The Cloud of pain was reaching his temples, where he knew it would soon evolve into stabbing needles of pain. He kept walking: had to make it back to the apartment where he could lie down and sleep it off. They said there would probably be some minor headaches when he signed up, but for Christ's sake, this pain was unbearable. It was not the standard headache borne of stress and weariness. It felt as if his brain was growing while his head remained the same size.
He had already taken 4 patches of aspirin, twice the recommended dosage, but he stopped briefly on the dirty corner and pulled the box out of his jacket pocket. Rolling up the faded brown sleeve of his polyester jacket, he slapped two more patches onto his left arm. Thousands of tiny needles sank into his pale flesh, each delivering a miniscule dose of weak painkiller.
The Cloud, seeming threatened by the medicine, advanced its position. From his cerebellum it crept around the perimeter of his cerebral hemisphere, oozing into the very center of his mind.
The doctors had pointed at the charts and diagrams of the brain, explaining the procedure in a language that required at least ten years of higher education to understand. All this was meant to assure him that they knew what they were doing. In theory at least.
Of course, this procedure had never been performed on a human before.
The government had hired some of the world's best neurosurgeons to attempt what they called the greatest breakthrough in the study of the human mind. And of course West himself was being very well compensated for the use of his brain.
The goal was theoretically simple: connect the consciousness of one person into the sensory input of another. This would allow the person who's consciousness had been transferred to experience everything their host experienced, but not be able to control the body. The government was funding the program because they had high hopes that it could reduce the severely high prison population. If a convicted criminal could simply have their consciousness transferred out of their body, the government could drastically cut back on prison funding, as the criminal's physical bodies could be piled into a single room and fed intravenously. With this method there was no risk of riots, breakouts, or fights among the inmates, and therefore no need to hire guards to risk their lives taking care of society's worst.
But, the operation had failed. The doctors claimed that while the transfer was unsuccessful, no permanent damage was done to West's brain.
The prisoner's consciousness was irrecoverable, however, since the surgeons had removed the section of the prisoner's brain which contained his consciousness and rudely shoved it into West's own head. Room was made to accommodate for this, there were apparently many parts of his brain that West never used and were therefore completely expendable.
It had been a week since the surgery and West felt no different, aside from the headaches. Though he had returned to the doctors after the first one had passed, they assured him that they were only temporary and would soon fade away. Much like with other transplants, it takes time for the host's body to fully accept the alien tissue. In this case they claimed, his body had accepted the transfer willingly, but his delicate mind was still struggling to deal with the shock of having the additional, unused processing power of an entire new consciousness. They said this all with sad expressions, as if telling a sick puppy that it would get better even though you know it can't understand you.
His body had closed the distance to his apartment while he had been thinking, and now he keyed into the building and walked down the long, poorly lit hallway towards his room, all the while holding the sides of his head in an attempt to keep it from exploding. As he staggered into his room he noticed the blinking red light on his phone, new messages. Ignoring it, he stumbled to the bathroom and opened the mirror, revealing a large collection of pills, patches, syrups, and sprays.
Most were legal over-the-counter medicines. Some were given out only on prescriptions which he did not have. A few lurking in the back were downright illegal. Things which the FDA had deemed unsafe after a short trial period, or which never even made it past experimental stages. It was a bottle of this sort that he reached for, knocking over several others with his trembling hands. This particular pill had promised to be the cure for insomnia, the perfect sleeping pill. It was too perfect, actually, as a short time on the market revealed. Taking it with any amount of alcohol quickly induced an almost coma-like sleep.
Freeing a pill from the bottle, and opening a flask of whiskey, he moved to his bedroom, prepared to sleep off the headache. He popped the pill in is mouth, took a swig of the whiskey and collapsed before he could so much as remove his jacket.
* * *
When he awoke, the headache had disappeared entirely. He felt incredibly groggy though, almost unwilling to wake up. Wondering how long he had slept, he turned to look at the LED clock on the nightstand next to his bed.
His body did not respond.
West panicked. He tried to open his eyes, but the world remained dark. He tried to yell but no sound came from his mouth.
