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Lions, Extreme Fear Factor XXX, Survive Death Island, and then, of course, all those that involved sex and its many iterations—Ramone had intentionally avoided getting sucked into any of the feeds, only hearing about them from coworkers. He kept his attention limited to the non-realtime feeds that mostly consisted of political news and technology reviews.
    He wanted to ask Blythe what she thought of the article, but settled for just the link and an insightful remark about it. Anyway, he knew when it came to Blythe he was only dreaming. He knew it would go nowhere. His heart belonged to Sue.
    As he left his cubicle that evening just after seven, he glanced about nervously, wishing he could see the tiny, silent, ever-present nanocameras that followed him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged and hurried across the sidewalk beneath tall black lamps that were just flickering to life. Ramone usually waited until later to leave so that he could avoid interaction with his coworkers. Small talk was the bane of his life. Where he could endure it with other engineers who shared a similar thought style, trying to chat with the business, marketing, or administrative types that shared his building was pure misery. Luckily, tonight Ramone only had to smile politely at the CEO of the company, who climbed the steps behind Ramone, leading to the level with his reserved parking spot. 
    “Alright then, Ramone?” the CEO said, nodding at Ramone, but not smiling. The man was dour and British, not that the two went together. Aside from his ruddy complexion, he possessed the most non-descript face Ramone had seen—brown eyes, bland smile with slightly crooked teeth, and a dull nose. The oddest thing about him, aside from the fact that he was hired off the street and hadn’t been an internal hire, was the slight lisp that accompanied his deep voice. 
    “Fine, thank you,” Ramone answered, awkwardly stepping aside to let the CEO pass before heading to his own car.
    “In a hurry tonight?” the CEO asked as he paused at the door to his vehicle, stopping Ramone in his tracks.
    Turning, Ramone smiled hesitantly. “No, just want to get home to my wife.”
    The CEO removed his key fob from the pocket of his slacks. “Ah, the old ball and chain. Huh, I’ve never met her, I guess. Why is that? You never bring her to company parties.”
    This was precisely the sort of talk Ramone wished to avoid. “I’m not much for socializing.”
    “Bring her to the next party. I’d like to meet her.” He pursed his lips, then smiled and opened his car door. A Bentley. “Goodnight, then.”
    It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.
    Ramone nodded and found his own car, a sick feeling creeping into his throat. Why the sudden interest in his wife? Had something shown up in the feeds? Were his superiors watching him on the feeds?
    Why wouldn’t they?  
    Suddenly it seemed everyone knew he held a secret and they were looking for ways to leverage it out of him. That must be why the CEO was asking about his wife.
    Not for the first time, Ramone cursed the feeds. In his car, he clenched the steering wheel tightly, getting a grip on his frustration before starting the Corolla and heading for the freeway.
    Streetlights flickered to life around him. To the west, the orange sunset gleamed through a crack in the storm clouds, throwing a final, dying flare into the dark sky before vanishing beneath the mountains. Businesses lining the downtown thoroughfare leading to the freeway flipped on their lights and open signs. Fast food restaurants, vintage bookstores, nightclubs, a few convenience stores. Every aspect of human existence, terabyte after terabyte, recorded and filed away somewhere. Ramone recalled some of these same businesses seven years ago. Back then steel bars lined their windows and glass doors. No more bars. Who would dare rob a store when the entire act would be caught on camera? An arrest would happen imminently. So, we are safe, but at what