The Mechanics of Us

The Surgeon

Chapter 36

Woman's voice, very melancholic: "Nine "blades

Different woman's voice, chirpy: "Nine? That seems way too thick. Go with a seven"

-"No, nine should be good. Thick scar tissue."

-"If you insist."

What-what is happening? I can't speak; something is holding my lips together. I can't see either; my eyes are open, I know they are because I can feel my eyelids closing and opening but everything it pitches black. I jerk my hands and feet but they are strapped down with metal restraints. What's going on? My vocal chords are vibrating but no sound is being emitted from my mouth. I'm not asleep; I am certainly conscious.

I hear the buzz of a shaver followed by a chilling breeze blow across the top of my head. Then the tip of a razor glides across my skin with no hesitation, and excruciating pain follows. I arch my back, my flight senses kicking in, and adrenaline begins to fuel my body.

"Hold them down!" a man demands, and forceful hands press on my arms and legs down against the metal table. I struggle against their grip on me, I try to fight those who I can not see. I can hear them peeling back the skin flap on my scalp, it's sticky sounding, and then I hear a drill go off. Another intense wave of agonizing pain rushes through me as the gritty metal scrapes away at my skull.

I want to pass out from the pain. If a person reaches a certain pain threshold, they pass out; I want to lose consciousness. I want to die. The drilling stops abruptly. I take in strained breaths, the pain almost numbing.

"Cable," the woman directs.

Suddenly a glimpse of my memory flickers in my line of vision. It's blurry at first, but then it becomes crystal clear. It's the memory I had at the beach with my family, but I look different. For the first time since the accident decades ago, I recognize myself. I recognize my family; I remember the moment so perfectly now. My parents brought me there for my birthday, it was happy... It brought me joy.

"Start downloading the memory files," the man orders.

Clips of my memories play before me. I see me going through grade school, my friends, my extended family. Then I see me in middle school, the bullies, the ridicule, my father and mother starting to fight. It was followed by high school, me studying alone, others studying alone, everyone separating themselves from one another. College is next, med school, then my job, all of those years drifting past my line of vision in milliseconds.

A man's guttural voice breaks the stream of memories-"Okay, start to slow down here."

As the memories form at a steadier pace, I realize what they are trying to do, what they have been doing. When I hit my head and damaged my brain and skull so long ago, they implemented cameras and malware into my brain and connected them to my optic nerves. They blocked memories from my consciousness, twisted how I saw myself to cover up the fact they changed how I looked to others. They changed my hair color, my eye color, my nose, every distinct feature I was born with. They changed. It is for this reason that the family never recognized me. Why I was so quickly trusted as a stranger. I never really was me, not even my memories.

Visions of Bete's begin to come up. The moment she came in on the gurney, how her blood pooled out of her like a steady stream, how her bones and limbs were bruised, broken, and dislocated.

Oh no. No. They can't know more about her. They can't see know name, her emotions she has shown me, her unique features. No!

Think. Think. How does a computer die? What causes it? The memories still progress; I watch as she gets older before my eyes. I need this to end. I need to protect her. Think. It dawns on me, and with whatever energy I have left, I start thinking about every moment I was hurt. I project those moments into my stream of consciousness, and soon the memories flicker and become distorted. Sparks of magenta, cyan, black, white, and yellow pixels begin to intrude and blur the images. I force myself to think harder about the moments that shook me to my core, that dug so deep I wish I would cease to exist.

"Doctor, they're resisting. The system can't handle this-" the woman with the chirpy voice warns.

"Keep going!" the man demands.

Surges of electricity hit me, and I jolt in response, but I keep my focus on what needs to be done. I think about the moment when Betes told me I hurt her. How devastated I was. How much sorrow filled me. I see the moment flash in front of me, just for a millisecond. I see her tears, her clenched fists, her fragile frame, and the pain she held in her eyes. Then, everything goes pitch black.

"Systems down!" someone yells.

I'm still conscious...

"Did the files save?!" distance voice.

I'm... still... here...

"Nothing saved! Everything is down ...." someone is talking.

The voices become distant; the pain no longer exists, I am still...