Tower Blocks and Memories of Filler Factor
The air felt temperate, wild snarls came from behind me. Looking back over my shoulder, a pack of wild hounds were fighting each other. I mused to myself that they were no different than their human counterparts. There would always be someone, wanting to be top dog, and desiring the loudest snarl and bark. If you haven’t guessed, I held no palate or interest in politricks and theatrical power games.
My enhancements ensured I could deal with the hounds swiftly, but the noise from the potential exchange would be the bigger danger. I didn’t relish alerting any salvagers, gangs, or anyone else in the area, especially when I was focused on her song. I’d followed her voice to this region for a few days. I was learning how to tune into the voice, feel it flow within me. It was no longer a constant irritation in my mind, but a language I was learning to understand.
Ignoring the hounds, I moved on, closing in on the office block with the strange dancing shapes underneath, they had vanished. I wondered if my madness had returned.
In front of me were old traffic lights with vacant streets on either side, sprawling through the former metropolis.
Her song, louder than usual, called me to venture further. Stepping forward a few strides, I found myself in the middle of an intersection. The hairs sprung up on my neck, alerting me to the sensation that someone was watching me. My sensors hadn’t picked anything up, but technology can never replace an innate instinct. That gut feeling, the one you can trust, it will not lie, and is often the only true friend anyone has in this crazy world.
Her song reverberated again in my mind, the d-beat and crusty sounds. I gazed upwards at the dormant tower across from the intersection. I was certain the song emanated from the dark tower. The fourth floor window drew my attention, a figure was stood looking at me. Then, it gets weird, I didn’t feel afraid or scared, but someone was there.
Her song urged me to continue, and I did. Entering the building and traversing the stairwell to the fourth floor. It was a steady climb, but nothing challengingly exerting. I opened the door to the fourth floor, and then sighed.
A long, very long line of empty office cubicles were arranged in rows and aisles. The room probably once functioned as a race track for busy people waving paper around and shouting the latest market values. What an exciting day that must have been, huh.
I was about to search for a spot to rest, then the sensation I’d experienced outside returned.
'Man, you would think I’m partial to psychedelic narcotics, but I’d always kept my mind free from that stuff. I never wanted to be lured to another top 40 party, wake up halfway through and realise you had been socialising with a group of hipsters claiming mumble rap and kindergarten punk were the real radness', I said to myself in my mind.
My thoughts cleared, several rows ahead, a woman was crouched on top of a desk in a cubicle. She had a strange aura. Her ancient and primal radiance seemed familiar. I had a suspicion she was from before the time of filler, long before.
I thought to myself, if you are pre-filler, then you were saved from suffering through episodes of Filler Factor, Filler Idol, and Making You Believe Fillers Got Talent. Oh man, those days were harsh. A gathering of Nanas chanting;
It was usually said in response to the latest puppet stood on stage who was killing classic songs for the TV audience. They were always baying for more. Sadly, none of them knew how it was harming The Great Mother. The manufactured filler was feeding, and had no shortage of devotees, all to eager to help filler spread into the world.