Micro Cuts

I know you’re in there, little brother, ever since they plugged you in. I know you’re there. What’s it like in my mind, cozy little dark place? Right, got some lyrics for you? tiny tube veins/ made of lead/ there is someone in my head/ he’s alive and I am dead cut it with the fucking lyrics, already! Yes, I am here and and we are stuck together so get used to it, at least till they find some way to unplug me. Not a funny place to be, Matt, trust me. And you wanted to kill father, how big of a cliché is that? No fantasies with mom, I’ll give you that. What do you take me for a deranged lunatic? Come on, remember, you were the one with the manifesto and the videos on the Net. Look at me, no one likes me, might as well kill them all…they deserve it it’s all in your head So are you do you like it in there yeah, it’s the fucking 4th of July and I’m doing the prom queen under a fireworks lit sky with confetti coming out of my ass I don’t like you here either they should have executed me always going for the easy way out

Centuries before, this would have been a psychiatrist’s couch but in this day and age it’s a cold metal slab in a septic environment. The metal arms lift me up and place me there. Their buzzing sound is calming and I almost fall asleep while the machines around me work their magic. Opposite to me, my brother lies still on a metal slab of his own. Our heads almost touch but that is not how this works. The true links are invisible, streams of nanobots chaining us to one another. Victor will be in my mind soon enough in quite a literal sense.

For one such as me this is half treatment half torture.

Imagine someone, even someone you care about, having full knowledge of your innermost thoughts. When we are done, Victor will know everything about me, all my desires, all my memories, every feeling I ever had. And they call this therapy.

You see, people like me have always existed. The troubled teenager, the nerd, the loser. Centuries ago they were either sad victims or spree shooters. In this day and age they found a new way to cure us. Insert another, a close one, into our heads and have them fix us. They have a whole list, reduced to initials, of every shooter there ever was, mostly from the Northe-American spaces, along with extensive bibliographies written by said killers. At least the ones who left behind any of it.

I feel Victor coursing through my synapses.

It hurts more than torture and they know it. But they do nothing about it. Based on my records, what I posted on the Net, my Logscribs, my YouVids, I am a potential threat. They are wrong, but I won’t protest. Sure, they know that sometimes

Phillip pushes me into the locker. He is big. The quarterback. I feel my ribs crushed against metal. They feed them high-level nutrients, borderline illegal stimulants, everything you could expect from the school administration. Intellectuals like me may be the future of Northe-America but Phillip and his ilk are the moneymakers. A boy like me might better the country, but men like Phillip better their pockets.

I cringe.

He wraps his unnaturally large fingers around my left nipple and twists, near the point of ripping it. Old-School move. They love those.

There is no day passing when I don’t get this kind of treatment. I am small and skinny. The girls ignore me, Bethany most of them, and I don’t know what to do. I never do. My parents, for the expensive treatment, if you can call it such, they paid only for is my brother’s full access to my thoughts.

I cringe once more. The line of nanobots connecting our minds hurts. I can feel Victor’s presence probing my brain. Yet he is not gloating. He caught my thread of thought and is reading it. He seems quite interested. But feeling him in my mind hurts.

This is what hurts you? Victor speaks, shooting electric impulses.

For me it was always the girls. Bethany is long-haired, hazel doe-eyed, gentle and kind. She never judges anyone. She smiles even to me. A short and small beauty, a woman in miniature. A nerd, they’d call her, but she is the most beautiful girl in school. And nice to every one. Every jock wants her so

John grabs the edge of my underpants and pulls it up. I feel the strap of cloth stringing my balls. The bullies in this place like their old-school methods. Some use worse. A boy in the other neighborhood died after a session of pain neurals wrapped in an inoffensive pill. Others puked themselves to the point of passing out, their schools too close to Apothecaries where everything can be bought for the right price. John pulls tighter:

‘You’ve been staring at my girlfriend, wimp?’

Bethany is his girlfriend only in his imagination.

And I like to think of myself as brave enough to answer him. I am not. But I imagine Bethany, even with the underpants strangling my testicles, the doe-eyed goddess who cares of nothing but her studies and nothing about this John who is torturing me right now.

Why the fuck did you put up to that? Victor’s voice is brimming in my mind. He explodes in rage and for the first time he understands me. If he did before the incident, Victor would have strangled John with his bare hands. He may be an asshole but he defends me.

If I were in your place I would have killed them all!

In a way I like my brother, but unlike me, he is the family’s golden boy. People like him, girls like him, everyone does, yet he is forced to live with a brother like me. The eternal loser. But his anger, and I do feel it within my brain, is not targeted towards me.

For some time he thought I was just a joke.

Now, inside my brain, he understands.

And I feel him burning. Not just anger but regret.

She’s just a dumb cunt who wouldn’t get you, Matt!

She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I

I’m not saying she is to blame, just that…

You have no idea!

It happens weeks later.

There is no one to save me. John pulls tighter:

‘You’ve been staring at my girlfriend, wimp?’

I am pushed to a wall of lockers and my face hits the wall. I feel their hands tearing down my pants. IT HAPPENS. I feel ashamed. I shouldn’t have looked at Bethany but what I feel next is pure humiliation. Rape is never about pain.

It’s not about pain, it’s about being subservient.

I am sorry, Matt!

It’s OK, Victor!

No, it’s not!

I can feel my brother ripping himself from the micro cuts link that kept our consciousnesses together. And I feel Victor’s pure anger. Even as the nanobot link is severed between us.

Pain.

Weeks later I walked down a street. A regular street, one with a gun shop. I had the money. I had the time.

There was no way I could explain what happened but through Victor’s link. Yet I tried. And no one believed it, for it was not an age where people believed such things.

If you ever look at Bethany again I will

John’s words kept haunting me.

But at the end of the day I always ended up on that street. Victor keeps the distance. But not always.

I end up in a part of town where John lives. My name is Matt and I will become a killer in the coming moments.

And when I sit in front of John’s house, guns in hand, the micro cuts in my brain will reopen and I will hear Victor’s voice.

If I were in your place I would have killed them all! Cause somehow he left something behind.