The pills, he thought. That's what happens when you take black market medicine for the side effects. He was wondering how long his body could survive by itself in a coma when his thoughts were interrupted by an eruption of light.
As his vision adjusted, he recognized the blurry scene of his room. Yawning and stretching his arms, his body sat up and cleared its throat, mumbling sleep half-dream thoughts.
He watched all this with horror, as he realized someone else now had control of his body.
Eyes still only half open, he walked to the bathroom and emptied his bladder. On his way out, whoever was in control of his body noticed the open cabinet and the bottles of pills scattered about. He inspected every bottle, carefully reading the labels, sometimes smirking at the names or effects of the various drugs. Whenever he came across an interesting looking one he would place it in one of the jacket's many pockets, for later recreational use West could only assume. When the ones he decided not to take were all safely back on the shelves, he closed the cabinet door and jumped at West's reflection in the mirror.
Staring at the mirror, his body soon began to run his hands over his face to confirm the reflection. The pointy chin and sunken gray eyes that were West's most notable features. Sparse freckles on either side of his crooked nose were the only physical manifestations of his Irish ancestry. The hands brushed over the thin, black fuzz that was the remnants of his hair after the surgery. When they found the scar, his head tipped down to angle the area at the mirror. West could see the hideous purple horseshoe shape where his scalp had been peeled back then sewn back together.
“Transfer,” the man in control of his voice whispered, and the sound of West's voice snapped the man out of his thoughts. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, experimenting with the range his new vocal chords allowed him.
After this warmup he returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed.
“What happened?” West's voice was awkward sounding, and a long, uncomfortable silence followed. That was directed at you. The voice West heard in his head was not at all like his own. It was a low raspy drone of a man just entering the decline of his life. Though he had no image of the man who now controlled his body, he felt the knowing smirk that would be on the man's face if he had the one that matched the voice.
Damned if I know, West thought , but the man seemed not to be able to hear this. You in there? Call was for two of us in here, I believe. Think... forward. Like, push the thought out.
Damned if I know, West thought, following the voice's directions for communitcation. There was no reply, but West could tell it was a calculated silence designed to make him give an explanation, so he told him all he knew.
The operation didn't work. It was a weak explanation, and he knew it as soon as he sent it, but it was all he had. The voice laughed, a cold slimy laugh that gave West the feeling of goosebumps crawling across his skin, though of course his skin did not respond.
Clearly. How come you didn't know how to talk to me? They teach you what to do bout all this?
They said they'd be right there with me if it was successful. But since it failed they didn't wanna tell me anything more than they had to.
So they're done with you know? Cast ya out into the world?
West tried to send an image of himself nodding his head and the man seemed to get it because that laugh came again, grating. Well I'll tell ya what kid, I don't normally do well with commitment but I think it's safe to say that Vin Maloney is gonna be staying here for a LONG time. West's world went black once more as Vin effectively ended the conversation.
* * *
West came to several hours later, and from the glimpses he caught out of Vin's half-lidded eyes, he could see the former prisoner had been busy. Used cans of Warp littered the apartment's living room where he now sat, half sleeping with the television blaring.
West had tried Warp once while he was in high school. The popular recreational drug was originally a market fluke which many took advantage of. Spray cans of a newly developed air freshener were found to emit an incredibly high-pitched frequency that would temporarily alter one's brain if held up to an ear. The air freshener was soon removed from the market, but the cans were studied and reproduced illegally for their bizarre side effect.
The Warp high was the strangest sensation he had ever felt, and not entirely pleasant which is why he had only tried it once. The can's frequency altered brainwaves, making the user feel like they were experiencing something other than what was around them. Many people believe they are seeing or hearing things from another dimension or parallel universe while on Warp.
Assuming he now had some time to think about his current predicament due to Vin's state of mind, West compiled the little information he had. The prisoner had seized his mind somehow, and could apparently knock West out at will. He was clearly better informed on what to expect in this scenario than West, likely having had some mental training in prison before discarding his body. But, if he could grab the controls from the back seat, West at least knew it was possible for him to do the same.
It shouldn't have been possible, though. That was the one worry West had had before signing up for the program, and the doctors had all assured him he would always be in control.
So what went wrong?
