Dr. Identity Read Free Page B

red, scratched and swollen. And both of his eye bags were ruined now. He stood there in a daze, blinking, gurgling…Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted.
    I tried to stomp on Lucille as she hastened back into her hole.

01
    ADVANCED NEUROREALISM – 3RD PERSON
     
    Dr. Identity marched down the hallway carrying a briefcase in one hand and a box of homemade powdered sugar donut holes in the other. The briefcase contained three items: poorly constructed lesson plans, a hippopotamus whip, and a portable battle axe. The donut holes were for the student-things. Dr. ——— made this seemingly altruistic gesture at least twice a week to his classes, all of which met before 3 p.m. Generally speaking, student-things didn’t fully awaken until about 5 p.m. The donut holes were meant to perk them up a little with a sugar high. It didn’t always work, but the odds increased on the condition that, in addition to coating them in sugar, Dr. ——— also laced the donuts with ephedrine.
    Between classes the hallway was a bee’s nest of activity. The dogs of plaquedemia were everywhere, zipping in and out of offices with heaps of books and papers crammed beneath their armpits. Dr. Identity nodded politely at Dr. Poe, Dr. Woolf, Dr. Byron as they bumbled passed. It didn’t nod at Dr. Stein. Dr. ——— had rewired his ’gänger to treat her, if only in passing, with an air of enmity and contempt. Like the modernist author she represented, “Gertie,” as she wanted to be called, was an arrogant, insecure primadonna who, similar to most plaquedemics, lacked the capacity to discuss anything but herself and her scholarly work. And there’s absolutely no excuse for holding a book the likes of The Making of Amerikans in high regard…
    Dr. Identity only passed one other ’gänger on its way to class, a Charles Dickens lookalike with burning, bleached eyes like its own that had no irises, only small dark pupils. It was the one way to distinguish an android from its human counterpart. The two species hadn’t always resembled each other. Just under a decade ago, androids were large, obsidian stick figures that consisted of little more than circuits, transmitters and relay switches. Once the government became a sheer corporate enterprise, funding for certain media-related technologies skyrocketed. Suddenly the exteriors of the android and the human were virtually indistinguishable.
    When it arrived at the windowless steel door of the classroom, Dr. Identity rearranged its posture and methodically cracked its neck. Its pleasant smile melted into a cold, thin slit.
    Its eyes blazed with white light.
    The door squeaked open and the ’gänger stepped inside the classroom and slammed and locked the door behind it. Tardy student-things wouldn’t be able to attend today. Present student-things wouldn’t be able to leave until the period ended. Even using the toilet was forbidden: student-things were required by the university to have catheters taped to their legs during business hours for just such an eventuality.
    Dr. Identity’s Saussurian suit shapeshifted when confronted by the student-things’ fashion statements. For females, this consisted of lace-up tube tops, Daisy Dukes and thigh high heels, despite numerous rolls of fat and patches of cottage cheese. Males, on the other hand, were caked in vast folds of denim and canvas; their heads and sneakers barely peeked out of the getups. The student-things who had sent their ’gängers to class for them dressed likewise.
    Student-things were not allowed to miss class except for deaths in the family, religious holidays, and exceptionally creative lies. Mere sickness, however life-threatening, had ceased to be an acceptable excuse. A surprising number of students skipped anyway and sent ’gängers in their stead. Penalties included irreverent tongue lashings, brutal ass kickings, expulsion from the college, and public executions, depending upon the individual