The response came quickly though not in the manner Devon had anticipated. There was no suppression. No riot squads dispersing crowds. Europol's Metaphysical Threat Division received orders to withdraw. Pamela Pauline seethed in a room her claims regarding "social weapons" and "gateways" greeted with calm bureaucratic indifference, from higher-ups.
"They aren't lawbreakers " a senior ministry liaison told her via holo-call his voice tinged with reprimand. "They represent a symptom. A market dynamic. The Consensus evolves."
One week following Rotterdam, the Ministry of Vital Engagement initiated its response operation: Project Palliative.
A press conference. Bright, hopeful music. A charismatic Minister standing before renders of serene, green spaces.
"The public's wish, for… pauses is clear " declared the Minister, her grin broad and sincere. "Aimless inactivity poses a danger to society. Yet controlled calmness? That serves as a health aid. Hence we are excited to launch Stillness Zones."
Holoscreens, throughout the Benelux illuminated with images. Elegant minimalist gardens. Wooden platforms set in grids atop raked gravel. Every platform measured two meters by two meters divided by clear sound-absorbing barriers. Above each a ambient glow radiated—green indicating availability, amber signaling time nearing end, red marking session conclusion.
"Individuals may schedule a twenty-five minute 'Contemplation Session' through their public wellness account " the Minister clarified. "Biometric surveillance guarantees safety. Heart rate, concentration and neural activity baselines are subtly monitored. This important information adds to your personal Wellness Ledger demonstrating a dedication to overall cognitive well-being! It's a method to release dormant apathy within a safe constructive setting."
Devon observed the transmission from his flat a chill tightening in his gut. They had succeeded. They had transformed the pain the rebellious emptiness of that orb, into a commodity. A planned, measured calculated commodity. The art of giving in had been removed, cleansed and marketed again as wellness.
The initial Zone commenced in a transformed plaza in Antwerp. Devon attended, not in the role of an analyst. Simply as a member of the public. The queue was extensive well-organized. Individuals swiped their wrists at a terminal obtained a platform number, along, with noise-cancelling earbuds emitting a algorithmically-created sound "to aid meditative concentration." They appeared enthusiastic. Comforted. This signified approval. This represented safety.
He observed a woman ascend onto her platform. She sat down with her legs crossed. Her partition illuminated softly obscuring the environment. Her light shone green. For twenty-five minutes she remained motionless. She resembled a silent statue within an elegant enclosure. When a gentle chime rang and her light shifted to red she rose, blinked checked her wrist more to record the session and returned into the lively city appearing somewhat rejuvenated. As though she had consumed a lawful medicine.
It was monstrous. It was genius.
His subsequent meeting with Flavio Fergal did not take place in a bookstore. Rather, in the rear chamber of a failing print shop the atmosphere filled with scents of ozone and aged paper. The serene philosopher had vanished. Instead there stood a man radiating a concentrated determination.
"You understand?" Flavio stated, not inquiring. He indicated a monitor displaying a live view of the Antwerp Zone. "They are chemists. They transform a longing, for the infinite into a twenty-five milligram dose. Sufficient to dull the pain. Never enough to heal the illness. Designed to make you forget the illness even exists."
"It's calming you down " Devon remarked. He avoided saying 'us.' At least, for now. "You're no longer saboteurs. You're now a focus group. Your manifesto has been turned into a commodity."
Flavio's grin was narrow keen. "Have they?. Have they revealed to us the real adversary? It's not action. It's domination. They need to dominate our inactivity. They must possess our silence. This " he pointed a finger at the display "represents the despotism of focus at its most distilled state. It will not cease until every internal look is overseen every personal breath is commercialized."
He faced Devon, his gaze alight, with a flame. "Rotterdam was an ignition. Now… this is the system unveiling its nature. It demonstrates our argument more persuasively than we ever might. There isn't a gap they won't occupy. No quiet they won't analyze for information. The conflict isn't finished, Analyst Duncan. It has just shifted to an arena: the depths of the human mind."
Flavio pulled out a data-chip from a drawer. "Kane's findings. The authentic research. Not the initial philosophical discussion,. The metaphysical calculus he discovered. He termed it 'Lethargic Integration.' The Sanctioned Zones are merely a mockery. This… is the blueprint, for the article."
Devon refused to accept it. The analyst, within him yelled that this was a setup proof, the conclusion of his profession. The empty man who had longed for the sphere stretched out. His fingers wrapped around the plastic.
"Why me?"
"Because you exist between realms " Flavio remarked. "You uphold the agreement. You are repulsed by it. That conflict is a tool. It can be calibrated to reveal truth. Locate Javier Jeffrey. An Oxford don. He is the living person who could comprehend the math underlying Kane's symbols. He remains concealed aware that grasping this truth makes him a marked man."
"A target for who?"
"For the system.. For those, among us who have progressed past mere appearances." For the time Flavio's serenity faltered, exposing a hint of fanaticism beneath. "Several of my… colleagues see co-option as an act of aggression. They push for a stillness. I must determine if Kane's course results in peace or disaster. Locate Jeffrey. Discover what this calculus achieves."
Devon slipped the chip into his pocket. It seemed weightier, than a firearm.
Departing the print-works the city appeared altered. Each Sanctioned Stillness Zone emblem every cheerful ad promoting "Responsible Contemplation " imprinted itself on his mind like a brand. The system wasn't opposing the Aesthetes; it was assimilating them. Transforming defiance into an approved resource.
He went back, to his Europol workstation. Pamela stood there arms folded. Her gaze fixed on him noticing the fatigue he could no longer completely conceal.
"You've seemed Duncan. Your interaction numbers are barely acceptable. Maybe " she remarked, her tone gentle "you ought to schedule a Sanctioned Session. I've been told they're… effective." It was a trial. A proposal. An ultimatum.
He locked eyes with her the data-chip hidden with a heat pressed against his thigh. "Perhaps I will Supervisor. It appears to be the course of action."
He sat at his terminal, the official world glowing before him. Behind his eyes, in the new, quiet space he was cultivating, he was already somewhere else. He was searching for a hidden Oxford don, and beginning to decipher a calculus that promised an end to all demands. The Ministry had built a cage for stillness. Flavio had handed him a key. He did not yet know what lock it opened, only that he had never wanted anything more in his life.