The bright, early morning sunrise shone through the wide cabin window, the sunbeams filtering in past the glass, illuminating the room a vibrant orange. The Personal Organiser awoke instantly, the screen blinking swiftly. With it, a shrill, annoying beeping reverberated around the room, certain to wake up the average user. Soon after the beeping began, a finger rested on the master switch, confidently clicking the machine into idle mode. Then a rich, lifelike female voice emitted from the machine. “The time now is eight—“ Another click. The voice stopped immediately. Nick Wakim, a tall, bearded, black haired man picked up the Organiser and pressed a few more buttons before again clicking the master switch, causing the machine to power down. …show more content…
Swanson would think of menial subjects to pass the time with – such as what he’d eat for dinner that night or when would be a good time to check his mailbox – but it didn’t help as he eventually ran out of topics to contemplate, and the time it took to grow bored became shorter and shorter each day. His motivation came from knowing his job was nearly complete, and not only would he be shortly reaping the benefits of a completed job – such as respect from his peers – he knew he would no longer have to stare at the CRT each …show more content…
The code was nonsense to Swanson, who could not interpret any of it. A crumpled piece of paper sat on Swanson’s desk, next to the keyboard. On it, several lines of poorly written, scrawled handwriting. Swanson squinted at the writing, struggling to make out individual letters. Then, he struggled with finding the matching key on the keyboard, as well as having to remember where each missing key was once placed. Slowly, he typed the written lines on the paper into the computer. The letters slowly appeared on the screen, and once a line had been written, Swanson hit the RETURN