FicWad

Even lifelines drawn upon an infinite chain aren’t immune from the mistakes unresolved of repetition. My father used to say that people never get what they want. He believed that people- especially people like us-only get what they deserve. Like all matter of things viewed after the fact, this was as apt a phrase as gospel, though when it first came from his lips, I was far too young and far too ignorant to realize the gravity of the message. Now, I would have to bear the thesis of those words forever.

Every muscle quivered and ached from the regenerative effects of the treatment. The fact that I could move was indication that the rigor mortis had subsided. The reanimation process becomes unbelievably painful once putrefaction occurs but since I wasn’t losing pounds of flesh or rotting, it was safe to assume that I’d been reanimated somewhat early. Through my blurred vision, I could make out the tattoo on my left wrist. The bluish grey eagle skull was actually a reflective code triggered by UV. The most ubiquitous symbol in the world, now permanently etched in my flesh, was the seal of the US Department of Cessation. No matter where I’d been or where I’d ever go, I was now and always would be their property.

The USDC is simultaneously the most necessary and most powerful government agency in the world. History will remember the time since my breakthrough as the days when war became obsolete, human life once again became the overwhelming majority percentage of the GDP, and death in all forms became prosecutable and profitable.

It was only through six Supreme Court rulings and two amendments to the Constitution that those who had died prior to the perfection and mass implementation of my Neurogenesis treatment were allowed to stay deceased. Neurogenesis proponents propagandized that humanity was far more valuable than anything else in existence. There wasn’t a politician or court in the world that even dared to offer a counter argument. Unfortunately for me and everyone else that wanted an escape from this wretched, endless existence that was ancient history. The revenue generated from taxes paid by an immortal, increasing populace was far too lucrative to allow something as insignificant as nature to interfere.

While my science may have given us our biological immortality, it was the god-like breakthroughs in advanced engineering that granted us absolute dominance. Following the perfection of neurogenesis, the last of the environmentalist movements were irreparably crushed, finally allowing the entirety of the Earth’s landmass to be covered with gleaming towers of titanium and lab-created moissanite. Our infinite lust for acquisition copulated with breakneck advances in architectural design. The resulting offspring of greed and construction triumphantly shattered the chains of reliance on any and all natural resources. Lab-created photosynthesis and government approval of the hydro-vitamin supplements ripped the last bit of leverage away from Mother Nature’s decaying hands. As a species, we were finally, arrogantly free. But freedom is expensive and someone had to keep the federal financial accounts healthy and growing.

Thanks to our esteemed elected officials, death was far more than a temporary condition. Death was now an expensive privilege heavily regulated by the government and performed only by the largest and most influential companies. Pharmaceutical corporations found the near-entirety of their medicinal drugs rendered useless so they quickly redirected their focus from the sustaining of health to ending it altogehter. Like all status symbols, price became tantamount to prestige. The old adage about the only certainties in life being death and taxes was now a half-truth.

Granted, I had the resources to die legally but because I was the brilliant clown who developed and perfected Neurogenesis, my status was deemed “Officially invaluable and ineligible for permanent death under any circumstances.” The eagle skull etched into my skin now meant that my Certification of Death file was marked “Nex Sui Vitium” which, roughly translated, means “violent death caused by self.” For a single passionate indiscretion, I was now an financial felon, eligible for parole a few decades past infinity.

Now that I was conscious, it would only be a few minutes before officials came to issue my reassignment. Since my suicide wasn’t disfiguring, I might be sent to one of the feldspar mines in the Tranquillitatis Basin. Having thoroughly exhausted the natural resources of Earth, it only made since that we expand our parasitic ambitions to the stars, or more specifically, the Moon. It was dangerous work. The extreme temperatures reached 225 degrees in the day and plummeted to negative 308 at night. Combined with the even more extreme desperation of the convicts, who would often tear your mining apparatus from your back and redeposit it into your chest just to watch you die and be brought back, was the fact that your mining gear regularly malfunctioned on its own. The resulting deaths were as painfully horrific as they were common, making an eternity at the worst of Dante’s seven rings look and feel like a luxury vacation sailing across the stratosphere. The mines are usually reserved for limited sentence felons like serial rapists and child murderers since violent crimes aren’t viewed as harshly as financial ones.

Another option could be the Mantle Corps, the subterranean reserve division where the many financial felons end up. The thought of spending the next few centuries underground suffering severe Vitamin D deficiency is horrifying but compared to the third option, it would be a cakewalk.

No entity in the endless history of heaven or hell has ever truly deserved to spend even a passing moment behind the unforgiving walls of the third option. The genius of its brutality lies in the genius of its simplicity. The officials nicknamed it God’s Throat, but only because "Death Valley" was already taken. God's Throat is as massive eight-sided oubliette buried deep beneath the Sahara desert. There are no guards, no food, just endless black. Neurogenesis is automated so no matter how you die, you always come back. All torture here is self chosen. Death is not the worst fate, obsolescence is.

Knowing this, as I did, you’re no doubt wondering why I would ever place myself in a situation where these three options for the remainder of time would be my only options. Life without end, or more specifically, life without her, was beyond torturous. For two agonizing years I fought her family to have her remains transported home to me so that the team and I could return the gift of life to my lovely flower, my angel. When the ruling finally came down in my favor, it was too late. Her decomposition was absolute. Because of the time in which she expired, her remains had been kept in a casket. These antiquated measures allowed too much of her DNA and cellular structure to be divided between the soil and digestive systems of various vermin. Neurogenesis could not bring her back.

Using my political connections, I had her entire family-those unenlightened malcontents that had delayed the proceedings- convicted of level 3 treason- aiding and abetting an unsanctioned death. God’s Throat was too good for them however. I wanted to watch them burn. As the corrosive chemicals reduced their skin and bone and teeth to an unrecognizable slop, I smiled a little. I am not a monster. No, I am not a monster. True love damned to be forever unrequited must be avenged and purged. Her blood coursed through their veins. It was an abomination of our once glorious relationship. Her traits, her mannerisms, her laugh, her eyes-all were present in their being. They were a mockery of all she was and our of respect, they had to be eradicated to preserve her memory untainted.

Though all physical and biological evidence of her being had been destroyed, you can’t erase a memory. I didn’t want to live without her anymore. It was unbearable. They say time heals all wounds, but this was not a wound, she was a piece of me. A broken heart can be mended, but you can’t regrow that which was taken from you.

My circulatory and respiratory systems were automated and artificial. It was just a matter of pulling the devices out of my rib cage. I punctured my sternum and stared into the mirror for a moment. The twin turbines of my “heart” whirred silently as the dense silicon packaging of my “lungs” worked in tandem, rhythmically aerating the neurogenesis solution. I dug in and wrapped my fingers around the devices, gripping my heart, feeling the cold titanium against the warm flesh of my palm and yanked.