explorefacelock

[explorefacelock]

words from a puppeteer

Mr. Biden and his office are expressing progressive interest in going through with his procedure, sir. With the success of Bill 183 in California, we have great reason to believe he will comply."

Gregory June sat in a chair, king-like in his position at the head of the long table. "Thank you, Karina."

The intern for the FaceLock project walked away, leaving June alone in his dark, minimalistic barren meeting room.  He folded up the piece of paper sitting on the table in front of him and slipped it into an envelope.

"Dear Father,

As I write this, I can't help but reminisce on a childhood at the mercy of your stern hand and implementation of stoicism. You are what made me this emotionless shell of a person, acknowledging emotions as the enemy. I wonder if it ever crossed your mind that your 'lessons' would be the very foundation for my current life's work. In the past couple of years, my success with FaceLock has been mind-blowing. Even though you're not here anymore to dissect and disregard my work, everyone else thinks it's phenomenal.

But, hey. I know you'd appreciate the truth. This is my true masterpiece of manipulation of the human mind. Did you know that my experiments are inspired by the ones you imposed on me? I guess I can't really blame you for enjoying it, but I have to be careful with my selections. But it's not too hard to find desperate minimum-wagers who will willingly surrender the essence of their humanity at the promise of greatness. They believe they are gaining control, but little do they realize I am the one who controls them.

My own personal lack of FaceLock is intentional because of the lesson you taught me; the importance of detaching from the emotions that bind normal people. You'd be so proud, Dad. Just like you taught me to be stoic, I am teaching the kingpins to abandon their vulnerability willingly.

Your 'son',

Gregory"

The lanky man printed the mailing address on the envelope messily, which was out of character for the reticently calculated founder of FaceLock. Although June’s outward appearance remained neatly put together, the final stage of his accessibility plan for FaceLock had thrown him in for a manic loop.

He spun in his chair sporadically and paged his intern with a small, grey device. As she walked into the room briskly just moments later, he shot out of his seat and handed her the envelope with gusto.

“Karina,” he chirped, “Send her off for me.”

The woman, in her mid-twenties, obediently nodded her head without question and began to walk out of the room. June observed the back of her head tilt down to gaze briefly at the envelope. Suddenly, she halted in her tracks. Karina remained unmoving for several seconds, then turned around. June stood directly across from her. Upon seeing her face, completely void of emotion in a neutral state, he began to cackle. He knew she was horrified, but the most she could do was look back at him, her expression like a blank slate. June descended into a fit of unhinged laughter, taunting the woman and reminding her that she could never again, mimic his crazed behaviour.

"If you think I seem crazy now, don't take a peak through door 2."

Karina nodded and walked away briskly.

[explorefacelock]

the unraveling thread

“And with that,” the Speaker rose from his designated throne in the chamber, “The debate has been determined in favour of the majority; the Government has passed Bill 183. This assembly now stands adjourned until 11:30am on Monday, December 4th.”

Stacking her heap of papers hastily, Carla Barons-Lowe made her way through the ascending rows of desks. She exited the Chamber, allowing the heavy door to slam with a resonating boom. 

“Ms. Barons-Lowe!”

As soon as she entered the Opposition’s corridor, an influx of chatter greeted her. 

“Ms. Barons-Lowe, it is advised that you present this petition regarding Bill 183’s detriment.”

The team that she had hired selectively was in shambles. 

“Ma’am, can you give the go-ahead for this tweet?”

She walked briskly, her black heels creating loud clops as she made a beeline for her office door. The sheer sense of rage that was developing in her chest was slowly overtaking any semblance of sanity that she could maintain. The filter of red over her vision increased in opacity, tainting her surroundings with the fiery edge of anger.

“Ms. Baron-Lowes! Stop,” her personal assistant trailed after her, “we need you to get this sorted out ASAP, press and media aren’t looking good for us.”

Jacob Leader. Referred by Sheyenne, Carla’s trusted colleague. At first, he had been great at running errands and organizing the multitudes of issues within her campaign. But since the debate on Bill 183, the leader of the Opposition had just about had enough of his whiny voice grating at her every time something went remotely south. 

“Carla!” he exclaimed, “I’m so serious, we need two signatures from you an-,”

“Jacob, I swear to God! Shut up! Shut. Up. I need you to quit it. I should’ve known that you’d be incompetent from the way Sheyenne begged me to let you join the team. Shut up before I do what I should have done months ago and send your ass out to the streets.”

Jacob stared at her with the same blank stare that permeated his visage whenever Carla asked a task that he deemed too large or confusing. Blue eyes unblinking with a slightly downturned smirk on his lips.

“Okay,” Jacob continued, “so, I’ll forward the two documents requiring signatures right now. And please look at the tweet too.”

