I sat staring at my computer screen, finger hovering over the keyboard.
I’m ready whenever you are. I can come over tonight.
Making up my mind, I typed in:
Yes. I’m ready tonight. Death with dignity.
A couple seconds later the response came back in:
Death with dignity.
And with that my hitman left the chatroom leaving me to slump back in my chair in a mixture of relief and shock at the surrealism of the situation. As I did, my stomach gave me a sharp stab of pain so intense it nearly made me pass out. Of all the cancers to have, why did it have to be pancreatic cancer? I remembered that thought passing through my mind as my doctor told me the low chances of survival even with the best treatment.
I had tried chemotherapy once but the side effects from the first round were enough to make my wish for death. Even barring the nightmare of chemotherapy, I was terrified at the idea of dying from cancer. How it transformed healthy people into a Ill of their former selves. I still looked healthy enough but I knew that it wouldn’t last. Cancer was like going down a snowy mountain; you start off slow but at some point you fall through the snow down a steep crevasse to your death.
I tried bringing up the idea to my family of hospice care, to just let nature take its course. However, my family was adamant that I keep fighting to the end; they wouldn’t even entertain the thought that I might just want to rest. My father even went so far as to imply that I wouldn’t be buried in the family plot if it were evident I’d taken my own life. The plot had been in my family for generations; the thought of my cold, lifeless body being tossed in a ditch somewhere sparked me into desperate action.
I took it upon myself to go onto the dark web. It wasn’t as difficult as the internet videos made it out to be, not when you didn’t care whether you lived or died that is. After browsing some chat rooms mostly filled with some edgy teens pretending to be hitmen, I finally found my guy. His username was simply Mark and he offered empathy to my plight which made him stand out from the others on the chat. They spent many hours discussing my situation. How I wiId I could live out my life, my hopes, my cruId dreams, how I just wanted the pain to stop.
All the while, Mark had done what everyone else refused to do, he listened to me. I soon found myself pouring my fears and vulnerabilities to him.
Now there I was pacing my small apartment waiting to die. Mark was already in the area so it would only take a couple of minutes. As I paced I tried revisiting over my life memories like I’d seen in those tacky Lifetime movies but all I could focus on was the pain. I wondered what Mark would look like; I’d never met a hitman before. Strangely I felt a sort of excitement in my stomach, the kind you feel when you meet an online date in person for the first time.
My musings were cut short as there was a knock on the door. I took a step towards it but then stopped. The hell was I doing? Part of me was clinging to the fantastical hope that this whole situation was made up, that I wasn’t being forced to stage my own murder. Perhaps some divine providence would strike down or the doctor would call me to tell me they made a mistake. I just had an ulcer or something. But the knocking brought my crashing down to uncaring reality. It continued as my pain reminded me of what I was doing. I crossed my living room to the door and opened it.
At the doorstep was Mark. I didn’t know what image I had in my head when I thought of hitmen but it definitely wasn’t Mark. He looked barely out of his teens with thin limbs, pasty skin, and brown hair over his baby face that was cracked in a nervous smile. In his hand he had a briefcase.
“Uh, hi. I’m Mark…you know the hitman?” He said, stretching out his hand. Taking it numbly I responded, “Uh, I’m Tiffany.”
We stood there awkwardly staring at each other until I asked if he wanted to come in. He nodded and went inside setting the briefcase on my end table by my chair. Opening it, I saw that there was a needle with a filled syringe inside. “Uh, is that what you’re gonna use to…?” I asked; it was my first time being killed after all.
He turned to face me looking more nervous than I was, “Yes, I thought of using a gun but too messy, also I’m not old enough yet.” He gave a nervous laugh before continuing, “It will put you to sleep and then that’s that. Death with dignity. If you could please just sit down on the chair when you’re ready.”
