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dlab0lical · 2 years ago

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strains of humanity 01

It happens often, a highly desensitized state of being awake while the body tries to catch up. The sensation was odd, there were several thousands things you became aware of… what your body should unconsciously do, but does not fully do so. The absence of fear makes the experience surreal, but as the seconds trickle, the terror sets in… the subtle sounds of bodily fluids, the screeches of tendons, and the delayed breathing. The last one is the most terrifying of all… then the system begins. At that point, the infected become aware of how they are more man-made machines than human, and the sounds make more sense.

“Initiating fifty dash twenty-three dash seven production, ChEBI colon one seven six five zero confirmed.”

Pain begins to register, but not quite like it did before. It resembles faint vibration pooling at the crook of his elbow. He had done more missions than he could count that he knew what it felt like to be stabbed with something. More habit than an actual response, his nose scrunches, brows knitting as a low groan shakes at this throat.

“Administering KEGG Compound D00088 to Patient 114425.”

The reader strapped around his wrist beeped furiously. His eyes shot open, chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling quickly… Drying mouth hanging ajar, he catches his reflection at the mirror not far from the foot of his infirmary bed. His blood red eyes shot back at him, pale white skin drenched in sweat, and the aged machines keeping him and the rest of the outpost-borns alive beeped their steady rhythms. This is what it takes to live in this world now.

“Waking up is such bitch now, isn’t it?” Hearing the general’s words made him straighten up, but the elderly man shakes his head and motions for him to stay in bed. “Quit acting like you’re a stranger, son. I practically raised you.”

He knew why the man was here. He doesn’t technically feel many things anymore, but people would call it a feeling. The other council members already began trying to dissuade him from joining the caravan into the walled Capital. Surely, he was going to do the same.

Their arrivals and talks didn’t deter his usual routine though. He went on to check his vitals, face void of expression or care, just the typical kind of aloofness. It was not intentional, and the ones who treated him like family and genuinely cared knew it was his program. Surviving many missions comes at a cost, the second to the last one leaving him critical to the point of having to sacrifice the last bit of his humanity… or at least how to express it.

His head starts to spin as soon as he gets on his feet, a hand quickly gripping onto the metal stand of his rounds of IV. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what a pulsing headache would feel like, and what the sting of a cold surface against his hand was like. He didn’t have to look to see the worried expression on the old man’s face, “You know I have to go… I know the city more than anyone in the squad.” It was hard to speak with restraint, with care and not like he was giving orders.

This was why he dreaded wake up calls, restarting wake-body functions and getting back to optimal levels is a literal chore. His chest still feels heavy, and every ounce of air he tried to breathe still feels thick, like he was breathing underwater. “It’s taking you longer. We’re not properly supplied to reconfigure you, K. If your conduction velocity falls below even the threshold, we can’t bring you back. You know that… and yet you—”

“I am not out to get myself decommissioned if that’s where you’re getting at” He quickly replied, with as much disgust and annoyance spread across his face to what he was being accused of.

“Out to get yourself killed, K. Killed.” The General spat just as swiftly. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not an equipment, or a weapon. When we can’t bring you back, it’s death. Not just a simple decommissioning. Do you get that?” The gentleness seeps in as he finishes his sentence, unfortunate for him, the young man does not seem to be equipped with the empathy required to understand the situation.

“We need those compounds, sir. Every day that passes that the younger outpost-borns are exposed to the untreated refugees risks them to higher mortality rates.” K replies, calmer this time but still lacking the gentleness of those with in-tact biochemical functions. “You said it yourself, we’re not properly supplied anymore. The compounds are our last hope until we find a doctor who would leave the wall for us.” He almost stumbles forward, only to be caught and held up by the elderly man before his gaze falls on the stacks of boxes of NF-κB vials at his feet.

There was a part of him, so small that it was easy to dismiss, that felt regret. It was easy to reconstruct. The falling sensation just below his stomach, the tightening at his neck. “Don’t think so simple of them, K. They know… they understand what needs to be put on the line to keep the outpost afloat, concealed. Functioning for people like us… you.” The General gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “The refugees left those for you and your squad. It’s enough to last them a few days this winter. They want you to come back. So don’t think about being a hero, we already have enough of those. What we need at this age… are sons, daughters. So your first mission, when you get inside…is to come home.”

There was supposed to be a sensation there, a feeling anchored to the way his body was feeling. It was faint, almost not there… but if he focused hard enough, it glowed, like a warm light breathing underneath the layers of synthetic flesh and blood. And even as the General flashed him a final smile before exiting the room, K was still unable to give a more fitting response, expression or response to how those words and this acts taking form in temperature-regulating vials made him feel.

“Elevation in tryptophan hydroxylaseto detected. Confirming antibiotic administration via IV.”

He thinks hard as he receives the alert, and for a few seconds there, he considers getting the dose. His reader beeps the final alert before it administers what his body apparently needs as he and his programmer agreed as his threshold. “Override, abort antibiotic administration. Proceed with serotonin synthesis. Delete override instruction from database.”

“Override confirmed. Deleting override line from database.”

