“You can put anything labelled kitchen in the kitchen, and uh... bed goes upstairs in the back, boxes labelled books can go upstairs as well...” I stammered out the instructions I had in mind, these elk of men, movers, so attentive and cooperative. They had so many questions, so cooperative and wonderful—more than worth the cost, “Aah...things labelled butterfly can stay on the first floor, and be careful with them, please.”

Aiden didn’t appreciate the noise, constant shifting, disruption—hooves on wood, pointless chatter and gossip we had no part in. It seemed best to leave them all to their devices, aside from answering a question here and there, what my horrible writing reads as. I offered the movers tea, only one would accept. Three nights sleeping on the hard floor, it was about time we had our mattress and bed frame where it belonged—we didn’t pack a ton of our old furniture, just the necessities. There’s a shopping district less than an hour’s ride down the tracks, and the internet provider should be coming to hook things up later this evening. Everything is settling into place, just as we had wanted.

“Wanna step out? You start work next week, we should get familiar with your commute, yeah?” I spoke to him. Aiden sat crumpled atop a cardboard box labelled “chair” in black permanent marker. I doubt he gave any attention to the label, the irony of the matter—it’s in a corner, that was likely the driving force, “We can trust these guys, y’know...we insured the whole thing.”

He’d nod. Less talkative than usual, but change isn’t exactly his strong suit—once he gets on a schedule, everything looks as we planned, I’m sure I’ll get a smile out of him. At least my suggestion roused him from that brooding posture, no? We tied up our shoes, grabbed our keys—no, not those keys. I need to get rid of that old apartment key, number six o’ eight.

“Y’sure we can trust them alone?” Aiden asked, only once we had walked out of earshot, stepping carefully on the soft, blossom dotted earth.

“Of course—they’re elk!”

“That’s practically racist, Rozny.”

“No, well, it’s a stereotype—they look like nice guys, and if something big goes missing, we can just sue em!”

A silence. He was looking to the trees, the green—a real green, not a dye applied to plastic, giving a feeling of earthiness. It’s not the colour of chloroplasts integrated into silk linings of corporate buildings to clean regurgitated air. I don’t think he has ever been out this far, family never had enough for vacations, can’t blame em.

“Did you hear about the political stuff that happened?” a silence broke, though our steps remained in tandem, mapping the world and streets around us as we worked our way back to the train station.

“A guy on the train said something about it, I didn’t pay much mind. Even if somethin’ happened with a previous councilman, that shouldn’t too directly affect us, right?” I’d respond. It was an odd encounter, that man. I’m not surprised that Aiden is more up to date on the news.

“There was some modification-less councilman, mayor, somethin’ or other. He was terrible, pretty corrupt, hear he didn’t earn it.”

“That’s kinda fucked.”

“Yeah...and the campaign that took him off just tore em apart, and like—I guess the local area’s opinions were pretty heavily influenced by that. I saw some of the campaign posters online, painted people without mods as elitists or something.”

Dirt turned to gravel, to cobble, to stone—the station was rather desolate, a blotchy, fading blue paint decorating the exterior and interior alike. It’s a bit endearing, just how antique it looks. A few people were waiting, two bicycles stashed haphazardly out front—the rusted over bike rack went untouched, right beside the pair.

“Don’t know what to say, hun...politics get ugly,” I responded somewhat hesitantly—I wouldn’t want to offend ant potential eavesdroppers, if it were a sensitive topic.

We stood in silence, looking at the overhead map of the routes, our potential transfers and destinations. It’s all based on where our destinations and starting points lie, as far as price goes—that should make it easily affordable, especially if Aiden purchases himself a commuter pass. The next train towards our destination comes through in just fifteen minutes. There’s just one an hour, probably because of the location. At least it comes at a relatively quartered time—every forty-six, may as well just take it down a tick on the schedule. Not too complicated, not too expensive, just a short jog away from home—perfect.

For today, we’d only purchase one way tickets on each side, nothing long-term quite yet. We’d only have to shell out 190 for the way there, same for the way back—much cheaper than a car, safer a well. There’s so many ways transport can go wrong, it’s a shame more people don’t see it that way, if you ask me.

