The Wrong Path

Progress Report 32: Subject #39872

Not much further can be said about the subject since the last report. They are still showing signs of hostility and frustration towards further treatment and are thus unwilling to continue. Should the subject not show considerable effort in the next session, termination will be strongly considered.

I lift my eyes slowly from the screen, not entirely surprised by what I’ve just read. I’ve been working with this patient for months and there is little to show for it. Countless sessions working through skill re-development, physiotherapy, neuroimage study, emotional training, life-cycle presentation - all gone to waste. The only indication that the patient is not the same one that was rolled into the facility on the first day is the fact that they are awake and angry. Always angry.

They should be arriving soon for what is likely their last treatment, and more than likely their last day. I have exhausted all resources to bring the patient back but I suppose they’re just another dud.

I move the screen’s display from the tablet to be next to the computer holo above my desk, allowing for a side-by-side comparison of the patient’s records - Before vs After. A well-established and respected archivist, the patient was a lively 60-something-year-old with a thriving social life, extensive property portfolio and impressive pseudo-art collection. Other than an estranged nephew, no living family.

Now, the patient has turned from asset to liability. Following the events that brought them in, the facility has used the majority of the monthly budget on attempting to reprogram this patient, showing how much pressure we’ve been under to bring them back. Their time here has been nothing short of chaotic - violent mood swings, refusing medication and even makeshift weapons. The fact that termination is on the cards makes sense but also shows that truly everyone can be replaced, even those deemed most crucial to society.

The light above the door turns green, indicating that the time has arrived. I take a deep breath. I can do this, just like I have countless times before. Return the patient to their After version and call it a day.

Transferring the data back to the tablet, I stand up and proceed to enter the passcode to allow the patient in.

They’re standing there appearing as I’d expected - arms crossed, clothing baggy and dishevelled, a gaze to pierce your soul set in place. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but the air surrounding them feels different, almost knowing of something I have yet to uncover myself.

“Good afternoon, Subject #39872. How are —“

“Cut the shit, Doc. Let’s just get this over with.”

The patient takes long and hurried strides towards the sofa, setting themselves down as if resigning to their fate. Sitting across, I can see they’ve been crying - perhaps out of frustration rather than sadness that they couldn’t do more. 

“So, how have you been since our last session?”

“The same. Nothing to add. As you were.”

They stand up and head straight for the door again. I jump up quickly and block their path, trying my best to be convincing that they should stop when, in reality, I couldn’t care less if they left right now. But I have a job to do.

“Please, sit. You’re well aware that this is your final opportunity. Why not make the most of it? Things may just swing your way.”

They scoff, roll their eyes and set their hard eyes on me again.

“Now you know that’s a load of bullshit right there, Doc. At least be honest enough to say that the end of the road is near.”

“No, truly, if you show some improvement today then all that can be avoided.”

They squint their eyes at me, take a deep breath and make their way back to the sofa. After taking a moment of my own to recenter, I do the same.

“Shall we just skip the pleasantries and pick up right where we left off?” I pull the tablet out and stretch the display onto the wall between us. There they are, pictured smiling and holding their most recently coveted award at City Hall, marking what should be a significant memory placeholder.

“What do you think of this?”

“An award ceremony.” Clipped, quick, no emotional response. Noted.

“Okay. What about this one?” Another photograph from a prestigious exhibition they attended.

“Art stuff.“ Again, no results.

Before continuing, I decide I should probably focus a bit more on how they’re currently feeling. See if I can get them to be more at ease.

“I see you’re tense, as usual. I’ve never asked before, but I suppose it would be apt to do so today. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the hostility? Why do you feel no willingness at all to make an effort and unpack the work? Most patients usually do.”

They look at me then, slightly confused. That’s a first. I’ll take it.

“Doc, you can’t be serious?”, they say, leaning forward almost pleadingly.

“I…don’t follow?”

“You know this is all just make-believe. You know it. All of you want me to remember, right? To retrieve my memories from before the stroke? But I don’t care. Don’t you see that? Because I know what’s going on here. There’s nothing to remember. Nothing real, nothing tangible. Just a whole lot of unicorns and fairytales - the stuff of bullshit.”

They spit at me, missing completely but still succeeding at intimidation. While there are signs of a problem propping up, the programming hasn’t provided a warning as yet. All is still on track. I can still retrieve the After.

“Alright. Let’s try something else.”

Annoyed now, I start to scroll through the thousands of photographs taken of the patient to see if there are other moments of potential importance that could help. The fact that they’ve been here for this long and still aren’t able to recognise themselves in the photographs is troubling. This should’ve been rectified by the third session. I may need to dive into some unchartered territory.

“How about this?”

Rolling their eyes, they turn back to the screen with the same uninterested look they’ve had in every session. They give the photograph a once-over, analysing the few details it presents. It shows the patient outside a famous laboratory. They’re leaning against a hoverbike, with a tablet in one hand and rucksack in the other. The breeze has swept their hair up a bit and you can see the pure joy in their young eyes - something that’s been hard to come by in most of the images we’ve already been through. The day is bright and sunny.

“I guess I enjoyed reading in the park after my days interning at the Smithsonian? So what?” 

My heart stops. What did they just say? A park? The Smithsonian? No, it can’t be. Those don’t exist anymore.

