This short story was initially published on in Dreams of Sleeping Gods, an online science fiction magazine. Since the website and operation has been indefinitely suspended, I am now providing the short story here.
Since this short story is part of a shared world, some context is necessary.
Dreams of Sleeping Gods was an ambitious project created by Curtis Brown in which many writers submitted short stories that take place in the shared world of the Endless City. This futuristic city is comprised of three tiers:
The Canopy: This is the upper crust where the affluent and upper class reside.
Limbo (a.k.a. Purgatory): This sandwiched tier belongs to the middle class and is the setting of this story.
The Deep (a.k.a. Hell): This is the bottom rung of the city where the lower class struggle to survive.
The city is reminiscent to popular sci-fi settings like Minority Report and Blade Runner. With this context, the story can be easily understood.
The Evolution of a Motorized Mind
“It sounds like you’re attempting to disown your pain, John. Is that the reason for these modifications? Feeling pain is part of the human experience. Pain is an important aspect of empathy, a trait machines can’t mimic,” said Dr. Ninloch.
Every session was more or less the same: Dr. Ninloch would pursue some cracked logic to attribute to my supposed addiction, and I would shrug off her attempts at textbook guidance.
The therapist leaned forward in her chair, closing the distance, a feigned attempt at intimacy. “In order for me to help you, we need to have a dialogue, John. Court-mandated or not, my level of concern for you is the same. I need you to work with me. It’s the only way we can make you better.”
Even in a psychiatric ward there were ways of avoiding these sessions. Fabricating illness. Exaggerating side effects. Denying oneself sleep until the point of exhaustion. All conditions that expose the frailty of humans. Though, they eventually strong-armed me into cooperating by threatening to send me far down into the Deep. A place running on hand-me-down electronics and shoddy circuitry. Certainly not a place suited for a man transitioning into machine.
“John?” Dr. Ninloch’s voice shifted from its usual monotone, acquiring something I interpreted as subtle despondence.
It was difficult to open up to the ones who sought to impede your evolution. I had articulated my intentions before, but no matter how I tried, how rational my reasoning, Dr. Ninloch could not comprehend my desire for mechanical immortality.
“You can’t feel it like I can,” I reluctantly mumbled. “The Canopy is experiencing the epilogue of humanity. Drones and androids outnumber humans to a staggering degree. We’re becoming obsolete despite the means to spark our own evolution. I’m merely taking the first steps.”
I pointed to my left eye, which I forfeited in exchange for a bionic eye. “Did you know artificial vision is so much more vivid?” I said. “I’m seeing colors on a spectrum beyond mankind’s capability. It’s extraordinary.”
Dr. Ninloch’s furrowed brow indicated that she still failed to see the benefits. “You know I was born with a deformed left hand? It looked like a damn flipper. If that isn’t a prime example of a human’s sloppy design…” I said. “But now look.” I raised my left hand, the chrome glinting in the harsh lighting of the office. I rotated it a full 360 degrees to demonstrate its superiority.
“Very impressive, John, but what of your other hand? What made that procedure necessary?”
I raised my right hand, composed of the same alloy as the left, the upgrade that got me into this mess. There was certainly no stigma surrounding body modifications in the Canopy. Throw a surgeon a gold brick and he’d replace your head with a computer monitor. It was acquiring the funds to undergo the procedures that presented the biggest roadblock. I gave up all but my residency in the Canopy in pursuit of this dream. With my account all but cleaned out, a surgeon’s reluctance was the only thing standing in the way of my evolution. So, naturally, I had to make it impossible for them to refuse the procedure: I stuck my hand down a garbage disposal.
“Like a crustacean, I shed my outer layers to replace them with something shiny and new,” I said. I leaned back into the couch cushions, my assortment of bionic components falling rigidly into place. Some of the enhancements laid stiff over and in place of my skin, like giant metallic scabs. “I’m sure there was a time when people renounced body modifications altogether. I think you’re in that stage of denial, Doctor. Heck, I think all of humanity is suffering from a sort of collective dementia. Always forgetting that welcoming progress is what led us this far.”
The therapist leaned back in her chair, obviously annoyed at the lack of progress. “It’s not the modifications that I’m concerned about, John, it’s these harmful grandiose illusions,” sighed Dr. Ninloch. “Maybe you are right: Mankind isn’t eternal. There’s nothing wrong with that. Perhaps mortality is a component of morality. It teaches us that our actions have consequences. It is an unfortunate necessity. Few have the desire to die, but I believe death is what allows us to live in an ethical society.”
It was clear we’d never see eye to eye. “I’m not sick.”
“You’re incapable of complacency, John. And there’s no doubt a component of thanatophobia, fear of one’s mortality.”
“Complacency? That’s the damn problem!” She often mistook her false sense of authority for intelligence. It was infuriating. “The only people bound by complacency are those like you who are content with obsolescence.” My voice was amplified by the office’s barebones decor.
“John. John, please.”
“Regurgitate these same old arguments all you want. I won’t replace logic with your flawed sentiments.”
