The Implant's Demands

Sensitive Themes: Physical violence, Suicide

Noah sat hunched in his small grey cell, his khakis and pastel blue oxford button down begrimed and wrinkled, drenched in sweat and urine. A regular drip reverberated around the enclosure with each new drop of sweat falling to the puddle he sat in. The only decoration was a single, wooden crucifix bolted to the wall, the form of Jesus, muscled and fair, eternally gazing down at the sorry souls trapped here. Noah's neck creaked as he looked up and out before him, towards the open air of New York City sprawling beneath his cage. It is a nice view, he thought, the rent would be crazy. He'd seen this cell before, from the streets, as he'd look up at the towering cathedral at the heart of the financial district.

Prisoners in the Cathedral of St. Albertus Magnus were given an easy exit to their captivity, whenever they wished it: a long descent to the marbled streets below. Patrols of mechanized janitors would be sent to clean up the residue whenever a previously occupied cell was found empty. He reached out a shaky hand and grasped the tin of water they left him, bringing it to his lips. It tasted like blood and pennies. Placing it back down, he saw the water level tilt towards the open wall, the floor ever so slightly sloped, gently encouraging the more expedient available departure. Once again, Noah stepped closer to the missing wall. He looked down at the milling disciples, like ants from this height, wondering if he jumped, would he be held responsible for damage done by his corpse. Does that count as a murder-suicide?  Which would be the gravest sin?

That thought was quickly dispelled as the voice in his head began again,

This will not end, Noah, until you give me what I want. We will finish the experiment

"I am not going to kill myself"

In a moment, the electrodes placed in his sensorimotor cortex began firing, arching his back and convulsing his limbs as artificial pain signals brought his consciousness to its knees.  All he felt was the tearing, the burning that consumed every cell in his body, each nerve crying out in a symphony of despair. He managed to look down at his fingers, feeling the layers of epithelium separating themselves, but saw only the dirt and grime that had accumulated during his stay at the Cathedral. There was no ripping, or burning, it was façade, a sham torture exacted by whatever was currently controlling the device in his skull, and he knew it to be so. But the knowing part of his brain was off now, his frontal cortex consumed by the onslaught of electrical prodding. Thought was lost to him, either from an additional stimulation protocol running on his implant, or simply as a result of the pain, he didn't know. His mind tried to shut down, bring him fully out of consciousness, a release from the torture, but it could not. The natural processes halted by incessant attacks.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but again, it stopped. He didn’t know how many times the voice had urged him to take that one easy step out of the missing fourth wall, how many times he'd found himself shaking on this floor. He couldn't have been here more than a day. Slowly, his back uncurled from the fetal position that he didn't remember assuming. 

You know that you can't keep this up, Noah. How many more times will I have to do this? You know how this will end

"I am not going to jump, you fucking asshole" Noah replied, shouting out to the air. He knew the voice couldn't hear him, was only deciphering his neural signals to read his thoughts, still, it felt good to scream. He felt the voice sigh, not audibly, just with a sense of begrudging acceptance.

The moment's respite gave him a chance to resume his praying, his voice shaky and weak as he muttered his worship:

"Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke--"

You prayers have not saved you, why do you continue?

"--rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do you, oh Prince of the Heavenly Host--"

Noah, peace, please. When will you understand? This is God's will, my child. You will usher in a new age, a new understanding of our Lord. How can you not revel in your opportunity, your sanctity? The voice was kind, imploring.

A quiet snick sounded from behind him, still sitting on the floor.

He looked back to see a woman entering. She stepped into the room as the cell door closed behind her, melding back into the rear wall. Plain, but not dim, blue eyes filled with worry as they took in the scene. Her clothes were simple, a grey dress with blue peonies hung to her shins.

Noah couldn't breathe.

"Mom?"

His own eyes filled with tears as he scrambled, slipping and crashing back into the puddle, his feet unable to find purchase on the slick rock. He felt a warm grip on his wrist, steadying him. A small engagement ring, modest and somewhat cheap, wrapping the ring finger. Nails painted a blue to match the peonies, chipped now. The warmth of the touch brought him to sanity, let his muddled mind relax. He looked up at her, rivulets of tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.

"Noey" She said, all the care and concern from the last year of separation from her child pouring out into that one word. And he broke.