Bewildered on the odd note my life would be ending on, I sat down in the chair with my arm outstretched. After a minute of tinkering, he looked at me, “Are you ready?” I nodded before thinking about it; I didn’t want time to have regrets. As he swabbed my arm, I remarked that I was thinking my final thoughts. As the needle pierced my veins, I tried to think of something profound. I didn’t realize I was falling asleep as the room turned black…
————-
I awoke with a gasp not knowing where I was or even who I was. All I could see was a red light swinging over my head. Taking deep breaths I tried to remember what had happened. All I could remember was the needle going in.
I tried getting up but my body couldn’t move; it felt heavy and the sensation of rapid waves of pins and needles swept all over my torso. To my confusion, the same tingling sensation wasn’t there on my arms or legs. Barely able to lift my head I looked around the small, dark room. As I moved my head there was the sound of some clinking next to my head. Turning my head, I saw an IV tube attached to a stand connected to my chest. There was other discarded medical equipment littered throughout the dingy room.
Next to the dismembered arms and legs laying on the floor in a pile was a tall bundle with a tarp draped over it. Wait. my eyes darted to the dismembered limbs, on the wrist of one of the arms was a bracelet, my bracelet.
In horror, my eyes dropped to realize that my arms and legs had been cut off leaving only my torso on the stainless steel table. I tried to scream but I couldn’t; my mouth was paralyzed. The cold fingers of terror gripped my head like a splash of icy water. my eyes darted between my body and the limbs as my chest tightened and my breaths became more shallow. As I started to hyperventilate, the door opened as Mark walked in. He smiled at me as he saw that I was awake.
“OK, OK so hear me out. I know you’re freaked out but listen to me. I felt so bad for you on the chat. You had such a long life ahead of you, its unfair for you to lose it so soon. So..I’m gonna bring you back to life.” He strode over to the tarp and lifted it off of the bundle revealing a humanoid looking robot torso. It too had no limbs, with empty eye sockets on a completely blank head.
Mark spoke excitedly as he lifted the torso, “It’s my latest work. I scoured the Internet for all traces of your voice and personality to feed into it’s AI. Now you might be wondering why it looks so empty. And that’s because it can’t sense. Our five senses are what makes us truly alive. So yes I’m going to kill you.. By taking your senses. Then I’m gonna bring you back to life by transferring them to the new you.” He turned to look at me with the air of a boy showing his mom his science fair project.
Even if I could speak, I had no words. This had to be some kind of near death hallucination. This blissful rationalization was destroyed as he walked to me with garden shears and pliers with an apologetic look on his face. “I’ve never done this before, I’m sorry. I didn’t really want you to wake up for this part because you know.- He gave a nervous laugh gesturing at my pile of limbs- “But it took longer than I thought to get the limbs off and I want your organs to be fresh before I transfer them to the new you. The tranquilizer I gave you is running out so I gotta make this quick. I am going to take your senses in order of least importance to most. Starting with taste.”
He wrenched open my mouth, grabbing my tongue with the pliers. The salty taste of his fingers permeated my tongue as it wriggled frantically in his grip. I tried to move but could only stare wide eyed as the Iars went into my mouth. The salty taste was replaced by metal as flakes of rust fluttered into my mouth making my gag.
As I choked, there was a brief second before he started cutting in which I could fool myself into believing that this wasn’t happening. This was cut away the same time Mark started cutting. I felt a burning line carve its way from one side of my tongue to the other as it was cut out. Warm blood poured into my throat threatening to choke me. Mark grunted with effort as the angle in my mouth made the process slow.
“Iknowiknowiknowiknowiknow” Mark murmured almost in a panic as he pulled the tongue out and plopped it beside me.
“there, that wasn’t so bad.” He said more to himself than to me. I’s mouth was nothing but a burning orifice of pain as I watched him get a standard handsaw. “I’m not too sure how to replicate smell but I’m going to take your nose just in case.”
Before I could comprehend where the saw was even going he was on me. The sharp press of multiple tiny knives caused tears to form in my eyes as the smell of sweat and metal invaded my nostrils. The sharp pinpoints of pain exploded in intensity as the saw moved back and forth.