A couple of persons our age—maybe a bit younger—sat like ducks in a row towards the departure area. A deer, perhaps an alpaca—it’s hard to tell from a distance, despite how much contact I’ve had with differently modified persons in both my family and general friend group. It gets tricky when it comes down to the ears, the positioning, the variations in tapered shape—even so, they all come from a line of cosmetic and functional purposes, though not the brightest history. They pay little mind to us, quietly whispering amongst themselves. Probably locals, or family of them—don’t know why they’d be lingering about in here, if not for that.

When the eastward bound train would arrive, the silence was aborted—a shuffling of rubber, a clacking of keratin. Those doors would only be open for a moment, thus for a moment, there was a rush. Afterwards? Silence, nothing more. Though we had been packed into similar cars, no exchanges of visage would be made between separate parties, conversation kept to whispers. Rather alone, without the threat of insulting any ears around us, Aiden took a minute to give his workplace a short call, let them know he’d be stopping by, being conveniently in the area. They seemed appreciative of the gesture, though I could only hear his end of the exchange, along with a few muffled words and chuckles. The ride, itself wasn’t uncomfortable, per say—though the still, air-conditioned environment kept hairs and fur on end. Fortunately, it was only for a short while, just two stops, fifteen minutes of silence, disrupted only by a rustle of cloth or automated chime. There’s a charm to it, the robotic, feminine text to speech—it’s close enough to a genuine voice, for my tastes.

***

The air wasn’t as stale as most cities were, the exit station not crowded with the echoes of damning heels. Yet still you’d catch the sight of a man in a three-suit, picking up a sprint as the call for his train rang across the loudspeakers. The exit was visible, turnstiles and similar apparatuses uncrowded, just enough to be familiar without defeating the purpose of a move all together. Rather fortunately, the station lead right into the business district, the quaint downtown with its small shopping areas, and a hospital chain with a shortage of employees. I’d say we’re damn lucky for that latter factor, that’s what sealed Aiden into this whole mess—my income on its own would have us on a relatively tight budget, what with the mortgage sure to bark at our door in months to come.

“Should we check out your work first, or do you wanna just...walk around? Get familiar? Maybe do a bit of shopping, yeah?” I proposed once daylight met us, the final arch leading to the outdoors directly before us—though we could always try the sky bridges, those are fun.

“Finding work would be nice,” a hushed comment—I could see his eyes wandering about the people skidding past here and there, a familiar disturbance.

“Alright—that won’t be too difficult!” It was the only medical system in the area, as well as being quite near the station, to my knowledge. Regardless of address or street awareness, we should be able to find it rather easily. It’s not as if a contractor would try to hide such an important facility, no?

It’d indeed be pretty easy to find, being one of the few buildings that stretched for the sun. We stepped into the light, heels colliding with recently laid sidewalks. We didn’t need to keep to the left as we usually would—the street was carless, people seemed content with bikes, gliding across the blacktop with ease, that satisfying clicking sound as they coast. Lined with mid-height buildings attached by little passageways, the shade was pleasant, the sun kept from allowing an overbearing heat. A perfect mix, aided by the wind tunnel the gap between concrete created. It was much better than our old city, what with the scorching summers, intolerable winters, faulty plows. They hadn’t been nearly this perfect in architecture—maybe we should have looked for a place here, though now it’s just about too late for all of that. We’re happy.

“I can smell the artesian coffee and arm knit sweaters...” a light-hearted comment from my other, a twinge of venom laced within. I could hear that smirk, the way his words came forth.

“Maybe we can get a drink before we go home, yeah?” I teased.

“You know I’d rather die than follow that shite anti-trend trend, it’s a bad slice of irony I don’t want to try,” an exhale with an extra bit of force—the closest you’ll get to a true laugh.

I chose to grab for his hand as we ventured deeper into downtown, the buildings growing a bit in height, a car garage or two sliding into the underground. It’s cosy still, and the towering brick structures are more than shoulder-width apart. This is what an urban area is meant to look like, yeah?

“Think you’ll like working here, despite the hipsters?” I have to admit, there were quite a few coffee houses packed with oddly modified folks and fingerless gloves.

“It’s quiet,” matter-of-fact as always.

