[ IP ] Oppressed

Patent leather shoes slapped on the rain-slicked cobblestone of London Town, droplets of water cascading in rippling circles, the tiny drum-beats of their falling drowned out by the steady precipitation. The stink off the Thames was muted in this weather, overlaid by acrid industrial fumes trapped in the rain and dumped in buckets back over the city, nature's small way of reminding the good pedestrians leaving the underground that their past was steadily catching up with them. No number of trains could get them far enough away to escape it. 
 Georg was grateful for the small comfort his umbrella afforded -- a cone of reasonably dry air he could shiver in as he slogged his way through the press of commuters exiting at Bethnal Green. His flat would no doubt be a sopping icebox; he anticipated some trouble with the central heating his landlord would need to be informed of. Life was full of such discomforts, and on an overcast day like this ( all too common anymore since the Restoration, even for this city ) they were a practical certainty. The rumbling of a departing train from below reached him through his soles, and he was grateful for the day's one small favor: as he had been queuing for the station checkpoint, a woman behind him had tapped his shoulder. 
 `` Excuse me, sir, you've dropped this,'' she had said, smiling. Her brown ringlets were pinned up tightly and trapped beneath a black brimmed hat to which an iron-shaded rose was pinned. She could've been anyone's mother. Georg saw she was holding his citizen's pass, and thanked her for returning it. It must've fallen from his pocket while he was rummaging for his gloves. 
 Now he turned left onto a narrow street lined with brick buildings, tacked with faded posters and peeling paint. The push to Restore this neighborhood had been stalled in government. Georg knew that if he turned around right where he was standing, he could see the new skyscrapers around Oxford Circus where he worked. They were tall structures with concrete bases sunk deep beneath the old city sewers, made to last long after their architects had faded from memory. The city had a way of paving over such things, but they were an impressive sight. He was n't so lucky or well-connected to be in an office directly within one of the new structures. His ambitions were n't that lofty. 
 He hefted his briefcase a little and picked up his pace. It was the oldest article he carried on his person, a gift from his father when he went off to university to read business, and he'd kept it with him ever since. Its exterior was correspondingly battered and worn, but durable. God willing, he'd have children of his own someday he could pass it on to -- but nevermind. Perhaps he would n't. It would be fair to say he carried his life around in that case, for better or ill. As of today, he carried something else in it as well. 
 `` Georg, I wonder if you could do me a favor?'' his boss, Carson, had asked him as he was packing up to leave. 
 `` Sure,'' he had replied. 
 `` I need you to take this to my niece's place. She's not too far from you, I think? You know the address?'' 
 `` Yeah, I've been,'' Georg had nodded, and he had. Carson's niece was only a few years his junior, and hosted parties whenever the rations were n't too tight. 
 `` Great, thanks,'' Carson said, grinning. `` And, listen. Could you maybe be a bit discreet about it? I know this is all rather informal, but. Ca n't really take it through the post at the mo, you understand.'' 
 `` Sure, of course, no problem,'' Georg had said, frowning only a little as he accepted an envelop from Carson. It felt too heavy to just contain paper, but it was n't his place to pry. 
 Georg walked past his own flat, and felt rather than saw the cameras following him. At every corner, one could reasonably expect someone's eyes to be on them -- not necessarily Big Brother's, but someone's. They'd know Georg's routines, which pubs he frequented, what groceries he bought, whether or not he was feeling sick that day by his gait and posture. Whoever was watching would know he was breaking routine, and might take notice. Or they might not. He walked this path at odd intervals, so no conclusions could be drawn from that act alone. Two streets later, he was ringing the front door to a two-story row house. 
 `` Georg, hi, how are you?'' the door opened to reveal a short red-haired woman in a pink sweater and jeans. Not the sort of thing you'd wear outside the home these days. 
 `` Afternoon, Lil,'' he said, smiling. 
 `` Wo n't you come inside? Carson phoned ahead to tell me to expect you,'' she opened the door wider to let him squeeze past. 
 `` Sure, thanks. I wo n't be long.'' 
 `` Coffee? Or tea? I've just put the pot on,'' she shut the door and walked briskly down the hall toward the kitchen. 
 `` Just coffee's fine, thanks,'' Georg called after her, shaking the water off his umbrella and removing his coat. He wandered into the living room and sat down on an old couch facing the front window, the curtains of which were drawn. Lil came in a minute later holding two steaming mugs. 
 `` Here you are, then,'' she said, handing him one. `` So, what's the big news?'' 
 `` Carson had asked me to give you something, actually,'' Georg said, retrieving the envelop from his briefcase. `` Did n't say what it was.'' 
 `` Well let's have it,'' she took it from him and opened it up to peek inside. She heaved a sigh. `` I see.'' 
 `` What is it?'' Georg asked, clasping his hands and leaning forward curiously. 
 `` I'd rather not say, but,'' Lil said, tossing the envelop to one side. `` It's really important. Thanks for bringing this by.'' 
 Later on, as she was taking his mug back to clean it out, Georg snuck a look into the mystery envelop. Inside was a slim hard drive and a few sheafs of paper. The topmost one bore the header: Eyes Only. He dropped it back on the couch before Lil returned. 
 `` I think I'm just going to go,'' he said. `` I've got some work to do at home.'' 
 `` Alright,'' Lil said, folding her arms and smiling at him. `` Thanks for stopping by.'' 
 The rain had not let up in the hour or so he'd been inside. Oxford Circus loomed up as ever through the fog, plain and featureless. Beyond were other Restored enclaves -- Green Park, Kensington, among others he could n't see. Hunched under the umbrella, Georg walked home, camera lenses following his footsteps, droplets of water cascading around his shoes in rippling circles.
