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A Wonderful Day

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« on: (05:44:15/05-01-11) »
This is a short bit of writing I wanted to share as it relates to my character's past.  ;D

[2060.04.05.0459]

Toshiro Takahashi awoke to the buzzing of an alarm clock, a familiar synthetic reveille that pulled him away from the comforts of sleep at exactly 5:00 each morning. Tossing his sheets aside, Toshiro ambled out of bed and into a tiny room that contained a toilet, a sink, and acrylic ofuro. All the major fixtures in his apartment were efficiently packed to save space, a costly resource in Kyoto. Fortunately for Toshiro, he wasn't a claustrophobe, and the price was modest in comparison to his company salary. Small spaces were not only acceptable, they were part of a tradition dating back to the late 20th century.

He washed with involuntary precision and speed. Toshiro's morning ritual had barely any deviation for the last ten years, each passing day only reinforcing the importance of good hygeine to his self-image. His pearly-white smile and unwavering gaze greeted each and every employee, great or small, to the secure bastion of Mitsuhama's corporate headquaters. Every honest citizen passing through those doors could take assurance of their safety under his watch.

Under the cascade of warm water, finely toned muscles contracted and relaxed. It was good to have strength, he thought. Being diagnosed with myopathy from an early age was not a pleasant experience. For a time, painful cramps and stiffness were his closest companions - then came school bullies, genetech doctors, expensive therapy and a deep obligation to repay his parents' sacrifice. It was a difficult journey from grade two to graduation, but his own renewed ambition and his family's support made it possible for Toshiro to not only complete high school, but to do so with high grades in all of his subjects. Having lots of friends made for comprehensive study groups, and even a few of them were deemed promising in the eyes of MCT talent scouts.

The next three minutes were a blur of motion to the miniaturized cameras in Toshiro's residence. He dried himself down, shaved, started cooking an instant breakfast, and stuffed the printouts of his weekly report into a slim briefcase. It was just over a year ago that he dreamed of such heightened activity, a dream that was made real by a carefully cultured batch of nerve cells implanted into his spine. Over Toshiro's shoulder, mounted on the wall, a flat screen broadcast the morning news - world events, stock prices and analysis, and a local story of police apprehending 'suspicious' individuals within Kyoto.

Suspicious individuals, ha! What a load of rubbish. Toshiro scoffed at the report, popping open his instant breakfast of eggs and rice. The detainees were probably metahuman, guilty of nothing more than offending the arrogance of the public and being an eyesore. As a Japanese citizen, Toshiro felt ashamed of the Yomi Island decree, which he readily compared to a pogrom. He was, however, not ashamed enough to challenge years of tradition, and certainly wasn't going to risk his company's reputation with loose personal opinion.

Toshiro devoured his morning meal like a man who barely received time to eat. Minor complications from his genetic therapy resulted in a diminished sense of taste, and he took no enjoyment in the act of eating mass-produced soy foods and soy derivaties. On the positive side, the ease of preparation made them convenient fuel for his demanding weekly schedule - no less than eighty hours of reviewing, revising, implementing and enforcing security procedures. This was the cornerstone of Toshiro's life at MCT, and he never flinched at the prospects of overtime. Donning a clean-pressed suit of cool grey color, Toshiro double-checked his tie in the bathroom mirror to ensure everything was in place. Clean.. professional.. smooth.

"Today is going to be a wonderful day."

Satisfied with his reflection, Supervisor Takahashi picked up his briefcase and departed the humble residence.