3 / MICHAEL

Michael Dawe’s conscious mind had long been separated from the world around him while his body depended on machines to sustain it. 

He imagined he was walking down a dim road, quiet and aimless. The path appeared gray with no tone but for the scattered spots of light illuminating it. 

His mind began piecing itself back together with memory fragments that locked together like LEGO pieces when they fit. Neurons created new pathways to old information. Electrical pulses moved through and raced toward awareness. Michael could visualize a time of health and awakening just out of his reach.

Suddenly, Michael was extracted from the vacuum of his mind. A rapid surge of electricity disconnected him from the ether and returned him to his body. He witnessed this happening like an external observer one moment and then, in one final neurological jolt, experienced it firsthand.

Wake up.

Michael heard this and awoke. His eyes fluttered open. His vision was clouded by the weight of something covering his entire face. He clawed a mask off, followed by an intubation tube that scratched his trachea as it left. He gagged on the plastic piping and coughed as he spewed bloody mucus. His chest expanded with the foreign sensation of too much oxygen rushing in, mixed with an insatiable desire for more. 

He looked around, his eyes wide and panicked as they focused. He registered shapes but struggled to capture anything familiar beyond smooth and sterile textures. A low glow illuminated some objects enough to give them a semblance of dimension if not recognizable features. The air vibrated with the hum of machines. There was a strong scent of lemon and bleach. Glowing lights, white glossy finishes, and clean lines. Michael thought it was a hospital room without the typical utilitarian design. 

Wherever he was, he was alone. He wondered who told him to wake up. He looked for a button to call someone, but he wanted to know more before he sought help.

His head thumped with a pervasive headache radiating from the center of his brain. He raised his palm to his forehead, but it offered no relief, like running his finger against glass to touch what was safely concealed on the other side. 

While Michael’s body played catch-up, he craved a return to sleep. But not here. He used enormous effort to swing his legs off the bed. They dangled, numb, like they were having as much trouble as his eyes coming into focus. He pulled at his clothes, fitted and smooth, like thicker versions of the leggings his ex-girlfriend Aahna favored. These, though, shimmered with a white glow, like lines of light woven into the threads. They pulsed rhythmically against his skin.

He turned his hands to study the fragile, almost translucent skin. He experienced a momentary and bizarre thought that these were not his hands and that his mind occupied someone else’s body. A tattoo on his wrist peeking out from his sleeve confirmed he wore his own skin. 

He peeled away the medical tape stuck to his body and winced as he pulled an IV from his left hand, releasing a trickle of blood thinned from the saline drip. He tossed the tubing aside and rubbed his legs, trying to infuse strength before applying weight to them. He steadied a hand on the bed rail and tested each leg by applying more pressure to each foot until he stood unsupported on the floor, cautious and bowed. He willed himself to stand as straight as his spine permitted but then fell back on the bed.

You got it, Michael, a voice said. A woman’s voice.

It was the same voice that told him to wake. Michael’s brow furrowed. He didn’t hear this through his ears. It was inside his head. This wasn’t his own thought pattern but an internal voice from an external source feeding his brain encouragement. The intrusion startled him. His glowing clothing began rapidly pulsing, matching the increasing pace of his heartbeat. 

Don’t quit, the voice continued. Get back up. 

He wasn’t sure how to react to an unfamiliar woman offering encouragement inside his brain. She even knew his name.

He refused to respond. Instead, he swallowed his terror and squeezed his forehead. He imagined the cocktail of medications swimming in his veins from that IV. 

“Good shit,” he said and laughed aloud. His voice was shaky, he hoped from the influence of his medications. Still, it didn’t feel hallucinatory. 

He set it aside, realizing he needed to know where he was, and he wouldn’t get any answers lying down. He sat up again.

That’s it. You’re okay. Your muscles are weak, but the suit you’re wearing worked them, keeping them active while you were down. You can do this.

He swung his legs back around and stood again. “Who are you?” Michael said, unable to ignore the voice. He disregarded the notion he was crazy for responding. 

My name is… She hesitated, as if perhaps she shouldn’t divulge her real name to Michael, then said, Dolly. I’m here to help. It’s complex, and we don’t have much time, but I can try to explain the little I understand. Feel your head. Gently.

Michael raised his arms and pressed his fingertips to his scalp. His dirt-brown waves of hair were gone. His head was nearly bare but for some hard points sticking out.

Do you feel the strip of nodules there? They’re small and should be almost flush with your skin, raised above just a bit.

“Yes,” Michael said. He swallowed the panic from touching a foreign object embedded in his skin.

Those nodules are external wireless connectors to a neural lace implanted inside your skull. It’s an interface between your brain and technology. It’s how you’re hearing me right now.

“Where are you?” Michael said. 

Look up, Dolly said. The camera. When the light is blue, it means someone is watching the feed. That’s me.

His gaze locked on a little blue light blinking from a camera suspended from the ceiling over his bed. There were at least six of these around his room. Why would someone need so many cameras? His breath quickened. He wondered who else might be watching him. And for how long.

