"Viktor Kennet. Male. 32."
There was a momentary pause in the monotonous, computer-generated voice emitting from the dashboard. The man identified as Viktor Kennet tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, each finger hitting the leather in a tense rhythm that signalized his quickly draining patience. A red laser looked him in the eye.
"Verified. Insert keys into the ignition." It continued.
And he did so, mechanically, even, as if it were a habit he'd been born with. It had to be. That was the way the world worked now: wait for verification, and then go about your everyday business.
In this day and age, a name was more important than a life. It guaranteed access to everything in an most frighteningly literal sense. It wasn't like the old days he had learned about in school, where the only thing binding you to who you were was a plastic card with your picture on it and sometimes your fingerprint. Gone were those days, regrettably. The world was now even more fast-paced than it was back then, and one would get enveloped in it so quickly that they'd be lost without proper identification. That is, a microchip embedded into the flesh that gave just about every detail about a person-their blood type, their last known location via satellite, and even what time they woke up. It collaborated with the body's functions and even alerted the nearest emergency response team if something went dangerously awry. Something as helpful and convenient as this should be looked upon with admiration, right? He wished he could see it that way. On the outside it seemed like a fantastic idea. But sometimes good things come with their own set of penalties. A person couldn't live anymore without someone knowing something about them.
"Turn left," The car said.
He complied with a sigh. A floating billboard drifted like a cloud-for it was a cloud- in the brilliant blue sky overhead. It read: Google. Think for the Future.
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