There were the headaches, he thought at first. The doctors thought his mind was still trying to reject the transplant, but they also thought Vin didn't make it in. Vin must have been lurking in the back of West's head the whole time, maybe even causing the headaches to weaken West so he could gain control.
Suddenly, West remembered the pill he had taken to relieve his headache. Somehow, he thought, that pill was the key to the whole problem. When he took the pill with alcohol, it must have knocked him out on enough levels to allow Vin to take over. Which meant that if he could get Vin to take one, he could regain control.
West didn't know if Vin had purposely caused the headache he had had earlier, but he was sure as hell going to try to repay the ex-prisoner for his hospitality.
Conjuring up every image of pain and suffering he could think of, West threw them one at a a time towards Vin like they had been communicating before. Fire, sharks, needles, voodoo dolls, knives, guns, stun-guns, poison darts, poison dart frogs, snakes, lasers, searing metal shrapnel raining down with hurricane force. Drowning, a solid kick to the nuts, killer bees, grizzly bears, boiling oil, acid, a plague of locusts devouring Vin's flesh one miniscule bite at a time. Vin did not stir enough from his Warp trip to respond to any of these, though West could have sworn he felt a faint stirring at the locusts.
He had to keep trying, but West's imagination was rapidly failing him. He moved into more obscure realms, digging deep within himself for concepts he found particularly horrifying. Murder, rape, slavery. Genocide, or worse yet, the annihilation of an entire group of people based on unobservable personal belief systems. Rampant famine and easily prevented diseases in impoverished areas while the elite few live a lavish lifestyle of wastefulness. The knowledge that all humans had evolved and would forever continue to evolve around a corrupt system based on greed and personal gain rather than the advancement of the species and the societies which it creates.
West found this last image particularly disturbing, and he could think of no worse thought to use against the trespasser of his mind. Receding to a dark corner of his own mind, he prepared to temporarily surrender to the intruder's way of life.
He was feeling the same hopelessness he had at being pushed through the public school system. Tireless, monotonous, information recited in a never ending litany he could never hope to remember. Different types of math and history, none of which he would ever use after the tests while none of the practical information he craved was ever mentioned. All part of a larger system designed to mold him into an unthinking servant of the majority's will.
Vin more than stirred at West's personal brooding, even though he was not thinking it in the forceful manner they used to communicate. Their shared eyes opened wide, and with a gasping intake of breath, Vin sucked West into the foreign depths of the Warp trip.
Warp gets its name from the rude mental transportation that brings users to their hallucinated destination. West shot pat stars, planets, galaxies at impossible speeds, turning his whole perceived universe into a never-ending blur. Colors and shapes all morphed into a single streak of energy as he continued to accelerate. Soon he was moving fast enough to exit the realm of physical energy and enter the higher order of conception and perception.
West finally found himself on alien territory populated by the chaos of the thoughts he had used against Vin. Bees, sharks, and grizzly bears fought for control of land and population, never realizing that their war was meaningless entertainment to the man who oversaw the whole thing.
The face that hung in the sky was god-like. Penetrating dark brown eyes shadowed by graying bushy eyebrows. A large, bulbous nose hung out over a mouth with an ever present smirk, safely cushioned in a landscape of brown facial hair. Short, dark hair with a streak of gray arcing back from the left temple. Vin's face was exactly how West had pictured it upon first hearing his voice.
The god-face vanished suddenly, and the man himself was soon standing in front of West, close enough to be threatening, but far enough away that he did not immediately provoke physical conflict. “The muse meets his creations and frowns upon them,” he said gesturing to the war raging around them, the smirk never faltering. “I was growing bored with my own creations in here, but you made things very interesting, I must say.”
West said nothing, but simply stared defiantly at his captor. Any doubt he had before regarding Vin's sanity was now removed. The man was surely mad to be enjoying such chaotic dystopia.
“Math class though?” The smirk briefly gave way to a slight frown, every bit as mocking. “Not quite as thrilling a toy as the rest of them.” He casually touched his left temple where the streak of gray seemed to appear. As he did this, West could see the creases in his face tighten, and with a start he realized there was a twinge of pain in that gesture.
