfiltered air; after all, who would want to walk next to someone who was anti-social and rude?Marcus, along with thirty other commuters, hurried off the tram and set off down the tunnel that led into the National Employment District. It was a warm, hot day. The kind of hot that made you feel sticky and irritable, not the energizing sunshine that made you want to rush out and see what the world had to offer. Marcus didn’t notice, he was busy watching a clip of a comedian through his right lens.

‘and these people are like ‘I don’t want to chip my kids because of freedom’ and I’m like, their freedom to what? Rob a bank without tagging in at the door?’ cue laughter. Marcus smirked in agreement. He shared the clip with his friends and family with a flick of his wrist, and heard the soft chime as three points were added to his Civix score. He didn’t always agree with these State-Satirists, but this new guy was right. The only people who cared about security surveillance were always those with something to hide.

A small alarm beeped and Marcus’ glasses flashed red as someone hurried past, and jostled him. Both men snapped their attention back to the real world. The man nodded curtly to Marcus and hurried on his way. As he jogged off, Marcus watched the man’s blue halo flash red a few times, which meant the man’s Civix had been lowered. As an auditor, Marcus knew that a PBB (Personal Boundary Breach) was worth between -2 to -10 points, depending on the severity of the impact. The man’s shoulders slumped as he moved, muttering to himself.

Twelve minutes later, Marcus was tagging in at the Western branch of the Department of Comportment where he worked as an auditor.

He held his left thumb against the door panel, where his thumbprint and the tiny RFID chip that had been implanted at birth confirmed his identity. Once the two-factor verification was complete, the doors opened and his glasses began to allow him access to the Local Area Network of DOC that contained his work emails. He sighed, there were seventy-four new ones since he had left work last night.

He eased himself into his reclined work chair and gripped the console controller that allowed him to pilot the AR operating system above his head. Hundreds of other auditors were in similar chairs around him. The DOC was a fairly new government building. It had a calming, blue floor, with dark brown patterned walls that looked wooden (but weren’t, obviously). The Civix score system had existed for almost twenty years, in some form. It had solved a lot of social issues, and social crimes were at an all-time historic low. Being able to see someone’s score had always been a part of it. Everyone should have the right to avoid a person who regularly abused public spaces. But the restriction of movement for low scoring people (officially called Limited Proxys, but generally called ‘Nulls’) was new. There were still some teething problems with it, particularly when people living in the same house had drastically different scores. There were new neighbourhoods called Behavioural Amendment Zones being constructed for people with consistently low scores, and the new plan was for them to be rehabilitated there with the ability to move back home as soon as their scores picked back up. Marcus had been impressed by the commercials, they looked amazing. Like a huge sort of school camp with a focus on exercise, socialising and creating worthwhile relationships. They sounded like a great place for Nulls. That’s what everyone said. Personally, Nulls made Marcus nervous. They tended to congregate in groups in certain parts of the city. You could see little packets of red halos slinking in alleyways or trying to squeeze their way into malls and garden parks. He sighed. Everyone started life with a score of 500. You had to really try and be an asshole to lose enough to become a Null, he thought. His watch beeped and he removed his TechLens so he could apply some steroid eyedrops. While it absorbed, he performed his daily eye exercises that would prevent them from developing screen-atrophy. As he followed the path of the large maze painted across the walls, he could see the Department of Comportment’s slogan emblazoned on giant archway. 'SOCIETY IS A TEAM SPORT'

‘Be trusted. Be seen. Be CIVIX’

The main issue with Civix, the part that needed daily attention and kept Marcus and his colleagues employed, was that social interactions could only really be judged by humans. The AI software was great at recognizing certain actions, such as cutting in line, raising your voice to someone, and so on, but the program couldn’t often recognize genuine accidents. Someone might trip over a curb and collide with two people, automatically incurring a PBB penalty of -20 points. Obviously, this was unfair. So, every citizen had the right to challenge a Civix deduction and submit footage and context to the DOC.