His slim frame strutted away confidently, unphased by the outburst that Carla had entirely concocted in her mind. Despite her aura of fury, the words that had exited her mouth were gentle in nature and passive. 

Carla opened her office hastily and sat down at her desk, opening her laptop. She then clicked on the mail app after watching its notification tally increase by one. After signing the documents, she opened Twitter. Her feed was filled with numerous supporters that she followed in secrecy on her alternate account. Suddenly, her scrolling halted as she came across a tweet from one of her main supporters on social media that she always recognized and checked in on due to the anonymous owner's dedication to her campaign.

Anon

@BarenLowesAgenda

Ms. Baren-Lowes' response to Bill 183 today was so ingenuine and disappointing?? It's obvious she finally got FaceLock even after her opposition to the bill. There's a lack of genuine purpose behind her words now, I don't understand why she got it done. I'm gonna step away from this account.

The thread under the disapproving tweet consisted of a litany of supporters — rather, former supporters — expressing the same sentiment. Carla stared at her screen, her mind going numb. 

She felt the guttural feelings of panic, regret, and sadness seizing her heart like a claw. Her eyebrows wanted to knit together in anguish and her mouth wanted to yell angrily like a baby. Her smooth hands urged to grab her laptop and smash it against the desk.

But instead, she simply sat there and stared. 

[explorefacelock]

a fragrance of disparity

The expansive atmosphere exploded into applause from the attendees, their claps echoing through the dome-shaped arena. The various medical professionals and high-ranking scholars in the audience stood in unity to give a standing ovation to Gregory June, the founder of FaceLock.

Cyrus Wong felt out of place in his seat between two people who happened to be clapping in synchrony, on beat with the hundreds of other large, manicured hands in his vicinity. Palms cupped ever-so-slightly; shiny watches secured tightly on their wrists; both of their left hands were frozen while the right hand did all the work to produce sound. It was a secret language that asserted their rightful place in the audience.

Cyrus looked around, hoping to clue in on the mannerisms mimicked throughout the crowd. But with each movement, the cheap fabric of his rented suit rustled obnoxiously, screaming “We do not belong!” at the top of its lungs.

“S’cuse me, son.”

Cyrus had worked at Sephora for 10 years and had been trying to discern which cologne the well-dressed man on his left was wearing. Woody, leathery, sweet... The undertone of vanilla. He apologized to the man on his right for blocking the row, moved out of the way, and proceeded to navigate to the booths. It was Dior, “Bois d’Argent”. A bestseller for the few who could afford it.

“Hi there! Could I grab your name, please?”

“Cyrus Wong.”

"Let me see here.” The employee running the line tapped through her tablet, “Ah, got you. Alright Cyrus, please take a seat and fill out a couple little forms and a waiver. Let me know when you’re done, and we’ll get you in right away.”

Cyrus took the forms and read over the fine print at a rapid, anxious speed. He had signed up for a complimentary implementation of FaceLock as part of June’s accessibility program.

“Uh,” Cyrus cleared his throat, “I’m, uh—, sorry. I’m ready.”

“Perfect,” the woman did not make eye contact, “Please proceed to Door 2 for further instruction. Thank you, Cyrus.”

Cyrus wondered if she had FaceLock implemented. Her blue uniform was crisp and freshly ironed. She was friendly; clearly trained in customer service, but he could not distinguish whether her simple politeness was indicative of the procedure’s effect. He walked over to a line of fifty people. The “2” engraved on the door caught his eye and he decided to not allow the room for doubt.

After 25 minutes, Cyrus looked to his left to observe a much smaller line in front of Door 1. Suddenly, his nose was assaulted by the distinct smell of money, materialized in a rich blend of leather, vanilla, and musk. The businessman who had sat next to him earlier walked into his line of vision to join the short, adjacent line. Cyrus directed his attention to the heads in front of him and realized the difference between their cheaper, body sprays. Their haircuts weren’t tapered meticulously. They did not strut with the same blatant arrogance. The business attire they wore was not tailored to specific lengths. They looked a lot more like him.

As Cyrus waited for the door to open for him, his mind mulled over his own choice of fragrance. It was a 100 mL bottle of Versace “Eros” — not top-of-the-line, yet not sickly sweet like the typical cheap body spray he was used to. He pulled it out for this special event, but he still felt inadequate. He reminisced on the lovely notes of the vanilla and the undertones of cedar.

Then, the door that read “2” slid open. He was prompted to walk in, the doors slamming behind him. In a wave, Cyrus’s nose was assaulted with the sickeningly dry scent of metal. Vanilla overtones shifted into to the dreadful scent that is universally recognizable by any specimen, undertones painting the picture of a red, thick fluid.