The Universe's Mixer

It had used this face to talk to Doctor Schreber. To communicate with him. To show him the power, not to mention the importance. Schreber had been the first. But not the last. The man had been so uncomfortable with the disembodied voice. With the mere presence. He had wanted something to look at.

And The City had discovered that people responded much better when they had a pair of eyes to gaze into. When there was a body there to respond to. It had seen how much easier it was to manipulate and use people when they were comfortable. Schreber had been more willing to do it's bidding with this face.

Aeon Flux had also taken a contract she probably wouldn't have otherwise when he'd shown up with this face.

That was what had caused the decision to keep the face around. To use it in the future to communicate with it's citizens. For those times when the wooden soldiers were a little too... abrupt... for the job.

It still hadn't mastered the techniques of human subtlety when it came to body language. Or blinking. But few people were in company long enough to notice such things. The City was fairly blunt and straight forward with what it wanted.

It was out today because Schreber was gone, and it needed somebody to continue that work. Unfortunately, the ones who could continue it in the same manner as Schreber had been here too long and had a bias. Or a hatred for The City itself. They wouldn't allow themselves to be used.

There was one though. New. Unsure. She wouldn't be able to do everything it needed her to do, but she could do some. It had decided to employ her shortly after bringing her in. Now it was time to put the works into action.

An appointment had been made, just like any good citizen would do. It was on time for that appointment, and sitting out in the lobby, waiting. The face as nondescript as it had been previously. The suit a not-too-expensive looking model. Only the shirt and tie were different now. Blue colors. It had decided it liked blue.

It left Dr Schreber, still wearing the body that it had created. Walking to where it wanted to go was an unusual thing, and The City reveled a little in the simplicity of it. Just walking. Just being one of the people wandering the streets. Pretending.

Of course, it wasn't about to just wander until it found who it was looking for. It shifted the streets to suit itself until he was face to face with the black haired woman who he sought. Making it's trip very short indeed.

"Miss Flux." It called out in a bland, ordinary tone. Knowing that it would get her attention no matter what. She had too much ability to leave a stranger who knew her name ignored.

The City stood, it's hands in it's suit pockets, looking as casual as it could manage considering it had never done such a thing before.

It was an insightful article by Ms. Hylie, presenting a brave face in an atmosphere of prevailing chaos. Ever since the shift they have been trying to impose a structure in this place, or go on with the show, only with half of the characters gone. They insist on keeping records - archives and police reports - so that memories may be passed on, touched, and locked in a filing cabinet safe from the ravages of mass-amnesia.

I set the City Voice down on my desk and look out the window. None of those people out there understand this place the way I do, especially the pawns. You almost grow to hate them at times, the ones who walk through life half-asleep, content to be a function of collective forgetfulness, accepting whatever bland reminiscences sputter along behind their dead eyes. I used to envy them when I worked for the Strangers. At least they have a sense of self, even if I gave it to them.

The people who were brought here, on the other hand, the ones with memories of other places, seem to burn like torches through a dim fog. I find myself clinging to their humanity - the small gestures of kindness, genuine expressions of emotion - smiling to myself as if I am gazing at the seeds of a bright future. Real memories glow behind their eyes, and the envy almost cripples me. I rub the heel of my hand against my sternum, encouraging my fluttering heart into a regular beat.

Is there such a thing as too much memory? If so, this place suffers from it. It accumulates and congeals into buildings and park benches, a geographical pastiche extracted from the minds of its inhabitants. It is democratic and anarchic at the same time. These days the buildings seem more solid and grandiose somehow, as people cling to their memories with more ferocity than ever. At least they appreciate what they have.

It occurs to me that I am like the City - an extractor and artisan of memories, but with none of my own. Every day we are re-set, reborn, reconstituted out of an unselfconscious void. I am the silent witness of a world trying to recall itself.

I decide to initiate contact.

"I know. you are listening. We need. to talk."

Buildings suddenly vanished, people followed closely behind. Everything was very suddenly gone from view. Darkness consumed everything and everybody.

Slowly, very slowly, the City started to rebuild itself.

Those who had just gone through the horrors of the massive chess game between the City and Death might have seen this as a fit thrown by the City due to it's massive loss to the reaper. Those who had no idea what was going on would just continue to be confused.

Buildings slowly reappeared on streets that were fresh and clean. People began to reinhabit them, the City born citizens appeared first, as if nothing had gone on at all. As if it was all just another day.

Holes remained in some places, the City taking time to heal itself. To repair. To fix. To reset.

Life would return to normal.

Eventually.