The 4D Printed Apocalypse

- Prologue -

Early Draft

That’s it! I quit!

Again?

This time is final!

"Alright, let's talk this through... again!''

No. No more! Just tell me: how long has it been? How long since we started?

Well, in the beginning…

In the beginning there was nothing! Nothing! We didn’t even have light for these offices! These people hired us to build a brand, but they gave us nothing to begin with! Just a load of emptiness! Do you even know who the target audience is?

It was written in the creative brief, was it not? Ageless, uneducated, unaware of the product. Our goal is to create awareness and generate trial. What we need is more buzz!

I read the damned brief! I read it on the toilet. I slept on it. I scribbled dirty words on it. I know who the audience is 'supposed' to be. I have no idea who the audience is! Is there even an audience to begin with?

Not yet there isn’t, but that’s our job, mate! We have to educate people about the product category and then get them in contact with the brand!

Your junior marketing course is killing me. You’re an art director, aren’t you? A 'visually creative' individual. You work on the concept, you visualize it, and deliver the goods! Now tell me: what is the concept? Do we just go in front of all those people with ‘something’? Do we just pretend we know what we’re talking about and then expect them to kiss our feet for the next 2000 years?

I don't think we were supposed to…

Shouldn’t we offer them something more? A sparkle! Something unique! Isn’t this why we took the job in the first place? We wanted a challenge and all we’re getting is a lesson in humility.

Oh, come on. It's not always like that. Remember that calligraphy technique I suggested? They liked that!

A writing technique? That's your greatest achievement for the past decade?

"Well, I'm not saying I'm happy. I mean, the client still wants to cram all that text onto a small surface and...''

"My friend. You got the easy part. Do you have any idea how many times I revised the text? I can still hear that voice: 'Why fifteen?', 'Why use that word?', 'Why think so far in advance?'. Oh, and let's not forget the queen of all feedbacks: 'Our customers are not yet prepared. Just cut the parts about apes and mutations'. Those were my best parts! My best! I could almost imagine the faces of those reading them!''

"The text is not that bad. It really isn't!''

''Not that bad? Have you read the latest client revision? Have you seen what he wants us to write? Most phrases don't even sound like they’re part of a story anymore. And there's also the part about 'coveting'. I haven't got the slightest idea what that is, but I'll use it just to shut them up!"

Ah, I remember! Wasn't there a legal claim, too? That part about the name...

Don't even get me started on that one!

''Fine, then. Here's my resolution: we work on it for one hour! We come up with something we like, we send it as final, and ignore the feedback. Write a few lines, paint a few smiles, and that’s it!''

''The first reasonable thing you've said all day! I'm in. I still have to make some replacements, though. The word 'orgy' is kind of strong. I'll just go for 'adultery'. I'll arrange the text nice and clean afterwards. You can make a mock-up and we'll send it into production. Nobody remembers the brief anyway.''

"It's a deal. Still, have you thought about a new headline? The old one was rather long. 'Aspects that may or may not affect your life in certain conditions' barely fits into my new design."

''Yeah, the old one was shit. You know what? Since the client said nothing, we can be bold about the title. Let's just call it 'The 10 Commandments'! Now, get to work and let's send Moses those tablets!"

Supply & Demand

The holographic sign had a strange, purple afterglow. Jim could read the floating text quite clearly, even in the daytime: 'WombGuard Industries - Trust us with all your fears'. Jim had fears. And the fears had Jim.

As a child, he spent most of his time at home. Colds. Fevers. Rashes. Jim had them all. While others were splashing through the dirt, Jim had the privilege of learning words such as 'wheat intolerance' and 'gastroesophageal reflux'. Luckily, his mother was always there to keep him safe. She was always nearby with a helping hand, a kind word, and those colorful bottles Jim had come to like. Needless to say, he was home schooled for most of his early youth.

His immunity got better over the years, but his social skills did not. When his mother remarried, Jim's world crashed. Her new husband couldn't understand why the kid needed to hide behind the sofa every time a mosquito entered the room. The man even insisted that Jim should attend a public school. Eventually, he did and hated every moment of it. The other kids never liked Jim and he never liked the other kids. All he wanted was his tablet PC, his calculus games, and his colorful bottles. And obviously, his mother. Only she could keep those blood thirsty mosquitoes at bay. But... she was busier and busier with his new 'dad'.

Eventually, the calculus games paid off. After a long stay at a local college, Jim managed to get a job as an accountant. It was perfect. He had his own screen, a small cubicle and thousands of numbers to play with. And, best of all, the building he worked in was mosquito-free. Unsurprisingly, none of his colleagues knew Jim's name, and he knew nobody's name. He got his pay check, went home to his studio and patiently waited for the weekends in which his mother would come by.

