In a world of colour, a shade moves apart,
Unnoticed, unmeasured, but breaking the chart.
The city stretched across the horizon like an array of colours slabbed onto a canvas by an artist on LSD. Viewed from a distance, it’s outlines were made of shimmering light through grey smog.
Inside the city, the air was clean, crisp, and filled with energy. The sky boasted a meticulously curated early morning sunrise: A mix of dark lavender tufts atop soft pink clouds, streaked with synthetic gold eminating light from within against a pale blue backdrop. This, was accompanied by a nearly inaudible, yet ever present hum of coalescing energy.
The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the light shimmering through the clouds nevertheless reflected off Chromapolis’ towers, casting prismatic rainbow fragments all over the light-panel pavements.
The streets were already busy with people getting to wherever they had to be, dressed in colourful attires of tailored magentas, energetic blues, and hyper-coordinated greens. Each person had calibrated their attire to match their personal Colour Harmony Profile (CHP) using filters embedded in The Glow. It was effortless. Hold your wristband in the orange light of hovering drones or flickering holographs. The latest enhancement would sync in an instant and you’d be perfectly attuned to the city’s ever evolving spectrum.
Graydon Pallor walked through this explosion of colour, casting a stark contrast to his surroundings with his charcoal grey coat and matching slacks. His heavy boots thudded dully against the colourful mosaic tiles of Vermillion Avenue. The busy morning crowd parted around him as if he were a rock in a sea of colour waves. A grey rock, rough at the edges. The kind you wouldn’t want to hit with a ship. His passer-bys glanced, whispered, and moved on, reassured by the knowledge that Chromapolis always filtered out any impurities.
Graydon ignored them as he always did. His steps were deliberate and steady, like a metronome to the symphony of this city. He didn’t need to look up to see where he was going, nor was he interested in any of the holographic advertising for „Colour-Boosted Relationship Therapy“ or the latest performance by the „City Weavers“. He was a creature of habit headed for the same place at the same time, every morning since three years: The city’s „beating technicolour heart“ as the mega-corporation Chromadyne liked to style itself.
Graydon stopped just short of the glass door entrance. People streamed past him, and he noted his own reflection standing out like a ghost amid the colours.
„Excuse me, sir,“ a voice chirped from somewhere behind and above him.
Graydon turned to look at a small, spherical drone bobbing in the air. Its polished chrome was tinted in the colours that reflected from the building.
„Please note that Chromadyne encourages all employees and visitors to use our latest Irisdescent Temporary Hue Enhancement Filter Technology for optimal integration within our facility. You can download it with your wristband via The Glow!“ The drone started emitting a soft orange light beam.
Graydon stared at the drone, ignoring its light beam. Of course he knew about I.T.H.E.F.T.. He had, in fact, proposed the name for this filter application. Marketing had either not caught on to his humour, or they simply didn’t care. Graydon grinned at the joke. It wasn’t like it was evil code, or anything. Most people enjoyed adjusting their Colour Harmony Profiles. He on the other hand didn’t care for it at all, hadn’t and wouldn’t download the app. Graydon continued his way towards the doors, scanned his wristband for admittance and walked through the entrance.
„Thank you for visiting Chromadyne!“ the drone called after him. Graydon thought its cheerful tone was louder, and sounded somehow less chirpy.
Inside Chromadyne Tower, the reception desk welcomed visitors and employees with warm amber tones that brightened on approach. The receptionist, a chubby lady in a pastel suit, opened her mouth to greet Graydon, but then registered who she was looking at. So, instead, she shook her head disapprovingly at Graydon’s grayscale outfit. „Good morning, Magnolia“, Graydon greeted her in his upbeat business voice, pretending he hadn’t noticed her silent treatment. It was the same procedure as every morning. He kept walking, passing the holographic potted plants that shifted hues in real time to match passerby moods. Colours radiated from every surface and even the air was tinged with the scent of Chromadyne’s newest bestseller, its trademark air-infuser Electric Cyan. Graydon could swear it left a slightly metallic taste on his tongue.
He moved briskly, keeping his eyes fixed on the elevator doors at the far end of the lobby.
