Author : Michael Herbaugh a.k.a. “Freeman”

It’s eerie, ya know? Standing over myself, while I am performing surgery on my own body. “Standing” is really a misnomer, it’s more like I am suspended from the ceiling of the company’s surgical arena. I, that is my consciousness, am being held in a temporary construct, while I work to reconstruct my physical vessel. Today, with computers and the right equipment anyone can perform medical miracles, but it doesn’t make it any less tedious nor is it any fun. This was a close one – a lot of head trauma, so I have to rebuild a lot of brain tissue.

An implant doesn’t make you immortal, far from it. You pretty much have to hit my implant directly or separate it from my body, but I can rattle off ten ways to kill me permanently without even trying. Right now, my thoughts are free to explore the morbid possibilities while I am in this holder machine repairing my organic self. The hard part is getting the body back here.

It all goes along with my line of work. When I started, one of my senior colleagues recommended getting the implant – turns out it was entirely worth it. In my first year of service, this is my fourth near fatal encounter.

While I’m not immortal the implant gives me half a chance. Once I’m injured or sense trouble I just gather myself up and use the implant to jump back here to the office. Once here I use a holder machine to contact the authorities and recover my body.

Finished – now for the hard part, getting back into my body.

“God damn that hurts! I hate serving subpoenas.”

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