Ryan sat in his kitchen in his UBI house, in front of a plate of pancakes made from UBI mix, trailing his finger over the rim of his glass full of UBI powdered milk staring at the stick of UBI butter. He was supposed to get it out the night before but had forgotten, and it was so cold he didn’t want to try spreading it on his pancakes for fear of disturbing their perfectly bronzed surface. It was something his mom had perfected over the years with their traditional Saturday morning meal, and she hadn’t disappointed today.

Still, that stick of butter had been enough to bring down a countenance of despondency on his usually lively boyish face. He had just turned sixteen and hadn’t entirely smoothed out the edges of his features yet, something he was increasingly worried about lately. But that wasn’t what had made his mopey attitude so easy to trigger that morning.

His mother bustled through the room, wearing her work apron—searching for her keys no doubt—when she noticed the look on Ryan’s face. She paused her frantic search and took a moment to sit down next to him, putting her hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry honey, but the extra shift will really help us out, I’ll be back before six,” she said. He looked up and gave her a forced smile.

“That’s not it, mom,” he said. “I know you work hard to get me into school, and I’m not about to make you feel bad for that.” She too smiled, but her brow furrowed in concern.

“Then what is it?” she asked before a light seemed to dawn on her. “Is it still about that essay competition? I know you worked really hard on it. I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

“No, it’s not that either,” he said. “Though now that you mention it…” he let out a wistful sigh. He’d really wanted the first-place reward. The announcement was supposed to come in the day before, at the end of school, but he waited and waited, and no email showed up in his inbox. He shook his head. “No, I just had a weird dream. I can hardly remember it anymore, but it was one of those that really stick with you? The emotion of it, you know?” She gave him an indulgent smile, but he could tell she really didn’t.

“Anyway,” he said, “It’s nothing. You have a good easy shift and call me if you need anything.” He lifted up her keys from next to the flower vase in the middle of the table, dangling them from his index finger, a self-impressed look plastered on his face.

“I love you Ryan,” she said, awarding him with a beaming smile before snatching the keys from him, grabbing her purse and jacket, and heading out the door. Ryan sighed again as he heard her feet popping down the porch steps and took a slip of his UBI powdered milk.

“Maybe that contest thing is bothering me a bit,” he muttered to himself as he set the “drink” back down. He had really pinned his hopes on this one, his ticket off of Universal Basic Income, and a droll life of zero upward mobility. His mother worked two jobs and just barely earned enough to get him into the Elective Schooling system. As a result, he hardly ever saw her, and when he did, she was so completely worn out. But that first place prize. He sighed again wistfully, letting himself daydream a bit.

To win a pair of the latest in Augmented Reality technology from the Sifting Corporation. PerSpective Goggles. He heard the over-the-top used car salesman voice from the commercials. “PerSpective Goggles. They’re Sleek, they wrap around your head, they’re cool.” But it wasn’t even the superficial stuff, like the smooth design, the nearly limitless battery life, or even the most advanced sensor technology on the planet. It was the PerSpective Vision operating system, with its gamification approach to interacting with the world. It had a Contribution Point system, in which you could earn “CP” by completing daily tasks and quests. The CP could be converted into real money, meaning that despite its hefty price tag, the goggles would eventually pay for themselves, and more.

He saw it as a chance to get a leg up in the world, to give back to his mom, and maybe take a load off her shoulders. Or—dare he wish for it—get out of District 7 and move into the big city. But alas, something came up, the announcement never came, and there were even some rumors that the Sifting Corporation was facing some legal troubles. At least Ryan had read as much in some online forums. Now it was back to trying to catch the eye of one of the several Academy’s in Inner City. But his academics had been struggling of late, and they really only looked at the best of the best for scholarships. There was no way his mother could afford the tuition costs. It would kill her; he was sure of it.

“Ahk, quit moping,” he told himself, stood up and dumped his drink down the sink. He slid his pancakes into the Atomic Disintegrator (it was just a fancy trash can) and hit the button. It blurped. It was supposed to whir. Ryan hit the button again. Blurp. He noticed a yellow symbol flashing on it and let out a groan. The waste compartment was full.

“Dang-it,” he swore and hit the eject button. There was the familiar sound of the latch disengaging, but the container didn’t pop out. “Double dang-it,” he grumbled as he knelt down to get a better angle, put his hand on either side of it and rocked the waste compartment back and forth until the container finally popped out.

“Time to take out the trash,” he said to himself and slipped on his shoes. With advancements in waste disposal technology, he really only had to take out the trash once or twice a month, and even then, the container outside wouldn’t be emptied out for a year. He shimmied his feet back and forth until he got them into his shoes and then popped out the door, nearly tripping over a package that had been sitting there. It was maybe half a meter wide by half a meter tall. How had his mom not seen this? Ryan set down the waste box on the porch railing and picked up the box. It was addressed to him: Ryan Donovan, UBI Housing Lot 3, District 7. The return address said—his breathing stopped—Sifting Technology Division, Altera Tower, Inner City.

His initial goal forgotten Ryan carried the precious package into the house, kicked off his shoes, and carried it reverently up to this room, almost tripping over the pile of clean clothes only to trip over the pile of dirty clothes, twisting to recover as he fell onto his bed. He used a pair of Scissors to cut the tape on the package and popped it open to reveal, in gold leaflet set against a white background, the instantly recognizable S logo of the Sifting Corporation, and below it, the name PerSpectives3. He slid the exquisitely designed box out of its sheath, tossed the empty package to the side, and set it in his lap.

