[ WP ] You live in a world where age is counted as how many years of life you have left

Janet picked her son up from his crib, heart pounding uncontrollably. She gingerly touched her marked wrist, a plain looking gray 66 hooked directly to her biometrics. Caleb would be waiting for her downstairs, ready as he could be for the appointment. His was a sleek black 62, inked onto the inside of his left bicep, hidden away from the world; fortunate for him to be born after the tracking process had been refined. 
 
 The car was already pre-programmed, breakfast quickly fried up from the freshly printed ingredients. Caleb scooped the sausages and eggs into their antique porcelain bowls, careful to maintain a perfect and separate ratio, and they were off. Two hundred miles to the clinic. 
 
 “ Janet, sweetheart, don ’ t fret. Little Emmanuel will be fine. They account for curable diseases now, you know, I read it just yesterday. No more false threes, no more terrified parents watching the counter tick to zero. ” 
 
 Caleb smiled brightly, directing what support he could to his wife. Her gaze was fixed on the rolling scenery, the rising disc of the sun capping the mountains and draping the green hills in their autumnal coat. It would be a splendid day, all brightness and warmth. Janet felt in her core that it couldn ’ t be. 
 
 “ I mean, you were a 97 yourself! And me, 90 is a respectable age these days, though maybe a little younger than it used to be. ” 
 
 Janet patted her sleeping son on his head, petting his blond hair. Each stroke calmed her momentarily, and then she recalled the terror of the process. 
 
 “ Caleb, they ’ ll still draw blood, still perforate his skin to insert this bioelectric ink. A mandated process. Mandated by law, Caleb, and why? I ’ d rather not know when anyone will die. Grandmamma still remembers way back, she never needed to get her marker. It was a freer time, no judgment of the short lived. ” 
 
 Caleb gently touched the back of his hand to Emmanuel ’ s cheek. “ Let ’ s not rehash this argument Jannie. It just is. It won ’ t change now, and there ’ s still that element of unpredictability. Chemicals aren ’ t precognizant, you know. ” 
 
 “ I know that Caleb. ” Janet bit off her snappish reply and turned back out the window. 
 
 Caleb muttered a few more platitudes before abandoning any attempt to soothe his wife. She would be inconsolable until it was all over, until their son was formally a legal citizen. It was wrapped up all in one handy tattoo, indeed it was, all that personal information you could ever need. Scanned, at the press of a button, at any UNE governmental facility. Nice and easy. Nice and simple. 
 
 They arrived two hours later, their designated spot right at the front of the facility, kept open for their appointment. There were few other autocars in the lot, most of older make. As far as Caleb could make out, converted models. Cheaper government vehicles, dented and handed down with the job but reliable enough. Janet was sobbing when Caleb gently laid a hand on her arm. 
 
 “ Cal, Cal! Cal, I don ’ t know if I can go through with this. Just look there, look at how empty it all is. I always try to forget that most people aren ’ t this lucky, that they don ’ t, ” Janet choked on her words, descending into helpless racking sobs. 
 
 “ Jannie, my love, there ’ s nothing for it. You know the reasons, it ’ s the only way we can live as comfortably as we do. A good life requires compromises. ” 
 
 Janet swung her head violently side to side. She would be trying to rattle the memories into hiding, of the somber faces at the town hall. The losers last year, the unlucky couples left forlorn with waiting houses and empty rooms. 
 
 Without another word Janet left the car. Caleb rushed to steady her and guided her to the door, Emmanuel still happily sleeping in his mother ’ s arms. The doors slid open before them, and the coldness of the interior reminded them immediately that this was no normal clinic. Only one entity could afford such an energy luxury, to keep an entire building cool in the sweltering summer. 
 
 “ Ah, welcome! ” 
 
 A bright blond woman greeted the couple as they stumbled through the door. Her glistening smile brought them into a warmly furnished waiting room, real wooden furniture on a dark marble floor. Luscious landscapes and presidential portraits covered the walls, intent on reminding visitors of the splendor of their benefactors. As the couple inched forward, Janet leaning heavily on her husband, Caleb could begin to make out the stiff UNE uniform, molded to fit in a dark green-black. A viperous color, as Janet would say. 
 
 “ You ’ re the Brandts, yes? Here for your ten o ’ clock? ” 
 
 Janet remained mute. Caleb breathed deep enough for the two of them and nodded. 
 
 “ Yes, we ’ re ready. My wife is a bit squeamish about the process, so she may choose to wait outside the room. ” 
 
 The receptionist nodded vigorously, never wavering in her gleaming grin. 
 
 “ Of course! It ’ s a simple operation, but that is no problem at all! Here, come right this way and Dr. Morgan will be with you in just a moment. ” 
 
 She shuffled the couple into a bright and sterile examination room. A few metal chairs were the only unbolted furniture, with an operating table in the center and an ominous machine hanging from the ceiling. Caleb always though it to look like some sort of crustacean, but Janet disagreed. It was a spider, fangs at the ready. 
 
 The doctor came in just as the family took seats. He shook hands vigorously, introducing himself with all the warmth available to the human voice, and soothed the distraught mother as best he could. Janet remained resolute, against the ushering of her husband, to stay for the procedure. 
 
 It was over quicker than either remembered for their own. One prick for blood, gentle whirring in the ominous contraption, and a quick stamp where the mother indicated, on the child ’ s right shoulder. Quick enough to avoid the wails of distress and pain Janet had been expecting, that she remembered from her own imprinting. It would take a few hours to set, the doctor said. Something they could never figure a way to improve on, oddly enough. 
 
 Son in the car, feelings soothed, the family started back home. Caleb took his son from Janet and played with him on his lap, as Janet gazed again out into the blurred scenery. 
 
 “ Janet, it ’ s all over now, nothing to be worried about. Look, he ’ s got two numbers even! A good sign, I ’ d say. ” 
 
 Janet remained silent. The disquiet at her core remained, her distress held in check by a thread of will. They were nearly home when Janet looked to her husband and found him pale as the hospital tiling. 
 
 “ Caleb, what ’ s the matter? ” 
 
 She knew before she looked. She grabbed their son, roughly for the first time in her life, and brought his shoulder right up to her eye. His tattoo burned brightly, red ragged edges from its freshness, but all too solid in its soulless black digits. Her son was 07 years old, and they would never get another. 
 
 *Got a little into some light SF, but the prompt calls out for it! *
