3 The Life of a Machine

A slightly overcast look adorned the sky over Brixton, England. The sun struggled to display its illumination, causing the day to be slightly heated with no sunshine. A ray of light broke suddenly through the barricade of clouds, its light falling upon a small but elegant shop at the street corner.

The shop was made of red brick stones and had large display windows which revealed a good portion of the interior, rows of wooden shelves visible. A signboard written in beautiful cursive adorned the top of the shop: Orin Classics.

A matte black Rolls-Royce Cullinan slowly pulled up to the shop's front, it's bonnet headpiece coming in line with the parking meter on the sidewalk as the car came to a halt. The car engine idled for a while and went off. The front door opened and a handsome young man stepped out slowly. He was dressed in a grey, plaid, three-piece suit. A white scarf was wrapped around his neck and back brogue shoes adorned his feet. The man swept his gaze around, finally coming to a rest on the shop's entrance.

Taking measured steps, he approached the door and paused slightly before proceeding inwards. A chime placed above the door tinkled gently, in seeming resonance with the soft music playing from the hidden speakers in the store. The interior of the shop was simple yet elegant. Peaceful, yet poignant. Polished wooden shelves were arranged neatly, having the music disks displayed clearly and asymmetrically.

He stepped inside the store and paused to look around. The interior wasn't large; about the same size as an average classroom. The shelves were made of smooth carved oak wood, their joint sections indiscernible, causing the shelves to look like they were carved from a single entity. Each was painted a different, subtle colour. They were arranged in accordance with the darkening shades as well as the progression of the music records that were stored on their shelves. Shelves containing the same genre were arranged in small semicircles with small signs hanging down from the ceiling to their centre.

Cream and burgundy coloured marble floor supported the shelves, their colours mixing to give a soothing atmosphere. Soft music played in the background, the speakers producing them hidden from sight. The cashier's desk was to the left of the store, quaint yet elegant, made of the same wood as the shelves. A young woman wearing a uniform of white and black sat at the desk, typing away at a computer.

She looked up when the young man walked in and smiled. "Welcome to Orin Classics. How may I be of service to you, esteemed customer?".

The young man said nothing for a while, his eyes roaming the store. They finally came to rest on the clerk and his lips formed a warm smile in response to hers. He slowly approached the desk.

"I made an order one week ago for the original rendition of Ode to Joy under the name of Mark Murdoch. I wonder if it's available? I was informed that I could make inquiries regarding it from today", he said on getting to the front of the desk.

"Please wait a moment while I confirm the order", she said, her eyes returning to the computer screen to do just that.

The young man leaned on the desk and allowed his eyes to once more roam around the store, stopping on a shelf with the sign, 'R&B' hanging over. He curiously observed it but was interrupted by a hum from the clerk. He turned around to see her frowning at her computer screen.

"Is there anything wrong with the order?", he asked, speaking for the first time. His eyebrows furrowed into faint black lines.

"I can't seem to find your order, sir", she replied, lifting her eyes from the screen to meet his.

"That's too bad. I was hoping it would be around early. I'll come back later then". He seemed relieved. It turned out to be only a delay. He turned around to go.

"That's not what I meant, sir. I mean I can't find the order at all. It was never placed".

The man's footsteps stopped and he turned around. "Not placed? Are you serious?". She nodded.

He didn't speak for a while. "This issue may have come from your manager. I placed the order with him directly and he informed that he'd assign one of the store attendants to work on it. Is he available?".

The clerk looked slightly relieved. This kind of case was common. The manager had many friends who were music enthusiasts and often helped them to acquire some records. They were never recorded in the store's database but were instead given to one of the three attendants who worked at the store.

"Please go through that door and wait for a while. He will be with you shortly", she said while gesturing at a heavy wooden door at the back of the store. The young man thanked her and proceeded through.

As he closed the door behind him, the music in the store and the noise from the street outside were cut off: this was a soundproof room. The floor, ceiling and walls were all covered with white tiles. The interior wasn't large; about the same size as an average walk-in closet. All that was within the room was a desk-size metal box and a metal chair. The young man swept his eyes across the room then walked over to the desk and sat down.

Placing both his palms on the desk, a soft beep was heard from it and a screen soundlessly rose from the centre. The man gazed at the screen and said, "Alpha". The screen then lit up. Alpha was logged in.

Slightly stretching his shoulders, he waited as the screen went through its various checks to boot up and connect with its main server. Getting confirmation was always a rather tiring experience; from the parking of the car to the seating at the desk, all had to follow a system and be within measured variables, even his number of steps, the distance between them and his dressing were taken into consideration.

The computer employed an algorithm that randomly used the search questions of people on certain search engines to decide the change of confirmation procedures, the procedures themselves and the next search engine to use for the whole process again. It enabled those possibly monitoring the store to lack the pattern they would seek to find. Even the clerks were kept in the dark to avoid any mishaps.

Alpha turned to the screen that had fully booted up. His previous assignment had been logged and its completion confirmed. The money was wired to his untraceable account. A new mission was already set up for his acceptance. He accepted. This was why he was created. Why the machine was made.

Leaving the room, he nodded and smiled at the cashier, indicating that he had been "settled". Alpha then left the store, got in his car and drove off, peeling off his disguise as he went. His plans following were simple: eat, train, review the target and materials needed, sleep. The same as always.