Inbound Marketing
“Good morning, John,” said the sweet voice in his head, all dulcet tones and honey, sliding him out of the best dream he'd been having in months, “could I interest you in some new sheets? You seem to have soiled the ones you have.”
“Shut up!” He growled.
Swinging out of bed he made for the shower, doing his best to ignore the offers the voice made as he passed by items in his room it felt he should “upgrade” and at a “low, low price!” He'd never get used to the damn thing in his head.
No one had any choice in the matter after the attacks five years ago; every citizen of the country contacted and told they had two choices: an implanted personal assistant, or getting shipped out on the next boat. It had seemed reasonable, at the time; a means to protect the innocent and weed out the guilty, and of course the feds had promised that the PA would never be used for anything other than security purposes.
Three years and some hard times later the PA was a mobile advertisement device, permanently connected to the Internet and with access to his most private thoughts. Turning it off was an impossibility and tampering with it was an offense punishable by imprisonment or death.
He sighed as the water came cascading down around his shoulders, even as the perky voice in his head told him that he should really consider a good shower-head cleaner for “no grime in almost no time!” He'd attended some of the protests after it became apparent the government had no intention of honoring its word or allowing citizens the freedom to remove their PA's, but they hadn't really done any good. Like most protests, the ones been a part of attracted only the most extreme, the farthest out on the fringe and were ignored by the section of the populace that had the most power: the middle class.
They felt safe for the first time in a decade; comforted in the arms of a stable power that kept their borders secure and their streets clean. If the price to pay for the reduction in fear was a constantly nattering advertisement, they were willing to pay it.
Hell, they were willing to love the damn thing, if the stats could be believed. Almost every company that paid for time on the PA had seen their stock soar in the last twelve months and the prices for even a minute of time were through the roof.
Turning the water up as hot as possible, John enjoyed the quiet in his own mind as his skin began to writhe. The PA was bound by several inviolate rules related to physiology, among them that it couldn't operate when he was in pain or asleep. He was its battery, and when his resources were focused elsewhere it naturally had to power down. It couldn't last, of course – burns were already starting and he simply couldn't bear it any longer – so he shut the water off.
“For burn treatments, John,” her smooth tone drifted back into his head, “try BurnOut! All of the soothing power you need, none of the smell!”
“Shut up!” He yelled through the muffled wet of his towel. He knew it would do no good, but he had to do something. She would never be quiet. Shortly after it became apparent he was going to be stuck with his PA for good he'd decided he'd be better off with nothing – if all he had was a bare apartment, he reasoned, she'd have nothing to sell him, nothing to base her advertisements on. Of course, all that had done was access a whole database of real estate and rental providers and he'd had to face a month of nothing but constantly repeated lease rates and mortgage values. He lived as simply as he could now, but she always found things to sell.
Closing his eyes he made for the kitchen. The less the PA could see the less she would have to say, and it bought him at least a few more moments of blissful silence. Unfortunately, cooking breakfast blind wasn't a skill he had mastered yet.
As soon as she saw the egg carton in his hand it started again. “Farm fresh eggs right to your door – Eggstravaganza will deliver on time, every time!” He snarled and reached for the butter, trying to drown her out. “Mrs. Shipley's old-fashioned hand-churned butter, now on special if you buy in bulk. Best spread in the business!” He screamed – it was stupid, but at least it drowned her out.
Milk came next, just as his scream died out; breathing was still something he needed to do. “That's almost out of date, John! Use the MooSaver and make sure your dairy never goes dreary!” Everyday the advertisements seemed to come faster, seemed to flow more naturally into whatever he was doing. How did people live like this?
“Please,” he whispered, “just be quiet. Just for once.”
The sudden silence startled him. Maybe she had listened? Maybe he'd finally mastered her? He took a deep breath and reached for the frying pan, reveling in the perfect bliss of his own uncluttered mind.
“Teflon's out! Doubaluminum's in! Don't get caught trying, start frying with new DuraTek pans!” She was louder now, more aggressive than he'd ever heard her. Had she been waiting for this? Tricking him by being silent?
“Shut up!” He screamed, tightening his grip on the pan.
Her sales pitch rolled on, ignorant of his request.
“Shut up!” He brought the pan up and into his forehead as hard as he could, pain blossoming across his skull. She was still talking. Raising it above his head, John slammed the metal bottom down hard. The impact dropped him onto the kitchen floor.
“Medical attention needed, John? Dr. Bremner's clinic is two blocks south, turn right at Houston avenue. Great hours and low rates, Dr. Bremner's been in the business since...” Twisting the pan in his hand, he brought the metal edge up and into the side of his skull, just below the temple.
Finally, she was silent.
***
He was happier now, having finally figured it all out. He had a place, a purpose – the things he'd been missing in his own life.
His host rolled over, finally awake. The man was a heavy sleeper, but John was always ready, always prepared with a new offer.
“Good Morning, Josh. Looks like those boxers are getting threadbare. Try CottonJocks, new from Halley!”
“Shut up!” Josh was clearly unhappy; couldn't he see that John was just trying to help?
- D
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