“That’s all you need? Some good ol’ peace and quiet?” I’d give his palm a squeeze, an assurance of no malice. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell where the line is drawn.

He cleared his throat, trying not to crack a challenged poker face, “...and proximity to you, of course.”

I couldn’t help but crack up for a moment—what cheesy bullshit, “You’re a comedian, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” it’s clear to me that he’d be terrible at playing cards—I’ll be sure not to take him to the casino, when I’m old and addicted. That little laugh—a darling.

That building, a label of its purpose—he reached towards the stars, immense glass doors at its front more frequented than the rest. Most who exit were sat on either side of an emotional spectrum—pleased, or beyond unhappy. That’s the nature of any medical building, I suppose—must be fun, being the cause of those feelings, those ups and downs. At least my darling won’t be taking the brunt of emotions, delivering the news—I’m not sure he’d be able to handle that type of responsibility, good thing he’s only in the lab, my Aiden.

Everything seemed to be connected by those sky bridges—every two streets down, one went across and connected both sides, while the buildings themselves were all strung together by iron and glass. Winter won’t be any inconvenience at all, aside from shovelling back at the house. Hopefully the snowfalls won’t be too harsh here, or the temperature for that matter—but the lack of need to be outside surely compromises the threat of frostbite, or slipping as you walk across poorly cleared tiles.

“This it?” the building of interest wasn’t far at all—fifty meters at best. Its name was plastered in white, sans serif font across a sea of grey—straight out of a medical drama. Though I knew full well that this was the only possible location, I felt it was best to affirm with him the identity.

“Yep...this is where I’ll be caged up in a mask—overnight, sometimes. Hours come later,” a twinge in his voice made the concept sound appealing, somehow.

“It pays pretty well, doesn’t it? Private health systems and whatnot tend to pay better than the government?”

“Summat like that, it’s a nice set up.”

“All the years o’ school worth it?” I inquired, the two of us pushing through that metal adorned glass. The scent of death—no, excessive cleaning—went straight to my eyes, just a bit unpleasant. That’s the lobby for you.

“It was just a few years, I don’t exactly have any complaints...sacrifice a few years, live comfortably, low stress labour, a job that’ll never get overturned by robots and shit—I’m not going to say it was a waste, it’s why we are where we are,” that gem of a monologue quietly escaped him. I had to slow our pace down just a bit, make sure he didn’t get philosophical in front of the many reception desks, the people suffering in the waiting rooms in any given direction.

Everything was clean, white like death—I don’t understand how anyone can work here without going mad, though I’m sure the labs are a bit cosier, if not just as sterile. But, despite my best instincts telling me to feel otherwise—I could see a light in Aiden’s eyes, engaged by the complaining of wait times, the juvenile arguments among passing RNs. This was his territory—he knew that, he felt home here, though it’d be a few more days until the lab was his to claim. The entryway wasn’t especially special—first floor was an urgent care, it’d seem. That explained those many patients, at the very least. Heels against tile floors, a chuckle or cry echoing though the raised ceilings, the ding of an abused elevator—sounds like just where we came from.

I felt his fingers loosen their connection with my own, a dwindling silence prompting separation. Excessive air conditioning quickly killed the lingering moisture in my palm, as Aiden took a few steps away. He seemed to be observing the information board, the directory information—it took me a moment to do the same, stepping nearer than he. His eyes are just a bit better than my own.

It’s to my understanding that labs are usually slightly attached to medical facilities, or otherwise owned and separate. Fortunately, since everything here seems to be privatized by the same umbrella, it’s right on site. However, I doubt that there won’t be occasions where samples and whatnot are sent elsewhere for testing they can’t perform here—but what do I know, I’ve never set foot in one of those scientific scenes. Medicine isn’t my forte, lucky my health records are pretty clean, aside from a few blemishes here and there.

“Floor two? We’re at street level, right?” I inquired. It seemed like that’s where it might be, since that’s where draws and tests are listed.

“Not sure—we could ask information, one of the receptionists, maybe.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother anyone if we don’t need to—“

“It’s their job to answer questions, I’ll go do it,” he cut me off, though I was only going to end up stammering. At least his words were light-hearted in nature, having loosened up just a bit since getting out of the house.

(Cont.)