Noah sobbed, grabbed his mother around the shoulders and buried his head in her chest. His hands wrung out the fabric on her back, clawing to make sure she wouldn't get away.

Noah, incoherent in his attempts at explaining, he didn't know where to start. Getting to the city, starting his job, loving every moment in this place of technology and religion and wonder. The Church agents coming and threatening to remove funding, forcing him to get his project put into himself. He didn't have a choice, he said, his eyes wide and pleading, what else was he supposed to do? It was either implant the thing or get sent back to Wisconsin to live off the UBI checks again.

"Slow down, sweetie" She said, the tears drying as she listened to his story, "It'll be ok now, I'm here. Look at me"

Noah looked up.

"Do you trust me?" She asked

As she hugged him, he felt the calming, gentle touch on his back, right behind his heart. Just enough pressure to keep him close and warm. In a moment, he was brought back to a dusty autumn morning, more than a decade ago.

David had left, and Noah's mom said he wasn't coming back this time. The bike he'd gotten Noah for his 8th birthday sitting on the front porch, two air respirators hanging above the shiny handlebars. David hadn't said where he'd actually found a new bike, the last one their town had seen sat unused at the Mayor's house, his daughter too old for it anymore. There was nothing Noah wanted more than to ride around his neighborhood and watch Shaunda Jenkins drool over him, before her bitch mom would tell her to come inside.

"We don’t need him, see. We'll get you riding, we don’t need him" His mom said, looping her own respirator over her mouth and nose before handing Noah his own.

Noah didn't say anything in response, just put his own respirator over his face. He hated the smell, chemical and burnt, but he'd heard the coughing fits that wracked the older folks in town. The ones who thought the dust was fine, and if anything, a face mask would get most of it, you don’t need a robot on your face to take a walk, they'd say. He flicked the switch by his chin and heard the motors and air scrubbers whirring.

It wasn’t long before Noah realized he couldn't bike, the moment he felt his feet leave the ground, and the bike start to tilt, his feet shot right back down to anchor him in place.

"We have to get you moving first, here" she said, holding onto the handlebars and walking along beside him, "See? I got you", until a small bump jolted Noah, whose feet fell from the pedals and back onto the ground, where the two of them stopped.

"You said you had me" Noah complained, looking up into his mom's eyes, squinting as a smile spread across her face. "I did" She said, "Do you trust me?"

He felt himself moving, faster now, his mom jogging behind him. She let go of the handlebars, but her hand on his back pushed him further, keeping him upright and moving forward.

Noah was brought back to New York, out of the dusty field of Wisconsin, into this tiny cell as he heard the voice one more time repeat its message

Give me what I want, Noah

Before waiting for a response, Noah felt his implant kick back into gear. He squinted, bracing himself, but the pains and terrors didn't show up. He felt himself flex, his muscles all held in precise location by the dictator in his head. He saw, more than felt, his hand move, up from the grasp it had on her shoulder, approaching her neck. Noah tried to pull his hand back, holding onto his consciousness this time, but unable to get his body to comply. His hand clasped around her neck, and he saw the veins bulge in his wrist as the fingers squeezed. He saw confusion and terror in his mother's eyes, ballooning from the pressure building behind them. Noah fought, tried to pry his fingers open, to release the constriction of her windpipe. But it was pointless, he couldn't do anything.

"Don’t do this" He pleaded, "Please" the stimulation still giving him control over his mouth and tongue.

We have to finish the experiment, Noah. For science and for God, you know what you must do

Noah didn't reply, desperately begging his muscles to obey. He began shouting the interrupted prayer, spittle flying into his mother's eyes and nose.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against--"

ENOUGH

The one word reverberating around Noah's mind, halting his plea.

This is what God wishes of you the voice implored him, angry now Your worship is meaningless without action. Take the action, Noah. Meet our Lord and let us end this meaningless game

Immediately, Noah's body stood up, still grasping his mother's throat in a clenched fist. Her hands scrabbled weakly against his sleeve, desperate ploys to release the pressure on her esophagus. As they stood, his other hand rose to grasp her by the neck of her dress, bright blue flowers peeking out from between his fingers. She was a few inches shorter than him, and her feet dragged across the floor as he brought her to the missing wall.

