Feb 2018 v01 online

Živa. Your booking and online briefing is
already complete, so you can go on up. Today’s
setup is going to take place on the eighth floor.
You're a few minutes early for your
appointment, but we’re available to take you
now.”
“Thank you,” I said, shrugging the coat
awkwardly into her arms. She smiled warmly,
hung the coat on a nearby stand, and gestured
for me to follow her.The software installation
into my augmented reality implant, the section
I thought would be the major part of the setup,
took less than thirty seconds; a small external
drive was placed on the implant behind my ear,
a tiny magnet in each gadget holding the drive
in place through my skin.
Most everyone was required to have an
augmented reality implant installed as soon as
they entered the workforce. Of course it’s not
compulsory, but a great deal of companies
wouldn’t even consider the application of a
prospective employee without one. They were
wired directly into your brain, and could
manipulate your senses so as to receive images,
sounds, and anything else, that weren’t really
there. Cities and buildings used them to make
the place look artificially more lush and
beautiful, businesses used them for advertising
all the time, but more importantly the implants
were for work; they could be used to provide
active job training and instruction, attend faceto-face
industry meetings from anywhere in the
world, and personally deal with clients rather
than through voice calls and emails. They were
incredibly useful during study, where university
professors would often use AR examples in
their lectures or assign AR complements to the
course. My four-year psychology degree might
have been impossible had I not been gifted the
implant by my parents right out of high school,
and no investigational division – certainly not
the international sector I’d been working for
ever since – would have employed me. They also
meant you could be contacted at any time and
from anywhere, and that you had access to a
whole range of non-work related AR
programmes – like the one about to be installed
on mine – that anyone without the implant
would never be able to imagine. Everyone used
one.
A little “ding” indicated that the programme
was fully installed. My host ran a quick check;
she held up an empty vase, which to me
appeared to be brimming with flowers. I listed
off the colours as she twisted it through all
angles. I could even smell them.
Once the host was satisfied, the remaining
hour of the pre-engagement setup was the
torturous makeover I’d been losing sleep over.
I’d had the choice, but of course I had to choose
it. I couldn't go into that empty room wearing
my own clothes, my own face. They’d laugh me
back home, and rightly so. I knew I’d come here
with a job to do – does it really matter how I look?
But, of course it still mattered.
Outside of this place, my confidence and
assertiveness were hallmarks of my capability. I
rarely had to second guess. But being engulfed
in this assignment’s hazy romantic contrivance,
unable to escape the tired memories of a truly