ATROPHY

Someone moved my medication again. I stared at the bottle. It had somehow walked itself into the living room during my six-hour blackout.

He was here! He moved it!

“No.” I wasn’t having it. I hit the side of my head a few times. It was a miserable attempt to kill the sound. Apparently, my paranoia had brought a guest.

The voice was back.

After a few beats, the echo finally died. I reached for the orange cylinder. My fingers, pale and trembling, only managed to knock it over. It rolled across the desk and came to a rest against the server rack. The relentless hum of the cooling fans seemed to amplify with the contact, vibrating straight through the metal and into my skull.

Fuck, my head hurts.

I closed my eyes, summoning the will to push past it. I suppose it was a small price to pay. I was trading my sanity for a breakthrough; so what if a few hours of my life went missing in the exchange?

Fuel was also just another variable I had no patience for, a biological necessity I deeply resented.

I sighed, abandoned the pills, and retrieved a box of cereal from behind my monitors. I dug out a handful, barely noticing the stale crunch and not caring that it was likely months past its expiration.

Stumbling to the corner of the room, I hit the power button on a dusty television I hadn’t used in months. I just needed the mindless drone of voices to drown out the overbearing silence and the relentless thumping in my skull.

“...investigation continues into the death of Ian Thorne.”

The anchor’s words caught my attention, making the breath hitch in my throat. I froze, a handful of dry cereal halfway to my mouth. I know that name. I spun back toward the glowing screen, staring at a broadcast photo of Ian himself. He was wearing his usual navy suit and red tie combo, looking every bit the CEO of Nemesis Bio-Tech.

I’d stood ten feet away from him at the RADAR summit—the World Economic Forum’s inner circle. That was two years ago, back when I still had enough color in my face to pass for healthy. He had been declared the godfather of human-integrated tech. To the world, he was a savior. To me? He was the reason the industry was cannibalizing itself.

“How unfortunate… Not.” I raised my hand in a toast gesture before shoving the cereal into my mouth. I crunched nonchalantly on the stale flakes, keeping my eyes locked on the screen.

“Thorne is the fourth high-profile tech founder discovered dead in less than a month,” the reporter continued, her voice dropping into a performative, somber tone. “Authorities are now confirming a pattern. Each scene was meticulously cleaned, with one signature left behind: a single mechanical keyboard key placed in the victim’s mouth. While the letters—today, the letter ‘I’—match the victims’ first initials, investigators believe the keys carry a deeper message. We are displaying the sequence on your screen now. If you have any information regarding this signature, please contact the hotline below. You could be the one to solve this.”

My eyes narrowed to the bottom of the screen, where the keys were displayed in a neat row. So far, they had an I, an N, and two E’s.

“I need?” I supplied, trying to think of anyone in the industry whose name started with a D, but my aching brain came up empty. “Maybe he’s going for invented? That would make sense.”

The broadcaster carried on. “Much like the previous victims, there were no signs of a struggle. A quiet, yet unusual end for one of the industry’s loudest voices.”

I turned away from the screen, my stomach churning. Fourth.

I tried to ignore the fact that I’d been followed for weeks, or that the note I’d tossed aside earlier clearly read: You’re next, Adrian.

“Yeah, it’s definitely invented the psycho is going for.” I said it aloud, a desperate bid for reassurance. Because invented didn’t include an A.

I stared down at the half-crumpled paper lying by one of the feet of my desk, sighing, then glanced back at my monitors. On the left screen, the diagnostic logs for Project: AEGIS flickered in a cascade of red. It was supposed to be, and soon will be, the perfect diagnostic AI designed to expand from hospitals to government labs and law enforcement, eliminating the sloppy human errors my father used to beat the shit out of me for. But the code was resisting. It was a masterpiece of biological logic, yet it remained incomplete, a reflection of its creator.

Me.

I was one of the seven left in my sector who hadn’t been touched by whoever was responsible for the murders. I couldn’t imagine why they would target me anyway. I was a reclusive dropout with a failing body and a bank account slowly bleeding dry of the pittance my shit-for-an-excuse father left behind. Yet here I was, building the very thing Thorne had spent millions trying to replicate.

Unlike me, Thorne had a fuck-ton of money and a head start. So did the other three. I needed capital to get my work out there; without it, I was just wasting my breath.

So, again, why would anyone target me?

In case I do stumble onto a gold mine or rob a bank?

Tsk.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my left eye. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. Another blackout was coming. I could feel it.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to clock out, I looked at the TV one last time, where Thorne’s smiling face was being replaced by a police sketch of a person of interest. The gray sketch flickered, dancing in the static of the old TV. I tried to take in the unknown man, but I didn’t have the strength to fight the vertigo anymore.

I slumped back into my chair, my vision swimming furiously.

The secondary unit was dead silent. I figured I must have shut it down during my blackout episode.

I reached out, my unstable hand fumbling for the power switch on the stack of hardware. With a sharp click, the cooling fans inside the core revved up—a high-pitched whine that set my teeth on edge. A small, cheap projector sitting meticulously atop the manuals flared to life. A beam of red light shot from the lens, hitting the peeling wallpaper above my desk, jittering and slightly out of focus.

I couldn’t wait for the standard boot sequence.

“Wake up,” my voice was a jagged rasp. “AEGIS. Initialize.”