Marcus went through his first few videos, people arguing loudly with their spouses, a girl ‘accidentally’ cutting in line at a concert, listening to loud music in public spaces, etc. There were digital breaches too. Sharing disinformation or content that could be upsetting to people was deemed ‘digitally antisocial’. People should be sharing things that spread knowledge and joy, after all.

He spent the day working through various audits and reviews. Marcus thought of himself as an understanding person, and he tended to give people the benefit of the doubt with their claims. After all, wasn’t kindness the whole point of this social system? During lunch, he listened to his coworkers’ gossip about some of the juicier reviews they had been submitted. Consented sexual biting that accidentally drew blood always garnered a good lunchtime discussion. Or celebrities. Even the most mundane of infractions were deemed to be vitally fascinating if they’d been submitted by someone interesting.

He was nearing the end of the work day, and had denied a submission for someone who had taken to social media to call their ex a bitch. He sighed. Why couldn’t people just keep that sort of thing to themselves? What could hostility possibly achieve?

His workload largely taken care of, Marcus did what he did about once a week at work. He checked in on his younger brother, Derek.

Derek straddled the line between a medium and a low score. He wasn’t a mean or nasty person; quite the opposite. But he was in the habit of sharing controversial content online, and prone to the occasional embarrassing rant at family Christmas about governmental control. His infractions were many, but they were always minor. Marcus would often check up on Derek’s infractions and… suggest that Derek submit a review for them. As a family member, Marcus wasn’t allowed to review them himself, but many auditors would just as likely remove the infraction as not. Derek didn’t care very much about his score, and it was to Marcus’ constant frustration that he wouldn’t submit infractions for review.

Marcus typed in Derek’s name to have a look.

USER NOT FOUND

That was weird.

He searched again, using Derek’s full name and social security number.

USER NOT FOUND

He got out of his chair, removed his working apparatus and headed to the break room. While waiting for his coffee to brew, he jumped online. Derek’s social media accounts were gone. All of them.

His heart began to pound. The coffee machine buzzed, but he didn’t notice.

He called his mother.

‘Hi Marcus. So nice to hear from you. Are you alright?’

‘Yeah mum, uh, have you spoken to Derek at all?’

‘Well, not for a few weeks now, but what else is new, haha’

Marcus laughed weakly.

‘Yeah, true. It’s just, I can’t find him online either.’

‘Well. He’s never really been into that either. You know, I’m always asking him to put up photos of what he’s doing, or that new girlfriend of his. I haven’t even seen their house, you know.’

Marcus nodded. It was true that Derek was habitually offline, in general. But it still didn’t explain how his Civix profile was missing.   

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘I’ve got to go, darling. I’ve got Helen here for tea. Come for dinner soon, alright?’

She hung up. Marcus tried to call his brother directly. Nothing happened.

It wasn’t that Derek didn’t answer the phone; the call simply didn’t happen. There was no longer a contact in Marcus’ index named ‘Derek’.

He leapt back into his chair and typed out a request to see his supervisor, Andrew. He marked it ‘urgent’ and used all the priority statuses he was entitled to attach to such a request. While he waited for a response, he searched for Annie, Derek’s latest girlfriend. He found her in the system. Her address was the same that Marcus knew they both shared. But her profile read ‘Annie Eddison: Civix 652: Single Female’

Her social media accounts were normal. Except that Derek wasn’t present anywhere on them.

His neck prickled uncomfortably. His earbud pinged softly with an automatic notification.

Andrew Lloyd’s Office: Supervisor meeting request granted. The executive elevator has been coded for your appointment. This code will expire in eleven minutes, try to keep your appointment brief.

He hurried towards the lift.

Andrew sat forward in his chair, his goatee nestled between his hairy knuckles as he rested his chin upon his fist. His thick eyebrows knitted together with concern.

‘Just, vanished, hmm?’

Marcus shifted uncomfortably

‘Yessir. I can’t even find his Civix profile.’

