My life is a movie that people watch on a daily basis. My days are anything but simple. An escort of four black Cadillac Escalades arrives outside my penthouse at 220 Central Park South at approximately 8:05 AM to 9:25 AM every morning. They arrive sporadically because the fans crowded outside my building have an uncanny ability to detect when I am about to be moved. Once the first car arrives, I receive a notification on my EYE, my technologically superior communication piece, alerting me that my personal security has exited the transport. It takes them approximately 4 to 6 minutes to arrive at the penthouse, depending on the length of the daily brief, and they do not waste a single moment after that. I named these guards Cassidy, Rosen, Downey, and Fanto; I chose their names because they would be in severe danger should I know their real identities - anyone who gets close to me always dies.

As I wait for them, my stylist team, comprised of a woman from Jamaica who I call Bella and a man from the Czech who I call Roberto, work feverously to make me presentable. Every morning, I sit in a massive, leather-backed chair in front of a mammoth mirror with lights around it. It reminds me of the kind I see in an old-time Western movie, not that you should know what that is because the world has since been stripped of all popular forms of art. As Bella and Roberto comb my hair, pluck my eyebrows, and add a smidge of makeup to my cheeks, I scroll through my EYE to update myself on the morning news.

At this point, 4 to 6 minutes later, my security will have secured the lobby so that I do not have to interact with any of the screaming fans that will surely be pushing through the metal barriers. My team is required to wear matching Hugo Boss suits so they look professional. Hugo sponsored me when I was a young Spike and now the company owns a piece of me; I have to repay their investment by wearing their clothes. Every member also wears sunglasses with their suits because come on, how could they not? Take a minute, what people would ever take security seriously if they did not have some shades?

As my guards make their way to collect me from the penthouse, the adoring fans huddled against the metal barriers would start to shake them in anticipation. It happens every morning and although the sound can be heard from my room, I have become so accustomed to the procedure that I can tune it out. The apartment staff then make sure that my backdoor exit is cleared and my team takes this as their sign to collect me so they board the elevators and ascend towards the penthouse. The elevators take only thirty seconds and they always arrive at the same time; Fanto and Rosen in one, Downey and Cassidy in another. These four were assigned to me when I was first created for the Pit.

Rosen always comes in first, then Cassidy, followed by Fanto and Downey. They do this the same way every day because, with the life I live, the consistency of such a simple task comforts me. Fanto, Cassidy, and Downey are the most stoic people I ever met but Rosen, on the other hand, flashes me his artificially constructed smile. The Keepers created a new mouth for him for just $80,000 when he had been selected as one of my primary guards; he says that the money was worth it but I am not sure. Bella and Roberto hear the ding of the elevator and each morning they back off from whatever part of my body they had just been working on to admire their handy work. They always yell at each other because, in their minds, I will never perfect even though every other human being on the planet thinks I am.

"Mr. Cai it is time to go. The lobby has been cleared. The staff is awaiting our instructions. We pulled the vehicles around back by the boarding dock. Our drivers have assured me that the area has been completely blocked. We are now waiting for you. No hurry sir." Fanto says.

I push myself out of the plush leather chair and thank Bella and Roberto for their work while admiring myself in the mirror. Thirty seconds later, my vintage Louis Vuitton jacket, Armani aviator sunglasses, Tumi backpack, and a simple baseball hat are in my possession and I am leaving the safety of my home to enter the world of the dead. The elevator opens waiting to receive me and in I step. Fanto signals one of the other three guards to accompany me on my 53-floor descent and Bella and Roberto look towards me as the elevator doors closed. I know exactly what they think each morning, will I be back tonight to do this all over again or will this be my final time?

The descent takes fifteen seconds and I start my vocal exercises. Each letter of the alphabet in every language I know. If I only got through one language on an elevator ride down, I would practice a different one on the way up next time. Sivs value bilingual Spikes; my Image team reminds me of that every day. Fanto holds a mirror in front of me. I practice my smile because it’s how I make a living. Keepers ripped all my teeth out at ten years old but it is okay because I was on Parabenthol-601 at the time. Fanto places the mirror back in his jacket and my pseudo-emotions are officially prepped for the day. We reach the end of our descent and the ding signals to the lobby that I have arrived.

