20th Century Remnant

I shouldn’t be too surprised, in this packed street everyone blends together like a pedestrian smoothie, covered by looming shadows. Towering buildings, the tallest of which seem to be made more from glass than brick and mortar, act as giant overseers. On all of their facade, a device is placed, an unblinking mechanical eye.

Everywhere I look, a surveillance camera stares back at me, eyeing every inch of me, observing each minute movement. In addition, most people are looking down or listening to a small device in their palms/pockets, with a camera to capture any action and apps to call or send information to others, the same device provided to me by her.

“Collect your belongings and clothes in Chamber 7, we also provided some money and the items needed to live in this era. Foundation members will give you the rundown there, you will report back after a week.” The researcher briefed as I allowed my muscles to recover from more than half a century of slumber, with but a robe to cover me. I was a test subject for an experiment to test the practicality of cryogenic sleep. I normally would have turned my nose at being put under by some government funded dogs but circumstances were, let’s say tough. Plus, the man in charge is, or perhaps ‘was’ is a more fitting word, more trustworthy than most government personnel.

I snuck a quick glance at the tag on her breast, revealing a last name I recognise... “He was my grandfather, they buried him at a nearby town, just a short train ride away,” her eyes scrutinizing me as she reaches both her hands in her pocket, grasping the items inside. “No need to panic, I’ll be taking my leave now if my presence preturbs you this much,” turning to face the large, thick metal door, an upgrade from when I first entered nearly years ago. With a hiss, the heavy door slides close, leaving the researcher to reread my profile. “What was he thinking?” She thinks, “I know we needed a variety of subjects, but...” As a woman of science, she succumbed to the logic her grandfather made; for an experiment, each variable has to be accounted for. Differences in a subject's personality are no different, be they a saint, an average Joe, or a criminal.

The city has somehow become noisier with all the screens, larger than in any theatre of my time, all just to act as an oversized poster. “Glad to see that advertising hasn’t changed,” I roll my eyes and continue down the bustling street. The pedestrians are an interesting sight, they are either rushing or just standing around with no inbetween. In addition, their attire is quite ‘provocative’, even the more conservative ones would have been considered scandalous back in my day.

“Tch, I’m turning into Dad,” I thought to myself, though I would technically be old enough to be a grandmother to the passersby with the same youthful, 35 year old face as I, maybe even a great grandmother. And with my more formal attire, I look more like a business woman than a tourist, which I might as well be despite growing up here. “Did the street names change?” I say as I inspect the signs closely, occasionally glancing at the buildings. Glancing from side to side, panic began to push my reflective thoughts out of my brain.

“Oi love, where ya headed to?” A gruff sounding voice rings out, almost on cue, behind me two men approach. “I’m heading to the station...” “Oh, ya starin’ at it.” “Eh?” I look back at the wide building standing unassumingly amongst the towering skyscrapers. “That can’t be right! It looks so... bland!” The older of the two men looked at me strangely, “That station’s been like that for as long as I’ve been alive. The only change was when it was demolished more than 50 years ago, maybe you’ve seen those images when ya searched it up.” “I see... Thanks!” Bidding farewell to them, while silently cursing how my facade broke in front of mere strangers, I head off towards the station.

“I’m an idiot,” I mumbled as I reached into my pocket, the researchers hadn’t spent half an hour explaining how it worked just for me to forget about it. This smartphone in my hand almost seems like an impossibility, a palmed-sized, highly complex, wireless computer that even an amateur like me could use. They even provided free ‘data plans’, whatever that means, so I’ll need to learn to make full use of it. “Right, there was a map app here,” my navigation concerns in this new age is less of an issue now but there remains yet another concern.

I look over my shoulder and spot out three inconspicuous persons loitering at nearby buildings, they’ve been tailing me for a while now. They must be the Foundation members sent to monitor my first week out of my icy beauty sleep that I was briefed on. I was allowed mostly free movement for more accurate data but I wanted to see how much freedom they allow; if I can return to my usual business back in ’52.

I spot a man talking on his phone standing at a crossroad between the three Foundation personnels and trot over to him, the sounds of passing cars masking my heal’s rhythmic taps on the concrete sidewalk, shortening the distance between us. I passed him as easily as I breathed and continued a few paces before admiring my prize, the wallet once in his pocket. Now for the results: the members remained in their position with only one of them pulling out a pen and clipboard. I smirk and return to my path towards the station, it would seem that I may get along well in this era.