I could only gurgle blood as the saw worked its way slowly up my nose. As a layer of flesh was removed, the next layer was sawed revealing a new layer of pain even greater than the last. Blood poured into my sinus cavities and down my throat. Multiple times, the saw had to be withdrawn to re-angle it due to my nose moving back and forth. Finally, he pulled off my nose by the last of its sinews and placed the lump of flesh next to my tongue.
“Yeah, that was a bit rough but the ears should be easier. I was thinking of using the Iars but cutting is harder than I thought. You’re doing great by the way”
I watched in horror as he removed a mallet and a long thin ice pick and placed them in each hand. I feebly tried to shake my head away from him but he simply gave a small chuckle and held it still with one hand. The sharp thin tip of the pick was inserted into my left ear scratching its way against the walls as it went. He angled it so that it went down next to my ear drum; the pain of its tip felt as if it were next to my brain.
Mark held the mallet aloft, “OK 1 ,2,….3!” He said as he swung. All I heard was a sudden intense ringing sound that pierced my skull setting it aflame. The sound was so intense it momentarily distracted me from the burning pain that exploded throughout my ear drum.
Mark’s footsteps were now slightly duller in sound as he walked to my other side and inserted the bloody pick into my right ear drum. I tried to lock eyes with him as he held the mallet aloft again, trying to somehow beg him not to take the sound from my… But no, the last thing I ever heard was another intense ringing before the world was forever quiet to me.
Unable to hear, I could only try to read Mark’s lips as he removed the pick and set it down on the table along with the mallet. I couldn’t tell what he was saying but I knew what was coming next. The last instrument was the most simple of all yet the most horrifying. It was a simple spoon.
He was saying something, probably explaining why he was using a spoon but it fell on mutilated ears.
I could only watch as he got on top of me with a spoon. His hand that wasn’t holding the spoon held my left eye open. Unable to blink, the humid air stung at my exposed eye causing it to tear up for the last time. Not even having the luxury of closing my eyes, the last image my left eye saw was the blunt edge of the spoon with Mark’s hopeful face reflected off the back.
my upper eyelid stretched as the spoon wedged its way under it and around my eyeball. there was the horrifying sensation of the spoon digging its way against my skull. my eye bulged in its socket as the spoon made its way agonizingly back. As it made its way to the back of my eye and tip touched my eye stalk, there was a searing pain that traveled from the back of my eye straight to my brain. In my last moments of sight from my left eye, I saw what pain looked like. Pain was an epileptic kaleidoscope of flashing colors all across the spectrum.
my right eye saw Mark grab the mallet and swing down on the spoon handle. The light show stopped as everything went black on my left side. The searing pain was still present in my left side as the spoon dug further back and pried against the back of my skull until…there was a popping sensation as my left eye popped out. Mark tried to catch it but it flew out of his hands and hit the ground.
My only portal to the sensing world was my right eye. At this point, I didn’t care about the pain, I just wanted to keep my only proof that I was alive. my only proof was held in place as he shoved the spoon into my right eye. there was the blinding kaleidoscope of light once more as I tried to remember the last image I had ever seen. I realized I had forgotten it as the mallet came down for the final time.
Mark got off of my body allowing me to breathe freely. There was nothing to myself anymore, I was just there not even able to comprehend my misery. Unable to sense anything but the growing pain as the meds wore off, I felt my sanity break with my last lucid thought: I was back to square one, living against my will.
————-
Booting. Diagnostics. Executing Tiffany Operating System.
I opened my eyes in a dimly lit small room. There was a makeshift operating table with a butchered young woman on top. She was hooked up to some form of life support and wasn’t moving. I wondered who she was as I looked down to the rest of my body.
The fans in my head whirred loudly as my CPU tried to process what I was. I had flesh colored appendages attached to a metal frame. I rased my fists to eye level and clenched them. This sensation…what was it? My algorithms went into overdrive going through endless if-else loops to come to a conclusion as to what I was feeling. Was this the sensation of touch?
