All in a Unique Identifier

Zak hated his name. It was way too much like something out of those old fashioned SiFi movies they showed on channel 27, and Zak hated all those movies. But there it was, he was stuck with it, assigned to him by the Grand Council at birth and with little hope of it ever changing. Zak could tolerate his Unique Identifier, also assigned by the Grand Council, and it had even less possibility of ever changing. He preferred to use this later moniker whenever possible.

The medical dome was awkward to get to. When you finally arrived at the outskirts of the mega-metropolis the shuttle was quick enough; albeit annoyingly infrequent. Why did they not place this medical dome with the others near the centre of the mega-metropolis. On his few previous visits Zak felt like complaining to the Grand Council but he'd never gotten round to it; his complaint would have been ignored anyway. Once off the shuttle it was a couple of minutes brisk walk to the medical dome. Zak's slender fame and long skinny legs made quick work of the journey. He glided up to the dome's entrance block and smiled, with his thin face and thin lips, at the lone super smart check-in girl. Previously he'd had to queue but the rest of today's batch must already be in place.

Style

Money cannot buy good taste,
Neither style, elegance nor finesse.

Just look at the gory sick buckets many millionaires reside in;
Everything gold plated, pristine and so expensive,
It all looking as if it was recently delivered from the pound shop.