FACTORY

Frontline Assembly

Tactical Neural Implant

by David Zayas, A&E Editor









I arrive at Sector VI at 0400 hours and survey the damage. The edifices burn in an amber light which illuminates the darkness, revealing the wreckage of the Mindphaser. I check the nitrous oxide level of the Sector and find that it is dangerously high. I grab my toolbox and flush myself with oxygen before stepping out of my vehicle, so that I won’t succumb to the pleasant, yet lethal effects of the gas.





Striding over to the wreck, I am stopped by the arriving Enforcer Troops. These rusty security droids always seem to arrive instantly to any incident. They set their search lights upon me, as well as their Hydro-Carbonizing Beams.





“Desist and identify,” one speaks in a razor-like voice.





“I am Bio-Mechanic 347,” I begin. “I am here for retrieval and repair of possible organic material.”





Flashing my badge, I add: “I have priority access. Remove the beam.”





The droid does as its told and approaches closer. I can hear the soft clicks and whirs as the droid examines my badge. I also begin to feel my head getting lighter and realize that I need a bit more oxygen.





The droid takes a painful long time in examining my badge. By the time it is retuned, my extremities have become numb and my thoughts muddled. I struggle to regain control of my arms, as I reach for my Oxy/Gen Inhaler.





After flushing myself with Oxy/Gen, I ask the droid for details regarding the incident. As my head clears, it begins to understand the information the robot imparts. It seems two members of the Frontline Assembly broke in to the Neural Control Headquarters and tried to steal the Mindphaser. They were quite successful until they ran into the N.C.H. Security System. The high-tech new system prevented them from escaping, but in the process it destroyed the Mindphaser. I was to search for survivors, heal them and prepare them for “interrogation” by the droids.





Thanking the droid for the data and the needless reminder of my duties, I turn once again to the wreckage. From behind me, the droid’s shrill razor-voice warns: “Remember Bio-Mechanic 347, you are only to deal wth organic material. Do not approach anything that does not pertain to your realm. Leave the inorganic to us.”





I chuckle at the droid’s reference to The Mark X-1 16 Company’s logo and switch on my infra-red scanner. I take another hit of Oxy/Gen and I search the hulking piece of metal. I instantly detect a blue humanoid shape within the Mindphaser, but there is nothing I can do for it. On the ground on the other side of the machine, I see a fading red shape. I run over, preparing my Bio-Resuscitation system.





Kneeling down by the prone man, I prop my toolbox by his head and I flush him with Oxy/Gen. His eyes flutter open and he regards me with a glassy look. I notice that the lower portion of his body has suffered severe physical trauma, perhaps even beyond repair. He slowly raises his hand and removes the inhaler.





“Are you God?” he speaks.





“Yes,” I reply. “What is your name?”





“Bill… Leeb,” he says. “Wheres Rhys?”





“He’s with me,” I say and I inject him with 15cc of Styrogen to stabilize his cardio-muscular rhythm. “Why did you take the Mindphaser?”





“Don’t bring me back,” he screams. “Why are you taking me back.”





“They need you back there,” I say and take a long inhalation of the Oxy/Gen. “You must answer some questions. Like: What was your purpose in taking the Mindphaser?”





I flush him with Oxy/Gen again and he stops struggling. His heart rate goes down and I begin to scan his body for the perfect place top begin my repairs.





“I have to get the Tactical Neural Implant into the people,” he says. “The Mindphaser can help me get the implant to everyone. The music will unlock the minds of the people and let them think for themselves again.”





Another rebel nut, I think. I see that his intestines are mostly sticking out of his abdomen I begin my repairs. He’s trying to save a world beyond help. Why even bother?

“I need your help,” he says, grasping at my shoulder. “I still have the implant in my haversack. Please take it and listen to it.”





“I don’t listen to music,” I state and continue to work on his stomach. I use an entire canister of Blu-16 on the wound before I cauterize it. I am glad that he has been exposed to so much Nitrous Oxide because it saves me some anesthetic. I just wish he would be quiet. I try to put the Oxy/Gen inhaler on him, but he bats it away.





“That’s the problem,” he says, his eyes pleading. “No one listens anymore. We just do what Mark X-1 16 commands. Don’t you want to be free? The music is good. We blend the ancient styles of Funk and Hip-Hop with the machine sounds to which everyone is accustomed. The music numbs your ears with industrial dance sounds, so that the implant can enter your central nervous system and unlock the gates The Mark X-1 16 Company has imposed on you. Once you’re free, make copies and pass them around. Please. You’re human, don’t forget that. We have free wills.”





I cannot take anymore of his babbling. He is causing a rage within me that I cannot contain. I begin to feel lightheaded, I must make him be quiet, so I reach over and cover his mouth with my hands. He still tries to talk. My hands are getting numb as press down against his face. My head sways back and forth as I feel the numbness creep through my entire body. My eyes close and I see a woman laying down by the side of a river. The sun shines over her head and she smiles. Everything is like it used to be…





My eyes fly open and I suddenly realize I was slipping. I slowly fight against my body to recover the Oxy/Gen Inhaler. In slow motion, I bring it up to my face and take a deep breath. As my head begins to clear, I notice that my patient is laying dead of asphyxia. A wave of emotions overcomes me and I stand up.





I take another big hit from the inhaler and begin to gather up my tools. He was beyond help, so there is no reason to remain here any longer. I see his sack laying a few inches away from his outstretched hand. Something compels me to reach into it. I pull out a black cassette tape labelled Tactical Neural Implant. Not knowing why, I slip it into my toolbox.





Departing the scene, I am once again detained by an Enforcer Troops droid. It leans close, scanning my face with its sensors.





“Number of organic materials?” it asks.





“None,” I reply. Two casualties: one was beyond repair and the other suffered a system malfunction during repairs. There is nothing left for me here. The rest is yours.”