“Okay, John,” she said. “We cannot allow our frustrations to consume our better judgment. We will resume this conversation at a later time.” Dr. Ninloch fiddled with a remote on her lap and a compartment within the coffee table separating us slid open. “For now, we’ll continue you on your medications. They’ll help you formulate your thoughts and tame this aggression.”
I reached into the compartment and withdrew a small paper cup with two blue pills. “Are these the same ones I’ve been taking?” I asked.
“Yes, bupropyline, just a higher dosage,” said Dr. Ninloch. “We’re only at the beginning stages of treatment. You have some time yet, John, before we venture down an alternate path.” She paused and stared at the cup of water in the center of the coffee table. It’d been there since the commencement of the session. Now undoubtedly a tepid room temperature.
I placed both pills on my tongue and threw back the water. It was warm, almost syrupy, likely stirred with some flavorless nutrients. I presented my open, empty maw to Dr. Ninloch as if she was a dentist.
“Good to see we’re breaking some boundaries, John. Do you have anything to add before we end the session?”
I shook my head.
“Then be well, and remember: Pain is a momentary nuisance but leaves a lasting impression. Do not be so quick to dismiss it. Bye for now, John,” said Dr. Ninloch. The hologram of the therapist pixelated and vanished, leaving me alone in the room.
A buzz echoed from behind me followed by the sound of the office door opening.
“Have a good session?” said a voice from the entrance. I turned to find the large nurse, Remy, wielding a cudgel. Despite his menacing appearance, Remy was a genuinely compassionate person; the cudgel was simply protocol. I wish he had the foresight to follow me on the path of mortal abandonment. I liked the guy, and I’d hate to see how fragile he’d become with age.
“I don’t think she’s ever going to come to reason, Remy,” I said.
Remy laughed uncomfortably and shook his head. “Oh, John,” he said. “Well, we have to get you back. The next patient will arrive shortly.”
I took the lead as we headed toward my living quarters. He followed close behind, cudgel in hand. We both knew that I would never do anything to harm Remy, but again, protocol.
In the hallways we passed chittering old fools and spacey daydreamers. People that actually deserved to be here, unlike me. But we also passed sanitation bots and delivery drones. In a way, I identified more with them than my so-called peers.
“Here we are, John,” Remy said as we approached my living quarters.
I turned into the relatively spacious studio-style compartment. My living space was better here in the ward than out in the real world. My journey to becoming machine was far too pricey to afford anything more than a closet-sized apartment. However, the asylum proved a hindrance to my quality of life. No more freedom to pursue enhancements and modifications. No means of earning income. Not that my former job as a maintenance tech granted me much.
“Okay, John,” said Remy. “Are you lacking any amenities? Toilet paper? Food? I can smuggle you another slice of cake from the cafeteria, if you want.”
“No thanks, Remy. I’m all stocked up.”
“Well, know that we’re here to help,” he said. He hesitated before closing the door. “By the way, I wasn’t prying or nothing, but I heard some shouting from outside the room. I know bouncing about this rubber room can curdle your moxie, but don’t do anything that could get you sent down there in the Deep.” He paused. “They say they’ve got monsters down there. Not just murderers and rapists, but other things, like the Dominant and his Bonded minions. Half-man, half-machine things with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth.” Remy shivered. “It’s best you stay up here if you can help it.”
Poor Remy. He had more reason to be here than me. “It’s all children’s stories, Remy. There are no Bonded and there’s certainly no Dominant. In fact, I’m probably the closest thing to one, and I don’t seem so bad, do I?”
“I suppose not,” said Remy. “I just don’t want to see you tossed down the well is all. Anyway, it’s best I get back to work. I’ll be seeing you, John,” he said before closing the room’s entrance. The locking mechanism clicked into place.
Alone at last.
A horrendous taste started to develop where I’d been cheeking the two tablets of bupropyline. I moved to my cot in the far corner. I glanced over my shoulder to ensure no one was peering through the small slit of a window on the door and crawled beneath the cot. I located the cracked tile and pried the broken piece up with my fingernails. I spit out the bupropyline tablets, two more for the collection, and added them to the pile stashed beneath the tile.
I began to back myself out of the cramped space but then hesitated. I surely had enough. Why delay any further?
I pried the piece of tile up and retrieved the stash of pills. Ten in all.
I remembered what Dr. Ninloch had said when she’d first prescribed these meds: “You needn’t worry yourself about the side effects, John. The doses I prescribe you are safe. But if you really must know the side effects, well, you could experience nausea, fatigue, sometimes constipation, and, only very rarely and at a dangerously high dose, kidney failure. But I assure you, John, you’re in safe hands.”
Yes, ten will definitely do the trick.
I poured myself a cup of water and laid out the harvest on the counter. I knew it would be an unpleasant experience, but if all went according to plan, I’d be outfitted with a brand new, hopefully artificial, and electromechanical kidney transplant.
I imagined feeling the weight of my new, metallic kidney inside of me. How satisfying that would be.
I gathered the pills in my palm. The risks were tremendous but the reward even more so.
Being the alpha and soon-to-be author of a new age required great sacrifice. I took great comfort in being the pioneer.
The pills went down surprisingly easy. No one could impede my evolution.
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