I am greeted by flashing cameras, waving hands while pens and paper are thrust in my face, wails of joy, and the rattling of the metal barricades. My camera crew waits in the same spot every day and are in the southwest corner of the lobby. The corners of buildings are one place where radio waves cannot permeate in today’s society so this is where they go so they can discuss the agenda for the day. What can I do today that will ‘Wow’ the world?

The lead a cameraman reaches for the button to broadcast my position to the world. These simple red lights mean money, fame, power, luxury, isolation, resilience, and Execution. I take my first step out of the golden elevators with my team of four trailing behind me. I re-watch the tapes of my entrance sometimes and it would not be unusual to see Rosen smirk as he walked behind me. Everyone loves Fame except for the people that have it.

I pass quickly through the waves of people and sign exactly twenty autographs and take four pictures. I wrap my arms around the shoulders of Sivs from across Country to make it seem like my gesture is authentic. After I am done with this useless crap, my security team escorts me to the boarding dock. I wave goodbye to all the Sivs who are being forcefully removed from their previous spots in the lobby. Then, I am greeted by one of my longest relationships and number one supporter; Molly has been in my life since my Entrance Day on April 19th and is a combination of my publicist, gatekeeper, promoter, and make-shift handler. Each day she waits there and smiles as the four to six additional guards surround me.

"Hello there beautiful, would you like to hear what I have planned for you today?"

I smile and give her the most seductive grin I can mimic. It took me almost four years to master the seductive look but now it is officially programmed into my vast array of replicated emotion.

*Eyes: Lower. Eyelids: Lower. Mouth Corners: Draw Upward. Right Eyebrow: Raise. Chin: Lower. Lips: Slight Pucker. Execute.*

One would think that this would become tiresome, and it does, but Molly blushes every day. I pick up the pace of my stride and she begins briefing me.

"It is about time. Bella and Roberto just spent the last hour asking me about what it was like to meet what’s-his-face yesterday and all I could tell them how boring it was to pretend to like him." I say.

It is rare in my life to have someone so devoted to my physical well-being and so entrenched in my non-televised life. Normally, Beings only see what you want them to see or what they are shown - we see from where we stand. The security guards continue to push me forward while Molly trotts next to the ring of protection around me, high-heels clicking, yelling the agenda for the day.

"Colman, we have your escort arriving at the tarmac in approximately 41 minutes. Obama Airport is under construction, as you know, after JFK Airport’s last little incident. In the next year, we should have this route worked down to about 31 minutes which will leave you a whole ten minutes to decompress before we will have to get the shot of you walking onto your jet. How exciting would that be?" She says.

"Great Molly," I yell back over the heads of the security team "Can we keep going with this, please?"

"After the 41-minute ride, you are going to pull into Terminal P because that is where we will get a great shot of your jet before you board it. Once you board the cameras will turn off. The new Regulations on televised flying is really screwing things up for me. I mean, come on, these Keepers know that people love to see the inside of your jet in real time. But because we must place a hold on the live recording, you are going to have to take and post four pictures between the time you taxi until the time you land…can you do this for me?"

"Anything for you Molly," I grumble.

"Perfect, okay, so once we land in London you are going to be greeted by Marist and Vassar, the Queen’s granddaughters, when we arrive at Buckingham Palace. You have met them before. They are still angry with you from when you set their grandmother’s hair on fire but I worked my magic and was assured they would be there to greet you so it does not hurt your Image. When you land, remember to make sure that your shirt is buttoned down at least three...." She says but that is my cue to tune out.

The minute clothing is mentioned, it signals the end of my personal responsibility because I have a team of people in charge of that already. My hair is gelled to the right side because my team of neuroscientists says that this is more of an accepted style in London. My eyebrows have been slimmed in the front and left bushy in the back for the same reason. There is a small injection of lip gel that keep my lips flat and smooth. I cannot look too overjoyed but also not too disengaged. I have a Henley on and two buttons are unbuttoned. Rule of thumb: one button down is "just chilling", two buttons down is "sexy-time", three buttons down is "clothes come off."

My pectorals are outlined just right in these shirts which is why they are my favorite. My Regulation size is a 38.5" chest with a half an inch fluctuation in either direction. My biceps look amazing, but that is not something I can be allowed to acknowledge. When the wind blows, you can be able to see the outline of my eight pack which are my pride and joy. I look to see the cars waiting as I pass through the doors to the loading dock...where is the car?