I look back down at the tablet and search for the information attached to the photograph. The record accounts for the details I see when looking at the image - the hoverbike, the tablet, the laboratory. But the patient is seeing something different, which could only mean one thing. I’d just shown the patient the original image. But how?

When I thought about unchartered territory, it was more along the lines of unremarkable moments. I may have succeeded on this front, but failed immensely on another. This was not only unchartered territory, it was completely forbidden. Prohibited. Authorised personnel only.

As if reading my thoughts, the patient’s eyes grow wide and slightly afraid. Their lips start to quiver, their hands start to shake. I know what’s happening right before they blurt it out.

“I’m remembering it. All of it. But not the bullshit. The real stuff. The park. The trees. The sun on my skin. I remember alarm clocks and walking barefoot and flipping through a book. The birthday parties and camping trips. And then the news, the scrambling, the fear. And also…”

 I was searching through the tablet while they spoke, trying to figure out why the patient wasn’t seeing the altered version of the photograph, the approved version. We were running out of time. Now that the programming had seen it, recognised it, acknowledged it, the Board would know. And they’d be here soon for us both if I didn’t find a way to quickly erase the last 30 seconds.

“I think I’m actually…remembering. Everything.”

Shit.

They’re remembering - but not what they’re meant to remember.

I make my way to the controls at last, seeing a live x-ray vision of the patient’s programming. It’s happening right in front of me. The rewiring, the replacement, the realisations. Subject #39872 is undoing their programming. They’re restoring their Before.

As I make my way to erase the data, the light above the door flashes red. The windows shut automatically and the siren blares loud and high-pitched.

The patient starts to panic, looking around the room in fear, tears coming to their eyes. 

“I knew it, I knew it. And so did you, Jonathan, and you kept your facade up. Why? Why?”

The noise seems to get louder with each passing second, but there’s no way I wasn’t going to hear my own name being said.

I turn to the patient slowly, the room going still around me and my heart racing.

“What did you just call me?”

At that moment, the door opens suddenly to reveal the Board, all five of them dressed in their black suits and helmets. They march into the room as one, not a single step out of place. The robotic voices start to blare above the siren in unison, saying the words I’d been expecting.

“Dr Jonathan Rayburn, you have breached security protocols by accessing and displaying Before archives to a Subject in treatment. Please kneel for the reprogramming sequence.”

I have no choice. Refusing would be a death sentence. A real one. 

I proceed to kneel in front of the Board, awaiting my own reprogramming to take place.

The patient stands and screams at the leader.

“No! Leave him alone! It’s my fault, I told him I didn’t want to remember the artificial past you’ve created, only the real one. It was me, please!”

The Board turns to the patient.

“Subject #39872, kneel for termination.”

The patient doesn’t kneel. Instead, they stand with their head raised high, defiance strewn across their face.

Three Board members approach the patient, one grabbing each arm and the third standing straight ahead.

“That’s alright, Subject #39872, standing is also effective.”

With that, the Board member withdraws a rifle and shoots the patient point-blank. Their weight drops into the two members’ arms. They let the patient thud to the ground. One talks into their wrist, emotionless.

“We need disposal services.”

With that, the members move towards me, stepping onto the patient’s limp body if necessary. After an electrical surge through my head, all goes black.

“Stop!”

She attempts to cover her face but I’m too quick for her. I’ve snapped the photograph and boy, does she look radiant.

“Come on, Jonathan. You know I hate photos.

“I know, but I don’t. Plus, this one’s special. You’re at your most unfiltered, your most natural. Just you and a book in the sun.”

I smile. The photograph came out just as I’d hoped. It’s a favourite for sure.

“Why don’t you snap some more important moments? I don’t know, like me winning the Nobel Prize or something.”

“You never know, this photo could one day be really important. Who knows, maybe it’ll end up in one of your fancy museums someday. I can see it now - A Rare Sight! 21^st-Century Woman Reads.”

I buckle over with laughter, my stomach hurting and my eyes tearing up.

“Ha ha, very funny. Now go on, you’re gonna be late for that big interview.”

“Oh yes, wouldn’t want to keep the big ol’ corporates waiting.”

She smirks, knowing how much this interview really means to me.

“Stop acting like you don’t care. They’ve been talking about how they’re gonna change the world. You could be part of that and it excites you! Don’t pretend like it doesn’t.”

I smile. She’s right. I care a lot about leaving my mark. Sometimes too much. I decide to get going.

“Well, I’m taking the photo with. Maybe I’ll be able to win them over once they see how great I am with a camera. It’ll prove that I actually have hobbies outside of robotics and engineering.”

She laughs and wraps her arms around my neck. Her eyes light up so much that I can’t help but get lost in them for a second. I give her a quick kiss and we say our goodbyes. Walking away, I think about all the great things there are to look forward to in our future.

I open my eyes slowly. They struggle to adjust for a few seconds but eventually find their way. The lights are bright and the room a bit too cool. In front of my desk stands the Board.

“Ah, I apologise, I must’ve dozed off for a second there. Didn’t even hear you come in. How can I help?”

“No problem, Dr Rayburn. Just here to run a few quality checks. Anything to report?”

“Other than a slight headache, no.”

“Noted. Thank you, Dr Rayburn. Please prepare for the next subject.”

I can’t help but shake the feeling that they know something I don’t. But I suppose it’s just that - a feeling. No big deal.

“Of course, sir.”