His heart raced in anticipation as he lifted the lid. Inside, on a cradle, sat the goggles—a sleek, black, and silver frame, transparent lenses with a holographic rainbow glint to them, and the almost imperceptible optical cameras spread evenly around.

Ryan gently extracted them from the cradle. He had dreamed of this moment for years, been begging for a pair ever since version two, but his mom had always said they were too expensive. One day, his English teacher had presented a district-wide essay competition to the class, the prize being those very goggles. He wrote an essay on the Minerva Incident, something that was at least indirectly responsible for his absentee father, and apparently, the amount of passion that instilled in him to research and publish his essay had bled through into the paper. The evidence of that was sitting now in his hands.

Without further ado, he slid the frames onto his face, drawing the smooth strap around the back of his head. He didn’t need the instruction manual—he’d already spent hours of his life watching videos and reading forums about this wonder of technology. He double tapped the right side of the frames, and a soft chime sang into his ears. A three-dimensional logo popped up in the center of his field of view, so solid and realistic he felt like he could touch it. The logo started as an elongated letter S, which began to spread apart, pulling letters in from some far distance in the center until it spelled “Sifting.” The word “presents” faded into existence below it, and then it read “Perspective Vision,” the words wrapping around his head with an accompanying surround sound effect. A system message popped up.

Registering Device to New Owner

A composite of his own face began constructing itself in his field of view, first as a series of points, then wires, then flesh and features. An enhanced view of his retina appeared on the other side.

Please state your name.

“Uh, Ryan, Ryan Donovan,” he said after a hesitant start.

Ryan Donovan now registered to Perspective Goggles v3.1, UID 78797.

The composite image shunted off to the side.

Please choose a username.

This one Ryan had been brainstorming for months and was ready to blurt out the answer. “Aitherios!” He winced at his own eagerness. Nerd.

Welcome to Perspective Vision, Aitherios. Please stand by as we connect to your local server. Connected to District 7 Network. Initiating default HUD.

His composite face, off to the side, became a rotating body, beneath which appeared biometric data. In the upper left corner, there was a counter for contribution points, currently showing 0 CP. To the side of that was an Envelop icon, a Scroll, a Shopping Cart, and a Gear. The envelop was flashing and had a number 1 pulsating in its corner, so he focused on it. The envelope expanded into his center view and opened with the sound of sliding paper. His first message.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of Perspective Vision! Our executive team was so impressed by your essay on the Minerva Down Incident and the corresponding fallout that we have granted you an initial 100 contribution points. As we’re sure you’re aware, these can be spent in our online store for perks in the game or converted into currency. Currently, that is 10 CP to the Dollar, so be sure to get out there and earn some more! We want you to continue developing those writing and critical thinking skills, so we’ve sent you, in addition to your daily tasks, a list of books to read. When you finish a book, you’ll be given a quiz—top marks will earn you 1,000 CP per book! From all of us here at Sifting Co., we extend our warmest welcome. Enjoy life and make the world a better place while you’re at it!”

The moment his eyes read the last word, the message was marked as read, and the counter next to his CP shot up to 100. Nice. Next, he focused on the scroll icon to the right of the mail envelope, and like before, the scroll expanded into his view, this time unrolling itself.

Daily Tasks:

Clean up the streets!
Objective: Collect 10 littered objects and dispose of them in a proper receptacle.
Reward: 100 CP.
Bonus: Each item above the daily amount will add 1 CP
(let’s not overdo it for points, eh?).
Current count 0/10.

Act of Kindness
Forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Reward: 300 CP.

Reading Assignments:

Wake Induced Lucid Dreaming by Gupta Rama

The Deep Astral by Joshua Neuman

The True Firmament by TetraLex

Would you like to add task counters to your HUD?

“Act of Kindness?” Ryan said. “What kind of daily task is that?” He focused on the trash task, which highlighted, and then moved it to the side of his HUD. He minimized the scroll with an upward movement of his eyes; it rolled back up and took its place next to the envelope.

Next, he wanted to take a look at the store. He focused on the shopping cart; it shuddered but did nothing more. A system message popped up.

System store is unavailable until you reach level 5.

“Level 5,” he mumbled. No one had mentioned a leveling system on any of the sites he’d been researching the device on. “Please explain the leveling system,” he said. Nothing happened. “Gah,” he exclaimed. “I forgot to set a wake word.” He focused on the gear icon in the upper part of his HUD, and the settings menu opened after a brief graphic of gears and cogs turning. He eye-scrolled down to the Interface menu and eye-blinked to select the box next to “Wake on Command.”

Please select a wake word.

He did a shifty-eyed look about the room, for no one but himself, and said, “Helios.”

Registering wake word “Helios.” Please provide an audio command.

“Helios, please explain the leveling system?”

Prototype, Leveling System, is a new layer of complexity being tested for the Perspective interface. It should provide a further sense of growth and accomplishments to the user as they navigate the various trials and tasks set before them by the world of Perspective Vision. Levels start at 1 and are capped at 60. Experience points can be earned in various ways, e.g. creativity in solving tasks that are set before the user.

As Ryan absorbed the information, in the periphery he could see all the objects in his room being highlighted and catalogued in rapid succession. Just as he started to get self-conscious about the amount of dirty clothes he had scattered around, a new message appeared in his HUD.

Environmental scan complete.

New task created: Clean up room, do laundry.

Reward: 75 contribution points.

Event Quest: One hour to complete.

Accept?

| Yes | No |

Ryan hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. Then, he selected "Yes." Immediately an intense chime sounded, and a countdown timer flashed in his vision, red numbers counting down from sixty minutes before minimizing to the top corner of his display. The task began with a prompt: "Clothing pickup—0/50."