He pressed the call button and when an elevator arrived empty, he stepped in and the doors slid shut. Graydon pressed the button for the 42nd floor. „Going up“ the elevator announced as he leaned against the wall. Then the music started. It was soft at first, just a few plinking notes that resembled water droplets falling into a pond. Then came the orchestral swell, a sweeping melody designed to up productivity or, if one believed any of the various conspiracy theories emerging these days, compliance.
To Graydon, it was nothing but a case of unneccessary noise pollution.. „Shut up,“ he muttered towards the ceiling, but he knew full well that the elevator was only programmed to receive orders through its green-glowing interface.
The office space on the 42nd floor was quieter than the lobby. Spread out across the area were multicoloured cubicles that shifted hues in line with their owner’s real-time evaluated colour preferences and energy levels via MoodSync 3.0. technology. Conversational morning chatter filled the air.
Graydon headed straight for his desk, which seemed shoved into a corner. His station was the only grayscale one in the entire building. It was a compromise Chromadyne had begrudgingly allowed after several HR consultations and a very public incident involving a riotous teal chair he’d refused to sit in.
He sat down in his old gray office chair, his victory of aforementioned feud, and it squeaked in protest. Though his co-workers were used to this, it still caused a couple of heads to turn. Graydon pretended not to notice and opened his terminal. Lines of automatically generated code immediately appeared on his the screen. This, to Graydon, was soothing. Coding was his jam. He had learned it from an early age and to him it was like a second native tongue.
After briefly scanning it, he began typing, blending out his surroundings and into his daily routine of adjusting the code, ensuring correct encryption algorithms and generally tidying it up. This was what coding had become, nowadays: A pre-fabricated mess. Sometimes Graydon thought he’d be faster, if he wrote it all from scratch. Then again, he figured, it probably wasn’t worth the effort, since it didn’t serve a truly meaningful purpose anyway. He deducted this from the fact that his tasks were always framed in vague corporate jargon: „Optimize data stream integrity“ or „Enhance security for client-side colour syncing.“
A loud laugh erupted from across the office. It was Barry Chartreuse, one of Chromadyne’s self-proclaimed „productivity ambassadors“. Barry had two settings: loud and unbearably loud. He was perched on the edge of a neighbouring desk, waving a Matcha Mango Fusion smoothy the colour of radioactive moss. The smoothy perfectly fit his lime green sweater. „Guys, guys, listen,“ Barry boomed, „Why don’t programmers like nature? Too many bugs! Eh? Eh?“
A few polite chuckles followed. Graydon didn’t look up but knew Barry’s look was targeting him. „Hey, Pallor. I’m disappointed. I thought you’d at least laugh at that one since it’s an old-school nerd joke!“
Graydon exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes on his screen. „Yeah, very funny, Barry. Only, the joke is so old, my grandma already told it to me a hundred times“ he said in a playfully annoyed tone.
Barry grinned, undeterred. „Ah, yes. That’s what they call a classic, Pallor.“
Another laugh, this one louder, came from Daphne Forsyth, who sat a few desks over. Daphne’s laugh was warm and kind. She leaned over the divider and added, „You know, Barry, you should wear grey one day, like Graydon here. Maybe then you’d be funny!“
This drew a louder round of laughter, and Barry made a theatrical show of clutching his chest, pretending to be wounded. „Ouch! Forsyth, that one cuts deep. Maybe too deep for this early in the morning!“ Graydon allowed himself a slight smirk. Daphne caught his eye and winked. She had shoulder-length blond hair, the front strands pulled back with a simple orange hairband that contrasted her light blue blouse. Freckles dotted her pleasant, quietly unassuming face.
Summoned by the laughter, Candice Cyan, the floor manager, appeared. She was dressed in an aggressively bright turquoise suit. She clapped her hands twice, the universal Chromadyne signal for “back to work.” “All right, everyone, let’s keep the energy flowing! Remember, today’s Mood Metric is vitality! Let’s embody that teal mindset, people!”
Barry gave a mock salute before retreating to his desk. The office buzz faded to quiet tapping on interfaces and, if you listened for it, the steady hum of energy. Graydon let the rhythm of typing and the faint, synthetic scent of “productivity-enhancing diffused air” wash over him. He thought it was comforting that today was like every other day here at Chromadyne.