System Jazz

"If you want something, you push this, but it's broken, so..."

What he mentions is next to the steel door and looks like a coaxial cable plug.

A tiny inner conductor sticks out with the shroud spaced around it, with nothing to push.

"Like using the toilet and stuff."

"Um, can I use it now? If it's okay."

How was this a button while it worked? He nods towards the next door, and the place looks like it came straight out of a horror movie.

If only the stomach didn't cramp this much it would be better to skip it.

It has no stalls, the johns made of metal with more rust than paint line up next to each other in the open.

It looks disgusting, and the smell's even worse, - there's no window or ventilation.

He pulls out a toilet paper roll, yet won't hand it over, only tears away a few blocks.

He locks the room from the outside, and the lights are so dim that finding the head is a struggle.

It's better not to see them, so the bowels can finally get some relief.

Tiredness crashes down when he leaves me alone to do the sacred business.

It's a tremendous effort to keep these eyes open, fighting sleep while hovering over the bowl.

It doesn't help that the water circulation's a lie, and the toilet won't flush. The restroom is in limbo between dream and suffocation.

Fatty isn't the hasty type, he appears when he feels like it.

"So again, stand near the button if you want something, and I'll see it through the camera." He promises, then locks the door, even heavier than the other.

This is the luxury hotel to spend the next twelve hours in, without knowing what time it is.

At least the ground isn't cold.

The PVC covering the concrete is soft, and after a few rounds of hugging the walls, it urges me to settle down.

As luck would have it, it's impossible to fall asleep when you plan to do so. And there's nothing else to do than replaying the day's events.

One obnoxious officer is all it takes to put people behind bars.

If Baldie didn't want me in his government program, this would be pre-trial detention.

And in case the Girl didn't take my side, the sentence would start from four to eight years. The Fox still had me spend the night.

The heart rate isn't improving, and counting sheep doesn't help to calm down.

The window is too high to look out, so next is to experiment with various poses. It's a losing fight to chase after sleep.

Counting seconds only makes them slow down even more.

The heavy door opens right after nodding off, and I jump, thinking it's finally over.

They only bring in a new face, an old dude who smells like vomit and is already out of it.

Fatty and another cop put him in a corner and leave without a word.

That's great, at this point, sleep's out of the question. What if he wakes up and tries something funny?

He can't steal anything since Fatty already took it all, yet he seems drunk enough to be unpredictable. So what's there to do to stay awake?

Before finding an answer, dreams invade my privacy and they feel even more chaotic than this day.

You can't tell reality from the nightmares when something wakes you every few minutes.

At one point the sun appears, and light creeps downwards from the opposite wall.

It's not easier to stay awake once it rises, yet resting is more difficult.

With short sleep periods, every flicker or noise is enough to wake up, and each minute makes me feel more tired.

The Drunk doesn't have such issues as he snores all day, and that's also enough to disturb my sleep.

These twelve hours will never pass; the nicotine gum lost all its effect ages ago.

When the cravings come, there's nothing to soothe them, and they make me want to scrape at the walls.

One leg after the other to pace around in the room, but it's not like there's anywhere to go.

It's four by three meters, and the shameless Drunk occupies one corner.

It would be foolish to go too close to him, and an eternity later the door opens when they throw in a dark-skinned guy.

He's sober and thin, shaking in a way that makes it clear he has withdrawals.

He doesn't get the big tour like me. Fatty slams the door behind him so hard that even the Drunk comes to life for a few seconds.

Then he's out of it again, and the Addict goes into another corner, not a single word spoken.

This leaves even less space to traverse. Sitting in the middle is the last option.

The sun's up, which means there are still six hours left of this boring hell, and sleeping seems like a bad idea.

When the door opens again, it wakes me from an uneasy dream. The sound no longer makes me jump, Fatty does.

"Arnim." He calls out and his eyes move side to side. Is it already over?

They'll let me out of here?

It's time to dash out and follow him, his desk filled with my stuff.

Baldie and the Girl are here too. I had never seen them in a natural light before and the blonde drew my gaze.

"Well, you look like shit." The Inspector greets with the hard truth.

The Aspirant has her hair down, wearing no makeup.

She has freckles across her nose over pale skin and thick and sensual lips.

The uniform isn't as sexy as it should be, it doesn't do justice to her shape.

"Um, good morning." She nods, and as she blinks, the tips of her eyelashes travel a kilometer.

Her breasts are not emphasized, yet these palms throb again, remembering how they felt.

Sure, they weren't huge, but they left an impression. Despite the excitement, all I can offer is a sleepy nod.

"The Chief approved your application, so sign a few papers for us," Baldie explains. And by few, he means a hundred pages.

"He was adamant we give you a new phone, that sends you a warning if you're about to forget it somewhere."

Right. They mean it will live in my pocket rent-free forever, or a SWAT team might show up to take me out. The Girl is such a cutie though.

"Make sure you keep it charged because we get a signal if it turns off, or you ignore the warnings."

She finishes her superior's explanation with a shy but pleasant voice.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding. It's all cleared up and you're free to go."

"Yes, ma'am." Her behavior cries for mockery. She's not a minute older than me and plays the big adult.

They hand over the interrogation papers to sign and escort to the exit. It's unbelievable to make it here, this had to be the longest twelve hours in history.

"Okay, a reminder so we are on the same page." Baldie won't let go.

"You run straight home, set up the controller, and register to the game. You're expected to play it twelve hours a day."

"What?! Every day?" The yell comes out louder than intended.

They weren't supposed to trick me like that. Not even a real job would take this long, although they don't exist anymore.

"And you say it now?"

"It's fun, our characters are in NPC mode, but we registered too."

The Girl isn't convincing when I can't tell what it means. If they demand to spend half my days on this it isn't better than locking me up.

"You begged for cigarettes instead of listening to my explanations. Whatever, set it up, try it out, come back tomorrow."

He repeats, and I'm free to leave with ten credits and a virtual prison.