For Jim, things couldn't get any better... or worse. Things were just things, and Jim was probably afraid of most of them. When the first civil war started, Jim wouldn't leave the house for days. It all started from a national surveillance program gone wrong or something like that. Jim couldn't tell, since he was too afraid to watch or read the news. All he knew was that the streets weren't safe.

News and movies scared him, but he had a sweet spot for educational shows. It was up to Brainy, the Smart Platypus, to show Jim around. It was Brainy who taught him calculus and eventually basic algebra. It was Brainy's words which helped him through school: 'If there's a problem, there's a solution!'. Brainy was a smart platypus, indeed!

The first civil war was soon followed by another, shorter one. After the Martial Law, The Restoration, and other big words Jim did not fully understand, something wonderful happened: personal shields. For Jim, it was a dream come true. For mosquitoes, it meant starvation.

At first, the shields were rather unobtrusive. If an object passed at high speed through the shield, it would be blocked. This meant that street shootings were less and less popular. Soon enough, slow stabbings were the new rage among criminals. The shields got better. And better. The Personal Protection and Intervention Act of 2035 managed to establish some rules for their usage, to the benefit of Jim and others like him. A distance of three feet was now considered 'an intimate distance'. It was enough for two people to have a conversation without being torn to shreds by the new shields. Taking down the shields was only allowed in private places, between people who explicitly solicited this and were registered within the National Shield Database. Jim knew all of this but never needed it. His shield was never off.

His shield was never off, but his mother's was. It was off the night she passed away and so was his adoptive dad's. They were both found dead in the same bed. He couldn't understand the police’s explanation, but the lawman seemed rather amused by the situation. Jim was crushed for months. He was crushed for months, but he got the message: never turn your shield off. Always get better shields. Never turn your shield off!

Today was Jim's payday and, much to his surprise, it was also his day off. Such a special occasion could only be celebrated a single way: a trip to the shield shop. The burly man at WombGuard Industries waited for him with the best safety devices in town. While stepping beneath the holographic sign, Jim could barely contain his excitement. The new models had arrived!

''Ah, Jimbo!'' smiled the fat vendor.

"Tom. Are they here?''

''Of course they are, my boy. Of course they are!''

Tom touched the small screen in front of him and three small objects with colourful casings appeared from the transliquid surface. Each of them had a small model number projected beneath and a miniature certificate. No doubt, it was the WombGuard Certificate of Authenticity. The shields themselves were no larger than a coin, with a rectangular shape and rounded corners. They weren't meant to be worn, but implanted in the lower abdomen's shield socket. From there, their batteries would recharge using the body's own surplus energy, whenever needed. However, batteries rarely needed a recharge since people were too cautious to risk triggering them. Most people were afraid of shields, but they couldn't afford not to have one. Jim was different: he simply loved the tiny implants!

"This yellow one here might not be what you're looking for, but it's definitely worth a look. I know you like numbers, so let's just call it the XF9525-B22. I named it 'The Peeping Tom'. It's pretty similar to your model, save for one difference. It features a small sensor that can automatically decrease the safe distance to the minimum level, when you go to the bathroom or when the ladies are in town, if you know what I mean...''

''Not interested'' uttered Jim.

He loved the way modern toilets had cabins and urinals placed almost six feet from one another. When he was little, he always avoided public toilets. Because of this fear, his mother had to take him home a few times, during those dreadful years at the public school. Now, he could use both the cabin and the urinal without anyone bothering him. Nobody dared to. The distant echo of urinals was quickly becoming a form of noise pollution. For Jim, it was the sound of safety. As for the ladies, the only girl he ever liked was Peggy Sue, back in college. And all he got in four years was a single smile. So no, he was not interested in 'The Peeping Tom'.

''This one you'll love. The XM9800. The red and green marks show it's been designed for the National Guard. Top grade material. It's not much stronger than your average, but it's far more precise. You know how your shield can block those nasty pollen particles which you are so allergic to? Well, this one can also block smaller particles, like the ones coming from sneezing and coughing. That's right! When you're stuck in public transportation with two or more people, this shield's got your back! The Guard uses these models to protect from the crap The Southern Rebels keep throwing at them, but you don't need to worry about that.''

Indeed, Jim didn't care about the rebels, but he liked what he heard. His eyes were already gleaming with the prospect of upgrading to the XM9800. He wasn't a great fan of public transportation either. Ever since the population decreased and the shields appeared, most buses carried only a few passengers, as opposed to cars, which carried only one. Even so, shield activity had to be decreased to the minimum within public transportation. This scared Jim.

''I like this one. Are there any more?"

"For you,