The young man feels it in his chest, behind his ears, and lodge somewhere beneath his ribs. The clenching, the squeezing, and the tightening… one that would have made him fall to the ground, clutching hard to whatever his hands could hold onto. Instead it all but comes in exactly how they are defined, without the ropes and knots of frail and intangible emotions. It seemed futile to have to go through them, for his sewn, stapled, and reprogrammed body to process it as such but never fully so. His body could proceed with its program, and he need not have to deal with even the slightest sensation. But it felt wrong not to.

K knew that it was like running away from the truth and bringing himself farther away from being human if he chose to execute the standard protocol. He never imagined himself to live such a philosophical life because it had no room in this lifetime… but here he is.

People often say that life passes in the blink of an eye, the infected deal with a far more severe case of it. Seconds last a lifetime some days, and on others, a lifetime can just be a second. K had come into terms with how much the infection robbed him; he’d find himself stuck in old habits one minute, and another he’d find himself waist-deep in some swamp hundreds of miles west the outpost carrying out a mission. The forgetting doesn’t last very long as the memories and what he thought he had missed comes back to him slowly. But it wasn’t not remembering that frustrates him, but the idea that he can never control which moments he can savor.

Today was no exception as he finds himself sweating, back pressed against a wall of sand, cement, and pulverized bones. It haunts him having to realize this is what keeps the living safe. It was adding insult to the injury, those remains not being returned to their families. As if being pressured to participate in human trials were not enough, they lose ownership of their own bodies even after death.

His thoughts drown in the sound of the bustling city at arm’s length and the muffled chatter of the healthier population. From his ear piece, he realized that the others were in the middle of small talk, already making plans for their time off and exchanging expectations of the city they will see for the first time… and perhaps, the last. K had to bite his tongue hard to not let any of the later slip. Had he not been so lost, fumbling for more clarity and information as to where he was and what he had missed, he might have just said it.

The squad kept its formation, four up front, two in the middle, and the four more at the rear, Covering all sides to secure their perimeter in the suffocating tunnels within the walls. And K, as always, only has his eyes forward, half confident that the others got his back… and half hopeful that they really do.

The farther they walked towards a tunnel’s exit, the thicker and drier the air became. It was almost impossible to breathe it in, their readers had to be turned down to avoid sound and signal detection. That meant having to pay more attention to the screens on their bands, without the alerts, dropping dead all of a sudden was very likely. “The air is denser here, make sure to check your numbers. Do manual instructions and override auto-functions if your implants have been upgraded recently. The results last longer if you delay the EPO release.” K says into the receiver before looking at the ones behind him, everyone nodding their heads and doing as instructed.

“Decreasing O2 Sat levels detected. Epoetin Alfa injected via bloodstream implant.”

K does not realize his head had been throbbing and his breathing getting heavier until the relief comes. Each breath was easier than the one before it that his free hand balls into a fist then releases, while the other tightens around his gun, twisting at its handle.

“You should have gotten the upgrades when it became available.” He looks over his shoulder and sees Carmin, with his white hair botch-dyed brown and mismatched contacts of green and blue to match his cat’s. He had no idea how Carmin survived all the missions they did together, he wasn’t the smartest or the fastest… but he was lucky as hell. K supposed that was a talent someone can be born with too. It was the only way the phenomenon that is Carmin can be explained. “You got first dibs and you keep that modulated NPV of yours? How are you supposed to outrun the healthies?” Carmin chuckles, chewing on a licorice wand. “Can you even remember what it felt like having normal lungs? Without the gurgling sounds in your chest?” He continues, motioning for a shift in formation, steps halting in sync with K as the rest of the squad changed their order.

K, in fact, did not remember ever being healthy. His memories were filled with hospital visits, vaccines, and blood transfusions. Before he could respond, however, Carmin already took the liberty to copy him. “I’m an outpost baby, Carmin.” The other says, copying him somewhat mockingly but also accurately that it made the others snicker and chuckle.

“It’s kind of cool, being a Franken-baby and all, trust me, there wasn’t a lot you missed out. Being healthy sucked, they keep taking stem cells and force you to donate blood cells and antibodies for vaccines.” There were hums and quiet but ardent yeses from their group, if K and the other outpost-borns didn’t know better, those who were born elsewhere were trying to comfort them. “You’re more human than healthies, believe me.” Carmin smiles, with a light squeeze on his shoulder before walking ahead.

When they reached their first marker, the members synced their readers to calibrate timers, and uploaded biochemical status to linked databases. “I reset our thresholds to 35%, if you have not collected your assigned supply and your numbers are depleted, this is my verbal permission to retreat to marker zero. No one is allowed to die here. Go home, that’s the order. Understand?” It was not much of a pep talk, but it was enough to reassure whoever was with him. K was not good at those sorts of things, but he is good at making sure the mission is carried out properly. And the others trusted him enough to believe him and follow his orders, even if the delivery could be kinder.

Specific instructions and tasks were distributed to each pair and group before they went their separate ways. K, accompanied by another seasoned soldier, will be going out into the open. It was the part his guardians hated and feared the most. However, it was essential to this mission… and there were only a few outpost-born capable of withstanding the side effects of biosynthetic enhancements like the ones required to blend in with the citizens inside the dome. “Override tyrosinase regulation. Commence synthetic eumelanin production. Prioritize monitoring of tyrosinase activity, calibrate to general biochemical threshold levels.”

“Override confirmed. Eumelanin released. Tyrosinase activity prioritized. Threshold levels calibrated.”

#planes of existence #the shivering grounds #au:the virus

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