“Not toys,” he said, grasping for anything that might upset the convict. “Much as I hated it, there was one thing I learned from history class all those years ago. Education and the trial and error process are the only things which will someday relieve us of the constant repetition of humanity's worst crimes. The cycle can be ended, if not for men like you who perpetuate the errors of the past.” West could see that despite his brave facade, Vin was certainly losing patience with him. The criminal lowered his head for a moment, and West could see the gray streak was wrapping around the base of Vin's skull to curve around to the other temple.
The Cloud, West realized. This was his chance to knock his captor off-balance. As a criminal with apparent psychotic tendencies, Vin delighted in the things West had considered torment, but the knowledge of greater issues pained him.
“Communication is the problem,” West quickly continued, drawing on a lecture from a particularly unexciting sociology class he had taken. “Instead of communicating your wants to others, you have taken it upon yourself to seize the things you want from those who lack the power to do anything about it.” The streak was definitely growing, creeping up around Vin's right ear like a vine. He raised his head to glare at West, and the animals in the background paused their fighting for a moment to study their creators before halfheartedly resuming the strife.
“Enough,” grunted Vin. “I get it. The world would be such a nice perfect place if not for people like myself.” He waved his hand and the whole scene grew fuzzy, dissipating into a bright light while the buzzing of the killer bees was magnified a thousand times over. All this happened in a moment, but not before West saw that the Cloud had completed its circuit around the perimeter of Vin's brain. The gray was rapidly becoming a shocking bright white which now climbed steadily to the crown of the man's head. West knew that soon enough it would begin the piercing dive into every level of his captor's consciousness.
The two men found themselves back in their body in West's apartment. Vin reached up with West's hand to massage his temples and knuckle his forehead. He finally got up off the couch to down the remainder of West's supply of cheap whiskey. Finding this equally ineffective in dealing with the headache, he stumbled to the bathroom and the mirror cabinet which held West's stash of drugs.
He tried every headache relief and pain killer he could find before finally reaching for the bottle that would put him to sleep. West's heart would have been pounding in anticipation if it were properly responding to him. But it wasn't, and therefore there were nothing to give away his plan.
Not knowing what to expect, and having consumed a great deal more alcohol before taking the pill than West had, Vin did not even make it out of the bathroom before being knocked unconscious.
It was terribly easy for West to probe his way into his own nervous system. First he could smell the alcohol on his own breath, then taste it in the back of his mouth. Vision was somewhat harder to obtain because his eye were closed and he could not yet open them. Finally he discerned that he had wormed his way into sight when he noted the reappearance of the floating spots that plagued the corners of his vision. He heard the water running in the sink, and finally could feel the cold tiles of the bathroom floor pressed against his face.
Upon regaining control of his nervous system, West was swept up in the thunderstorm of blackness which was the pill's terrifying power.
* * *
When he awoke after two days of unconsciousness, the first thing he did was walk back to the doctor's office where the surgery had been performed. He told the doctors his story, all the while they took notes and muttered “Of course!” at inappropriate times. Finally they performed another surgery on him, this one designed to undo the damage they had done.
As they gassed him for the surgery West could hear the mad ramblings of his tormenter's last thoughts.
Perpetuating cycle of error. Consequences of the past mean nothing to those who look only to the future. Communication does not truly exist without trust, and human greed dissolves trust. Societies are built on lies and greed, and everyday the corruption is introduced as necessary to the next generation. Our subservience to chaos and dystopia are the only factors which differentiate us from animals.
You're wrong. West thought back at him as the cold blackness of sleeping gas crept around the edges of his vision. Every day of human history moves the species further. Animals wait for the future and accept the changes it will bring. Humans reach into the future to alter the present and leave accounts of their lives so that future generations may learn from their mistakes. Every success and every failure in human history is one step closer to utopia.
As his hate for the monster who had taken over his body was replaced with pity, West embraced the world and the people who inhabited it. He embraced the doctors who had messed up the operation. He embraced the government who funded the program, another failed solution to a problem that humans would not give up on. Finally, for the last time, he embraced the gas's blackness, not knowing where it would take him, but knowing that somehow humanity would find a way to learn from his experiences.
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