CHAPTER ELEVEN #3
I frowned but kept my mouth closed. I was familiar with microaggressions – the deliberate ones and the ignorant ones – but I couldn’t quite place this.
I’d never mentioned my financial situation to anyone, and it hadn’t been a question or field on the application.
Dr Orion could’ve made the assumption and passed it on.
She’d seen my relief when Cas offered his biosig for the insurance bills, the way my eyes bulged when I saw my monthly payment amount.
Still, I didn’t like the assumption.
‘This will sting a little. Well, you probably won’t feel a thing.
I’ll just use a small dab of numbing cream.
’ He took my left hand, his touch icier than the cold room, and disinfected my inner wrist with a swab.
I bit my lip and looked away. He lied. I felt every ounce of pressure as the scalpel made its cut.
I tried not to think too hard about it. I didn’t understand how this pain tolerance thing worked.
I cried over paper cuts, yet here I was. I’d passed my screening.
‘Good, good.’ He taped a wad of gauze over where he’d inserted a small chip.
‘As I’m sure you read in the paperwork, this chip isn’t to be removed.
Because of the delicate nature of the solradiance technology, doing so can result in extreme harm to yourself.
Forcefully separating the disease from the Carrier will result in death.
Itching is to be expected during the first few days.
If there’s any redness or swelling at the insertion site, make an appointment at your nearest Freedom System lab. ’
‘Got it.’ The idea of cutting out my own chip was enough to make me nauseous, let alone the lethal aspect. Nothing could itch that bad.
‘You can follow me now.’
He held open the door, and I hurried through before it slammed shut behind us. In the next room, the blue glow was gone. Red lights lined the floor. In the center, black tape marked out two words: STAND HERE.
I swallowed, then cleared my throat. ‘Stand here?’ It felt like a dumb question.
‘Please.’ Dr Janus gestured toward the space before walking through another blacked-out door.
The lights came on, and I could see that I was standing alone in the middle of a dark glass box.
Hairs rose on the back of my neck. I felt like an experiment on display.
Dr Janus sat behind a panel filled with blinking lights.
My face and stats flashed on one holoscreen, and I watched – and felt – as my heart rate increased.
I glanced at my wrist. Was the chip monitoring my vitals?
My palms grew slick with sweat. He pressed three buttons and turned a dial.
Regret lingered at the edge of my thoughts. I really should’ve tried to call Estelle again, texted her, something. She could’ve walked me through this. Then I wouldn’t be freaking out. My breaths grew shallow as anxiety took hold.
Dr Janus tapped something at his ear. ‘The Pain Carrier is ready, Dr Orion.’
I turned around, but there was no one else in the room. He must’ve been wearing an earpiece. But why did he need to speak to an ER doctor from Bay General? Her part was done.
I looked at my wrist again. I didn’t feel any pain – until light crackled at my fingers.
I yelped. It was soft at first, a gentle caress.
Then it began to build. I shifted, wondering what was wrong.
I assumed I wasn’t going to feel anything.
I hadn’t felt the test tonic, the extra needle pricks during my exam.
But now, heavy pressure crushed my hand, growing in intensity.
I gritted my teeth as panic took root. Maybe it would ease?
Could they have made a mistake about my tolerance levels? This wasn’t supposed to hurt.
The sensation moved up my arm and I cried out just as it stopped, followed by a small flicker. I sucked in a small breath. Maybe that was it. I prayed that was it. Another holoscreen lit up with a progress bar.
One per cent.
That was only a taste.
My gut twisted. It was already too much. I couldn’t do this. I banged against the glass. ‘Please stop. I changed my mind. Turn it off.’
Dr Janus didn’t look up.
Lights flashed on the holoscreen, the glare illuminating a sign on the far wall.
All Carrier rooms are soundproof as required by Federal Law.
I pounded harder on the glass, waving my arms. ‘Hey!’
He pressed another button on the panel. ‘Stay still, please.’ His voice squeaked through the speakers. ‘The transfer will only take a minute.’
Another voice replaced his, but artificial. The Centaurus AI. ‘Remain calm. Your pain is society’s gain. We reach new heights with your selfless sacrifice.’ The recording repeated, cycling through the same lines from the posters in the waiting room.
Lights continued to flicker across the panel, and a low hum rose from the floor beneath my feet.
It crescendoed, my heart ramming against my ribcage, drowning out the speakers.
I turned in place, unable to find the door as I covered my ears.
Then the sound dropped and blue light burned into my eyes, flooding every crevice of the room.
I screamed. Not from the brightness, but from its searing touch clawing into my skin. It was everywhere, electric pain vibrating through my bones. What had I signed up for? How could anyone –
Jolts of pain cut off my thoughts as quickly as they formed. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. My mind whorled, memories flashing: the protestors and their signs.
IMMUNE TO BULLSHIT. LIES ARE CONTAGIOUS.
This couldn’t be real. No one could live with this pain. It burned into every nerve ending, literal fire racing through me. I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t process. What was hap –
I screamed again.
And again.
And again.
Until I couldn’t feel a thing.
‘Remain calm. Your pain is society’s gain. Transfer complete. Thank you for trusting and taking part in our Freedom System.’