CATALOGS

Mr. X was a very happy man. He lived at the end of the 21st century, in a world of advanced computing and space inventions. It

was then that humanity was creating a "global village" in the literal sense of the word, because in those days, no one left their own apartment, went shopping in the city, or went for walks with their dog or friends. These were the times of the meganet. Everything was handled locally, via computers connected to the "light network." Shopping, finances, entertainment, and even socializing took place via a technologically advanced network.

The man of the late 21st century was a very isolated individual, completely dependent on electronics. Large families lived in hundred-story buildings with their own shops, entertainment centers, and nature parks.

Mr. X was an important figure, but unknown to ordinary people because he had no public presence. He worked for a computer company, was responsible for numerous matters concerning public safety, and was an expert in all kinds of electronic and lighting devices. In short, he was the foundation of security.

He had a deep love for technology. Moreover, whenever anyone tried to defend ancient traditions, or even the simple life of people at the end of the 20th century, they encountered powerful arguments from Mr. X. He was even called a simpleton and an idiot, which is why few people argued with him. Everyone preferred to avoid the proponent of technological marvels.

But one day, his life changed dramatically. It all began with a minor error in the photon computer at the city's strategic command center. Something happened in the SEWA-1234FG catalog, titled "X-121098ERS." It could have been just a miscalculation by the supermachine, though many claimed it was impossible. Or a small computer virus overlooked by the IT staff. In any case, in a matter of seconds, Mr. X's wonderful life turned into Hell.

Late one evening, Mr. X was returning from his job (located several floors above his house), pulled out his titanium-magnetic card, and inserted it into the CCD reader. But instead of a quiet computer beep, all he heard was the alarm from the door security system.

"What the hell," X said, and inserted his card again.

"CARD INVALID, TRY AGAIN?" the LCD reader read, and the locking alarm began to blare louder and louder. Mr. X angrily shoved his card into the device with all his might.

"BURGLARY ATTEMPT, AUTOMATIC DOOR SECURITY. WAIT UNTIL THE POLICE ARRIVE.

" "What's that supposed to mean?" the man shouted, hoping someone would hear him, but all the occupants were busy with their own affairs. He quickly pulled out his suitcase and punched in the opening code. But the message "ACCESS CODE INVALID" appeared on the suitcase's panel.

Panic gripped the man. For the first time in his peaceful life, something very bad was happening. He knew he had to wait for the police. He tried to reassure himself that it was just some stupid prank by his colleagues, or some hacker's prank. But he decided not to wait for the guards. Lost nerves, a flood of unnecessary questions... he'd start with his own work; maybe he'd find a solution there.

He rode the elevator up and pulled out his employee card. He calmly passed the photocell.

The doors automatically secured themselves, and pulse cannons sprang from the walls. X moved quickly past the laser fire and found himself back at the elevator.

He felt his heart practically leap into his throat. Someone was trying to kill him! He was dizzy, and he felt sweat trickling down his face. Downstairs, he heard the building's security guards standing at the door of his building. He rode the elevator down.

"Gentlemen, help! I can't get into my house!" My suitcase won't open...

One of the security guards pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Mr. X.

"In the name of the Imperial Government, don't move!" he shouted, then knocked Mr. X to the ground and pressed the gun to his head.

"Gentlemen, dear people, I live here!" the man stammered, "take my card and see for yourselves..." but then he remembered that his card had been left in the reader. "All is lost," he thought.

The security guards searched him thoroughly, but found no card. Now they had no doubt that Mr. X was a criminal.

"What were you trying to steal from this house, huh? We have thousands of sly guys like you in the city. Who do you work for? Where are your friends? Speak up, you scum! "

He felt the security guard's fist knock out his teeth. He began to spit blood.

"My ID card... in the suitcase... open it..." he muttered through his last teeth, but felt another blow, this time in the stomach. The security guard who had hit him now turned red.

"What, did we steal the suitcase too? It's impossible for the access code not to work. Who did you get it from? How much did you get for the job?

" Questions, questions, questions... Mr. X knew he had to do something. After a moment, he gathered all his strength, kicked the security guard opposite him, elbowed the man holding him from behind, and sprinted down the stairs.

He ran through the city without looking back. He passed planes and cruisers flying overhead, oblivious to the danger. He slowed down slightly to avoid arousing suspicion when faced with cameras monitoring the streets. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He walked briskly to the machine and placed his thumb on the ATM reader.

"ACCESS DENIED. CODE UNKNOWN?" ​​appeared on the display, and Mr. X felt a wave of terror wash over him.

Somewhere on the outskirts of New York, in a subway station, a figure lay on the ground amidst garbage and the stench of human excrement. She held a plastic object resembling a smart card. Her gaze remained fixed on the gadget. Poor, neglected people living on the fringes of society, far from the super-high-rises, passed by a homeless man. Tired of life, constantly in a hurry, they didn't even have time to glance at the stray. Only two very old, neglected women stopped to look at the man.

"Oh, so young, and how he's wasted his life already..."

The second woman said, as if to herself,

"You're right. People like that don't even want to work. They'd rather lie on the ground and starve. Instead of living in hundred-story skyscrapers, they'd rather beg."

Mr. X tried to get up and ask for help, but only a barely understandable gibberish escaped his lips, and his muscles gave out. He closed his eyes and began to contemplate the wonders of technology.

A computer scientist, browsing through the city's registered user directories late one evening, came across a problem in the command center's photon computer. One of the directories was highlighted in red, and a message flashed on the side: "UNKNOWN ERROR, UNIT DOES NOT EXIST."

"Oh, these damn viruses, screw him no matter who he was," he said to himself, then highlighted the directory and pressed "DELETE."