"No" Noah begged, tears coming to his eyes, "Don't make me do this"

The voice extended Noah's arms, pushing the top half of his mother out above the fresh New York air. Her mouth moved, trying to beg her son to not drop her, but unable to get breath for her pleas, a wordless croaking the only sound to emerge. The scrabbling on his sleeve turned into a grip of iron, keeping her steady as her tiptoes clung onto the ledge of the cell. Her eyes were growing bloodshot now, still trying to will the young boy to a place of sanity.

The hand on her blouse pulled back, her weight supported only by a single arm that would never be able to carry this weight on its own, only possible through the engineered biomechanics from the implant.

Noah's pinky released itself from her neck.

You do not have to do this, Noah the voice said

"Stop! Please!" Noah shouted, his voice cracking, desperation pushing the air from his lungs, "You can't think this is right!"

Noah this is not just right, it is holy. With your sacrifice, we will see heaven. With you we will know what it is like to make the journey to Him, to be held in His arms. What if we can trigger that before death? What if we can commune with the Lord during our time on Earth? Do you realize what that would mean?

The voice was crazed, excited, ignoring the anxiety and despair of its prisoner.

Noah could feel her pulse, fast and frantic, but starting to slow as her brain was starved of oxygen.

His ring finger lifted.

His mother's weight was now only supported by three fingers, which were quickly losing strength, unable to maintain the contraction that kept his mother alive. Noah felt the grip on his arm start to weaken, her own muscles crying out for blood and air. One arm falling to her side as her eyes began to roll back into her head. No, he thought to himself, he couldn't do this. Lord help him. But what was the alternative? He tried to close his eyes, to not watch his mother die at his hands, but they would not close.

No. Watch, child. the voice said, and suffer

He looked down to the street below, imagining his body crumpled in a heap, a pool of blood slowly growing from his motionless corpse as a crowd gathered around him. Then he imagined his mother in the same position, the peonies a ruddy purple. He couldn't agree to that. He screamed wordlessly, trying to stop this. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at her.

"Just do it yourself" Noah begged, "You can make me, just walk me off the ledge, please"

I cannot kill you, Noah, that is a sin

"You're killing her now" He screamed, "This is evil"

No response came from the voice.

"Talk to me, please, stop this" his own voice growing hoarse from the strain.

You must decide quickly, Noah, or the decision will be made for you

His mother's other hand dropped from his arm, as his middle finger lifted. He saw only the bloodshot whites of her eyes.

"Fine" he said, quietly now, "I'll jump. Just stop this, please"

And with that, the pressure holding him disappeared, and he pulled his mother's body back inside. He winced as he heard her crash back to the floor.

Was that so hard?

"I'm so sorry" he whimpered, knees aching as he prostrated himself before her, "I promise I didn't mean to"

His mom slowly rose to her feet, coughing slightly as she did so. Her voice was hoarse as she told him it was ok, she knows he didn't mean to, it really didn't hurt that bad, but thank you for stopping. She offered him a hand as he rose as well. He walked over to the missing wall. He had to do this. It was him or her. He looked down, he'd never been particularly scared of heights before. And even now, he didn't feel terror while looking at his demise. He felt almost peaceful, the calm after the nightmare he'd just experienced bringing his blood pressure down.

"I don’t want to do this, Mom" he turned to see her. Neither of them moved for a moment.

She walked forward, placing her hand on her son's cheek as she looked deep into his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" She asked.

Noah, through tears, nodded an affirmative.

"I love you so much, Noey. I am so proud of everything you've accomplished and the man you've become. You should hear the way I brag about you. Ooh- you'd be so embarrassed" She smiled, warmly and with all the love a mother can hold for her child.

"It'll be ok, Noey. I'm here" She turned him around to face the missing wall.

"It's ok sweetie" She cooed, placing her hand in the middle of his back. "It'll all be over so soon". He felt the warmth from her hand behind his heart, gently pushing him, keeping him upright and moving forward. "be brave, sweetie. Just jump"

He felt at peace, content with his decision. This was ok, like she said. She'd always been right. He would see her from on high as he sang with the choir of angels. He took the step, turning to watch his mother as he fell. He felt the grip of gravity start to pull him down, the wind beginning to rush up from beneath him, as saw the figure of his mother flicker and disappear. 

Thank you, Noah