Up to this point, this would have been my perfect morning. However, this is where my dream day ends and where work begins. I have dozed off too long at this point, Molly is still moving her mouth but no noise is coming out and I tap my ears to bring them back to attention. My security team is scanning the perimeter but the camera crew is getting too close to my guards and my security team is getting anxious. I hear one of the crew members, I think it might be Austin, yell something from the back of the pack and Rosen turns to look. From somewhere in the back, a gold egg strikes Austin in the back of the head and immediately penetrates his skull burrowing deeper and deeper into his brain.

Alert. Weapon Detected.

He crumples, the camera falls, and everyone but my security team, scatters. The remaining videographers set up in various positions in the loading bay to capture my next moves: adrenaline surges, my heart starts pounding in my ears, my fingers are tingling and I have serious cotton-mouth. My EYE flashes red and I jump out of the way as another golden egg comes screaming my way. Now, my security guards finally scatter because it is time for the master to handle this situation. I scan the open area of floor standing between me and my exit.

Area Cleared. One Execution. Lookup(golden, eggs, brain, death, airborne, catapult). Execute.

My EYE computes this information and within .02 milliseconds my results return as a positive match for a biological weapon nicknamed "Screaming Chicken." Two more eggs come streaming my way, my EYE goes dark but I have a clear field of vision. Then, two men in grey suits come streaking across the lobby towards me. My EYE flashes:

*Assesment. Options. Strategy (men, grey, two, two-hundred pounds, biological weapon).

My brain stem starts tingling because this is exactly why I was engineered. I do not need to look at the results from my EYE – I know what to do. I see a brief glimpse of the "Options" and "Recommendations" tabs before the EYE once again goes blank. I swing my athletic 6’2", 170-pound frame up and over the bay doors and plaster myself against the ceiling waiting for the two meatheads to try their luck. I spring only when they are directly under me.

The Keepers tell me that my agility and grace compliment my speed and strength in "a universally magical way." I perch over the men for two seconds before drop. As I freefall from the underside of the ceiling, I enjoy the moment, not because I genuinely enjoy this process but because this is what I was conditioned to do. Life moves in slow motion. The infrared beams of hotel security cameras frantically scan the entire area, no doubt with Molly behind the production of this frenzy, searching to film this Encounter. With my sunglasses free, I quickly bite off the tip and plunge the sharp blade underneath into the first man’s neck. He crumbles as he awkwardly reaches behind him to grasp the makeshift blade.

The second man turns around and snarls at me and I notice his teeth. I honestly have no clue what my fascination with teeth is. He has two canines on either side of his front teeth, which is weird because normally canines are displaced by at least another two teeth. He glances at his partner and yanks something from his jacket. I snatch my hat off my head and pull the store of white powder from it, blowing it in his face. The second man starts screaming and before I know it, both are on the floor laying open-eyed with blood dripping from the corners of their mouths.

I gather myself and make sure I grab my Armani shades out of the man’s neck and baseball hat off the floor. The hotel cameras are fixed directly on me and the scene around me. I relax and see my security team smiling at me while my videographers emerge from their poorly-lit hiding places. I place my hat on my head, my sunglasses on my face, then take my mirror out of my backpack. I adjust the collar of my jacket and wipe the spit and blood off my face. Molly comes prancing back out a moment later screaming.

"Colman! It is not even 9 AM and our team already has something to broadcast! Okay, someone please move these bodies and take care of that poor cameraman. We will make sure to alert his family right away. Wait! Get a good shot of their faces and the blood. Zoom in right on the puncture mark in his neck…yes, very good. Get a close up on the boils on the second one’s face. Great! Let’s board the cars everybody." She claps.

My security team’s smiles have vanished as they retake their positions looking for unwarranted and unplanned Siv interaction. The camera crew rejoins me and the reporters selected to be in the docket for the day start the round of questions that traditionally happens after every Encounter.

“Colman! How did you see that coming? How did you decide what maneuvers to do? What did you have for breakfast? Who are you wearing? Did the designers make the sunglass shank especially for you or did you make it yourself? Do you know how much money you have made this morning?"

Molly has started discussing the agenda again, my security team is holding open the doors to my Escalade, and the camera crew is filing into the remaining three. My EYE is blinking yellow with new messages from Producers and Keepers who now want to endorse me. I board the truck and look outside the tinted window as we drive away from the oncoming ambulance noise.

My name is Colman Cai. I am Famous. I hate being Famous. I hate the people who made me Famous. I hate the people who keep me Famous. I am Famous because I was born to die but I keep on smiling.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2