Cyberneurosis

The air was far too thin to breathe up here, or at least would be if the man was still human. Certainly his body was working overtime to compensate for the lack of oxygen, but it was no longer something it relied on. The building that he was standing on the roof of nearly touched the stratosphere, and there were others on the world that were even taller. He paced back and forth as he thought, wondering on the implications if he simply hurled himself off the building.

He had been cyberised, had his mind turned to data and put into a robotic simulacrum, after his biological body had been wracked with Varrian's Disease. The virus had crept into his DNA and rewritten it, causing his body to start devouring itself. White blood cells had turned on red, muscle cells had begun to eat skin cells, and the virus had happily gone around eating whatever was left. It was a slow and painful way to die, as the last cells to be eaten were the brain cells, and the process took years.

He moved to the edge of the building and looked down at the dizzying depths. Because of the low birth rate, high rate of Varrian's infection and high rate of cyberisation, every person on the planet was legally obligated to live for sixty years, and work for at least forty-five of them, before they were allowed to 'die'. Those in cybernetic bodies that accepted a second, and even third contractual lifetime were given greater privileges. He was still on his first, thirty-five years into it, and twenty of them in a cybernetic shell. The doctors and technicians at the White Fortress, the people nominally in charge of cyberisation, called what he had 'cyberneurosis', a form of depression that somehow came from nigh-immortality, near-indestructibility and freedom from any of the weaknesses of the biological shell.

He raged at them, he hated this fake body with every fibre of his being. What he felt was not life, it was mere existence. Of course, this body was programmed and designed to see, hear, feel, smell and touch, and mimicked a human body perfectly while taking away disadvantages like pain (which could still be voluntarily turned on) and the need to breathe. But there was no growth, no change unless mandated by the White Fortress, nothing but stasis until the legal obligation to exist finished.

Of course, even if he jumped, he would not die. The White Fortress made daily backups of everyone legally obligated to live so that in the event of 'accidents', they could be placed into new bodies within a few hours, causing a minimum of loss to planetary productivity. There was no guarantee that the fall would even kill him. Sure the fall was about twelve miles, but he would probably shatter, and there was a chance that at least one of his personality matrices would be thrown free, making it even easier for them. They constantly tracked the bodies too, just in case. He swore under his breath, they wouldn't even have the common decency to be mad at him either. The technicians and patriarchs would be disappointed, of course, and sad that he would want to end his life, and they'd put him with one of their technopsychologists for a while, who would be very polite and patient. At the end of it all, he'd be recommended a personality adjustment, which would be a mandatory recommendation, and one of their technicians would open up his personality file, make a few changes that would get rid of all that nasty depression. He'd be happier, more stable, and would lose a bit more of what precious humanity he had left. They'd probably tack on a few more years to his lifespan too, just to spite him.

The trip down wouldn't be too fun either, there were the buttresses that held the building up, bridges that connected it to the taller one next to it. Possibly worse in the lower levels where no one had been for several decades apart from the Enforcement Agency, when they were picking up jumpers. So many things to hit, bounce off, get impaled on and worse. Even with his pain receptors turned off, it would not be a pleasant journey.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, moving them out of his mind with an ease that frightened him. He had made his choice. He took a few steps back from the edge of the building, then broke into a run.

There was a scream and he skidded to a halt. He looked over to the source of the sound, the next building over, and saw someone falling from it. The building was about a mile higher, so it gave him time to look at the falling figure for a few seconds as it descended. He looked over the edge, following it's progress as it fell, watching it smash through a bridge, which was repaired in moments by one of the thousands of nanite-packed maintenance robots that regularly hovered around the city. He fell to his knees and put his head in his hands, making a sound that was part anger, part sadness. After a while, he got back up and headed towards the door that lead back into the building, driven by one of the most basic desires a human had, one that despite the cyberisation, he still had.

The desire to survive.

Impressum

Texte: Nick Wix
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.02.2012

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