I’m in a room like yours. I don’t have your newfound mobility, though.

“How are you communicating to me through the neural thing?” The hair raised on his arms. “Do you hear my thoughts?”

Neural lace. I can only see you and hear your voice through the cameras that I’m accessing remotely. I’m simply sending messages through the lace into your brain like an email. I can read your vitals but can’t decipher your thought patterns.

“But I–”

There’s no time. I want to explain, but we have few minutes remaining before he realizes you’re awake.

“Who?”

Later, Michael, please. I switched the camera feeds to older ones of you in bed, and I blocked any abnormal vital signals coming from your monitors. But the doctor is doing rounds. Everything is automated here. Everything. 

It ensures only essential people work here, and lately, that’s just one man. But he checks everyone several times a day. He’s three doors down from you. Start moving your legs or you’ll be taken for lots of experiments. Understand? I’ll explain more later, but you have to trust me. And move. 

“Okay,” Michael said. None of this felt right, but Dolly seemed like his best hope.

Good. Stand up. You can do this. Four minutes left now.

“How do you know?” Michael slipped off the bed and tested his shaky legs.

I’m watching the doctor on a camera feed, too. He’s enormously predictable. And nothing ever changes. Until now. With you. How do you feel?

“Fine, I think. Wobbly, but I can walk.” He moved, fighting against the lightheadedness, his body swaying involuntarily. The suit tightened against his skin, its glow turning light pink and pulsing. His wooziness subsided.

Your suit senses a drop in blood pressure and helps to stabilize it. Keep going.

“How are you able to do all this?” 

Most of the systems are linked. The same technology allowing me to talk to you is all connected to your suit. And luckily for us, the room locks here are accessible, too. Go to the door. Now.

He pivoted, walked the few steps, and tried the handle. “It’s locked.”

I know. We have a few seconds before it’s safe for me to unlock the door. Then we’ll have about two minutes before he realizes you’re gone. Should be enough time to get out of the building or at least a head start.

“Where am I? Where do I go?”

Away from here. 

Anxiety overwhelmed him. He thought of diving back into the bed and hoping this would all go away. He held a deep breath and disassociated as best he could. He gave himself no option but to run.

Okay, he’s next door. I’m unlocking the door for you. Exit, go right. Follow my instructions exactly. Don’t speak. I’ll have cameras on you, even though the feeds won’t show you to anyone else. Just nod or shake your head from now on.

The door opened with a resounding click. He leaned over the threshold and peered out into the hall.

Go, Michael. Now.

Michael’s foot hovered over the threshold before committing to touching the ground beyond the room. He thought of being a kid and playing The Floor Is Lava. As he crossed the threshold, the lights on the door and vital suit turned red, adding to the effect. 

The hallway resembled the sleek white cabinets flanking his room’s walls. Several closed doors palpitated with the white light of the biorhythms of the occupants behind them. Only Michael’s was red.

Don’t worry about that, Dolly piped in, noticing Michael studying the colors on his sleeve. The vital suit knows you left the room, and visually alerts anyone that sees you. I can’t stop the alarm because it’s tied to your own location and vitals. The only way to override it is to remove or short out the power supply by your right hip, disconnecting you. But it might trigger another alarm and alert them. So keep moving. Quickly. Silently.

Michael tried to process Dolly’s explanation and walk at the same time, but his head still ached, making it difficult to multitask. He looked up at the cameras on the ceiling and saw the closest one to him with a blinking blue light. She was watching.

He placed his trust in Dolly and tamped down the desire to understand everything. He walked with a pace his shaky legs could manage. He wore no shoes, only socks with gripping pads, the fabric matching the vital suit now casting a red shadow along the stark white hallway. He was grateful the slipper socks made no noise.

Michael picked up the pace, but his knees wobbled slightly under the strain. “How far?”

Don’t speak. It’s another twenty-five feet to the elevator. The stairwell door is next to it. You’re going up six flights. Climbing will hurt, but using the elevator is too dangerous.

“Up? To the roof?” 

Seriously, stop talking. No, to the ground floor. You’re deep underground.

His headache worsened. Darkness ate into the sides of his sight with each thump of his head. He plowed onward. Ten more feet to the exit.

Move faster. He’s about to discover the red light on your door. He’ll sound the alarm, and lock the building down. It’s a different system from the room security, and I can’t override it. If we get cut off, remember this: get to the street level, six flights up. Get outside any way you can. Don’t seek help from anyone. If they find you, they’ll kill whoever helps you. Run and hide. I’ll find you.

“How will you find me? I thought you–”

Shh. He’s opening the door now.

Michael’s panic incited his suit to pulse red in rapid lockstep with his heartbeat and rising blood pressure. He slipped through the unlocked stairwell as the door next to his old room opened. He sucked in a deep breath and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His legs buckled, and he tripped twice on the first flight. He grabbed the railing and righted himself.

Run, get out, and I’ll– Dolly’s voice was cut off as the deafening alarm echoed through the stairwell. 

Michael ran with everything he had left.