The Homeowner Association

Willy did not mind the monitoring chip in his brain. He thought nothing, did nothing, considered nothing that he was afraid to have observed. He conformed to all rules, standards, and guidelines; he had the right education, the right extra-curriculars, and the right club memberships; he paid the right subscriptions, voted the right way, and disapproved of everything.

He was a model citizen. He was living the dream. Why complain?

He felt secure in knowing that his monitoring chip told all the right people where he was at all times. Should he slip and fall, hit his head and lose consciousness, his chip would alert the proper authority and help would come. Were he locked in a closet during a public violence incident, responding officers would know not to shoot him. If he were on public transit, travelling 450KPH on a pristine track three miles below the surface of the earth, and they hit a flaw in the rail, the last known position, speed and trajectory of his implant could be used to determine the general area of the final resting place of his largely liquified body.

He appreciated peace, loved listening to silence, and deified order. Willy was a bureaucrat, and God had created him in His image.

Willy rode the elevator up to his apartment, a moderately-sized, functional space only five levels below the surface. He carried with him the best meat substitute money could buy, and a fare rarer find: carbonated water! As he anticipated a slightly delightful evening in his slightly subterranean abode, he lent himself toward relishing the cleanliness and utility of the automated lift.

That, however, was when he saw it.

There, marring the pristine absence that should have been gracing the floor was a piece of waste. He bent, as any good citizen would, and picked it up. On close examination, he found it to be a small, heart-shaped locket. It was gold—he was sure of that—and it had what appeared to be rubies formed in an outline of a heart on either side. Inside was a picture of a young woman with wild black hair, and an inscription that read “Charlotte.” The gold was unblemished, all the jewels appeared to be in their places, and the photo and engraving were clear and secure. It was well-made, and felt soft, like it had be worn a long time and touched with care.

“Disgusting,” growled Willy, as he jammed the trash into his pocket.

At the floor beneath his, the elevator slid to a stop. The doors opened, and a woman with wild eyes and wilder hair stood there, looking frantic.

She dove to the floor, asking, “Have you seen it?” as she did.

“I’ve looked everywhere else,” she continued. “I don’t know where else it could be. It’s small and gold. I had it on a chain but when I got home I found that the chain had broken. I’m sorry, you don’t even know what it is I’m looking for.”

“Is this it?” Willy asked, holding out the locket.

The woman turned and looked up at him for the first time.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “That is it. Where did you find it?”

“Right in here. It was on the floor.”

She took it from him.

“Thank you. Do you like it?”

“It is very nice,” Willy heard himself say.

“Thanks. I bought it for myself. I’m Charlotte.”

It was a moment before Willy realized she was introducing herself, and not explaining the inscription.

“I’m Willy,” he stated as fact.

“I need to show you my gratitude, Willy,” she said, grabbing his hand, and pulled him out of the elevator.

“Uh—no,” he protested. “I need to get home.”

“To do what?”

Willy did not have an answer to that question.

“Come on, I’ll make you food. Just a little snack if you’re in a hurry—even though we both know you’re not.”

“But, I can’t. I don’t have permission.”

They were halfway down the hall now.

“You do have permission. My permission.”

“I meant Homeowner Association permission.”

“Oh, please. What are they going to do?”

She was at her door now. Willy just briefly registered that her unit was directly under his.

The next thing he knew, they were inside.

Again, he was listening to himself speak: “All entrances by guests or other tenant’s into residential units require written applications to be filed well in advance—”

“I have people in here all the time. I’ve never gotten in trouble.”

He simply stood frozen.

“You’re really scared, aren’t you?” she asked. “It’s ok. We’re not going to get arrested. No one’s going to come knocking.”

He knew it then. He knew that he was never going to have a house on the surface. He knew that he was in a very long line for a very slim chance to be approved to even enter the marriage pool. He knew that he’d had enough slightly delightful evenings.

“I have some meat substitute,” he ventured. “And some carbonated water, if you’d like to share.”

***

The next morning, Willy sat in his living room, waiting for the knock on his door.

About ten minutes before it came, he heard screaming coming from beneath his floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of an Enforcement stun-gun. Charlotte would be ok, he knew. It was unlikely that she had a monitoring chip. They were still voluntary, and the surveillance corporation lawyers had gotten awfully rich figuring out how to convince the state that, without an active signal, you just couldn’t prove that anyone had been anywhere, even their own home. A short stay in intensive care, a month or so in reconditioning, a trial with only audio-visual evidence (so obsolete as to be practically inadmissible), and she’d be only slightly worse for wear, back in her slightly more subterranean abode.

It would not be so easy for him.

The knock on the door was lighter than he expected.

After confirming Willy’s identity, and explaining the charge of unauthorized fraternization and the penalties it carried, the HOA Enforcement Officer said to Willy, “You know, sir, we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“How so?”

“That experimental chip you’ve got, they’re still working out the bugs. Seems those things go into factory reset mode the minute you step in an elevator. It kills the connection and wipes the data. If you hadn’t had called, we’d have never have known about your visit. It takes a good man to sacrifice himself to the cause without complaining.”

Willy smiled.

“Of course. I’m proud to be a model citizen. I’m living the dream. Why complain?”