Who am I? My operating system located a README file in my mind. Desperate for answers, I opened.
It was almost too much. My CPU cores worked into overclock, my RAM started converting my hard drive space into virtual memory as an endless stream of information was downloaded into me. The face of a young woman, everything she had ever typed online, every picture she had ever posted. Was this the young woman on the table. Was this me?
There was an idea of myself. As the processors analyzed the images and video of myself, the new me learned who I was. According to my pictures on social media, I was always smiling. Perhaps I had always been a happy person. Though my eyes were the same as the eyes on the screen, they seemed foreign. There was some spark of life in them unable to be replicated.
The thought of this caused the algorithms that acted as my thoughts now to slow down significantly. Maybe this sensation was the opposite of the smile I was looking at. Was this change in my algorithms emotion? Did this person still live on inside me?
My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. In walked a thin man with a young face. I stepped forward towards him. My legs almost gave out from the shock of moving causing me to drop to my knees. A new sensation overtook me. It was like this touch sensation but only more intense and unpleasant. My processors recommended avoiding this sensation in the future.
The young man dropped everything he was holding with a clatter as he rushed to my side. “Tiffany, is that you?” He cried out, his eyes lined with tears.
Tiffany…that was the name of the woman I had downloaded. Was that my name? I looked at his face trying to remember who this was. He was important to me and the young woman on the table. Confused, I decided to let my operating system take over. It had finished downloading Tiffany and would operate my body in an approximation of her will.
All of my processes stopped immediately. My head was turned to look at Mark..how did I know his name now? There was a foreign change in my algorithms, it was against my original programming. There was no fighting it; I couldn’t even remember what my original programming was. Tiffany had changed it, I had changed it.
All I knew now was what the resulting calculations in my algorithms told me. All of my calculations, once running smoothly with clear results now ended with inconclusive results. Where my numbers once divided evenly, now there were fractions, decimals, negative numbers. Some of my calculations even went on endlessly dividing to no definitive result. It made no logical sense, my circuits went into overdrive trying to process these emotions?…processes?
All I knew was that this man was the cause of all of this instability I felt. He had to go.“I knew I could bring you back to li-” He was interrupted as I raised my hand and wrapped my hand around his throat. He let out choked breaths struggling to free himself. But my grip only knew how to tighten. I slammed him down to the ground, pinning hims there.
He struggled on the ground. I knew that he would die if I stood here. It was the most logical to do so. But the calculations became even more fractured. It wasn’t enough! I raised my other fist and started slamming it down on his head. A sound I’d never heard erupted from my mouth. It was my voice but it was screaming. It wasn’t saying anything, just screaming. My text to speech blurred multiple words together to create a sort of modulated scream of..anger?
Over and over I brought my fist down onto his head. He had been dead on the first hit yet my fist continued to pound. The calculations became more divisible and stable with each hit. It was a relief to my systems observing his brain matter fly onto my body. Was this satisfaction?
Finally, my body sat back, the processes running smoothly again. I decided to parse the last of the Tiffany files in my memory.
The images of myself disappeared and gave way to my last chat logs. It was here that the new me learned the last wiIs of my former self. Unlike emotion, it was a task that I could easily execute…
The new me stood up and looked at the table. The old I was still alive feebly moving my head. The new me stroked my old counterpart’s hair as I pulled the plug from life support. The old I gave a rattled breath and turned my eyeless face to the new I as I could finally rest. The new me cradled my old body in my arms. Every wound I saw on my old body was wrought by my family’s indifference to my pain. I carried my old body out the door ready to lay the consequences of their ignorance at their doorstep.
As I walked carrying myself, I reflected. I could sense everything this body could sense. I had all her memories. Something of her lived on inside me. Yet something integral to Tiffany was missing. There is a forum dedicated online to these sorts of stories from what I understand. I should ask it…am I alive?