Andrew leaned back in his chair and typed a few letters into his desktop keypad. Marcus fidgeted again as Andrew scrolled through screens too quick for him to follow. 

‘Well Marcus, there are a few possibilities. It could be that a batch of Civix profiles are undergoing site maintenance and nobody told us, which wouldn’t be the fist time. Or it could be that your brother David-‘

‘Derek’ interrupted Marcus.

Andrew frowned. ‘Derek? You sure?’

Marcus was getting frustrated. ‘Quite sure. Yes.’

‘Right. Well, anyway. ‘Derek’ may have tampered with his chip, or digitally altered his Civix in some way that would cause his account to be temporarily offline. And I don’t need to tell you that if that’s the case, he could be in some pretty serious trouble.’

Panic gripped Marcus then. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. Tampering with Civix accounts had huge demerit penalties, among other things. Derek wasn’t a fan of the social system, but he wouldn’t go so far as to commit a criminal act, would he?

It occurred to him that Andrew was still talking.

‘Or it could be that he’s trying one of those ‘Digital Detox’ type apps I’ve been seeing. You know, the ones that weirdos are always trying to sell out in Marketspace?’ referring to the digital platform people used to trade personal goods and small business products.

‘They supposedly ‘pause’ all your statuses and subscriptions, in a 'legal' way.' He punctuated this with finger quotes. 'But I don’t really understand how it works’

Marcus found himself nodding in agreement.

‘Could be Sir, could be’. 

‘Either way, I’m sure it’ll be resolved soon. After all, I'm sure your brother wouldn't do anything antisocial. Probably just a mix up.'

Marcus nodded again. ‘Of course, yeah. Thanks sir.’

Andrew waved one hairy paw at him dismissively. ‘No problem. See you.’

Marcus hurried downstairs, signed out for the day and left the building.

As he waited for a tram, he began scrolling through Annie’s pictures, and came across a picture he recognized. It was from a concert about a month ago. Annie, her best friend Julie (whom Marcus had found to be extremely annoying) and a guy who was presumably Annie’s boyfriend.

Marcus blinked.

He had taken that picture. Derek had been in it.

Now he wasn’t.

It was as though the gap between Annie and Julie had always been there. He squinted. The picture was perfect, normal looking. Just three people at a gig.

He searched his own pictures. No Derek. Not just on social media, Derek wasn’t even in Marcus’ photo album anymore.

Something, someone, had accessed every picture of Derek and simply, erased him.

He jumped on the tram. He felt nauseous. He couldn’t understand what was happening.

He sat hunched over in his seat, opening his gallery and searching for something, any trace of Derek. He found nothing.

He was so distracted; he missed his stop. He looked up and realised he was only a few stops from Derek’s neighbourhood. He changed trams, and decided to head towards Derek’s house.

By the time the tram reached Derek’s stop, Marcus had searched every person he could think of who knew Derek. He had even gone back to look at old school pictures. Nothing. Not a single image of his brother was anywhere to be found. He got off the tram and began to walk at a fast trot, taking care not to bump into anyone.

The footpaths were a more cheerful, modern grey than the dark road, made darker by the huge solar shades that bathed the entire city in shadow. The shades were topped with solar panels. Not only did they protect people from the oppressive radiation of the sun, but harvested its otherwise deadly rays to power the city of 50 million people.

Once he was off the platform, he began to run. Derek lived in an outskirt neighbourhood, which meant that the air was less filtered here. The shades that blocked the sun were in disrepair and patches of light bounced harshly off the pale cement. Groups of people walking by all had a mix of blue and red halos. Marcus was thin, but he wasn’t fit, and after barely a kilometre, his side ached horribly. His breath came in gasps, but he could finally see Derek’s house. Even better, Annie was outside, talking to someone. By the time Marcus stumbled up to the doorstep, whoever it was had gone. Annie regarded him cautiously.

‘Are you alright?’

Marcus gasped for air.

‘I need to see Derek, have you seen Derek?’

Annie blinked.

‘Who?’