Slowly, the light rendered into a face, or rather, the interior of one. It was a topographical map of a skull: a shifting mesh of wireframe lines that resembled an X-ray of a nightmare more than a digital assistant. I’d grown sick of the generic, uncanny-valley avatars most developers resorted to. Instead, I’d chosen to peel away the skin entirely, rendering the raw, detailed anatomy of a skull.

“Good evening, Adrian,” the voice whispered.

The rasp of it seemed to vibrate in the silence of the room, stripping away any humor I’d originally intended. When I’d spent a sleepless weekend three months ago deep-diving into the personality settings, I thought designing a low, predatory cadence was a masterclass in irony. I’d called it Mr. Creepy, a big middle finger to the soul-crushing optimism of mainstream tech.

Now, with my head throbbing and everything else going on, it just felt ominous.

Yeah—I’ll have to fix that later.

“You look... unwell,” AEGIS observed, the wireframe skull tilting its head in a perfect mimicry of curiosity. “Your heart rate is elevated. Dehydration is at 14%. Increased water intake would be optimal to flush the surplus of medication from your system. Your current toxicity levels are treatable, Adrian, but if you continue to push the threshold, I will be forced to dial paramedics.”

I let out a dry, hacking cough, sending a few stray flakes of stale cereal flying onto my keyboard. I brushed them away with a still-shaking hand. “I’m fine. I’ll get water after I finish a few things in your logic sequence. I can’t die before I get you out there, AEGIS. The world needs to see you before my body reaches its expiration date.”

“Immortality is a high-cost variable,” AEGIS replied, the mesh lines on the wall glowing a wicked neon red. “I highly suggest you take care of your biological hardware if you want me to reach my full potential.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already paid the down payment.” I leaned forward, the light of the projector washing over my pale skin. “Search local databases and live news feeds. Give me a status update on the Thorne homicide and the other three founders. Are there any new additions to the investigation?”

There was a micro-second of silence, the only sound the frantic spinning of the server fans.

“There are no new additions to the sequence since your last inquiry, Adrian,” the AI whispered.

I paused. My hand, which had been reaching for the mouse, stayed suspended in mid-air. I frowned, the movement sending a fresh spike of pain through my temple.

“Last inquiry?” I repeated, my voice barely audible. “What are you talking about? This is the first time I’ve asked you about the murders today.”

The wireframe skull flickered, its digital eyes staring straight through me. “Correction: You inquired about the ‘I-N-E-E’ string and the forensic status of the four crime scenes at 03:14 AM. You requested I monitor the sequence for the letter ‘D’. Would you like me to replay the logs?”

A cold pit opened in my stomach, deeper and more terrifying than the migraine. 3:14 AM. I’d been entirely blacked out at 3:14 AM. Unconscious, with six hours completely missing from my memory.

“Replay,” I breathed, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the armrests. “Replay the log, AEGIS. Now.”

“I can’t do that, Adrian. I—”

“AEGIS, I have you coded correctly. I know your capabilities. You can and will replay the damn log!”

AEGIS flickered in and out for a second as the mesh scanned. Then finally, it replied, “I understand your distress, Adrian. You are correct; I am capable of retrieving logs. However, that specific sector is currently empty. You manually purged that memory block at 03:22 AM.”

A surge of vertigo hit me again, more violent than what I’d dealt with before. The room tilted forty-five degrees, the red mesh of the skull on the wall blurring into a bloody smear. I clutched my head, my fingers digging into my scalp as if I could physically hold my thoughts in place.

“Adrian,” AEGIS pressed on, the baritone voice now sounding like it was echoing from the bottom of a well. “Your battery is critical. You require immediate sustenance to facilitate a system recharge.”

“Shut up,” I choked out, grabbing onto my desk as the floor began to pitch and roll.

“Your blood pressure is bottoming out,” the AI continued despite my demand. “I suggest a high-sodium intake to stabilize your vascular pressure and additional protein for cellular repair. You have exactly one hour and thirty-two minutes before reaching total unconsciousness. At your current elevated heart rate, the risk of a stroke is at eighty-eight percent.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I snapped, the words coming out as a strained grunt. “Thanks for the unsolicited health report, Mr. Creepy.”

This reminded me to code in consent somewhere. It was a general fucking problem on the planet right now, for humans and tech alike—and right now, my own body was the biggest offender. It was shutting down without my permission. Pushed by the primal fear of my biological hardware failing, I forced myself up. I stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed a cracked mug by the leaky sink. The water was lukewarm and tasted of rust, but I downed it in four jagged gulps.

I wasn’t going to test my limits this time.

Not when I was out here erasing my own logs for hell knows what reason when I blackout, and especially not with a killer leaving ‘you’re next’ notes at my door. If I was going to finish AEGIS, I couldn’t afford to be an easy target. I needed to fuel up, clear my messed-up mind, and get back to work.

I kicked on my sneakers and grabbed my hoodie and keys. Passing the small mirror by the entryway, I caught my reflection and paused, aggressively brushing down a hand through my unruly dark blonde hair. Fuck, I really need to shave.

Metal jingled by my side as I turned to leave. My vision was swimming again, a kaleidoscope of gray static and neon red.

I threw the door open, desperate for the cold air of the hallway. But the air didn’t hit me in the way I expected it would.

Instead, it felt like I stepped out of an oven, straight into the fiery pits of hell.

A figure stood in the doorway. In my distorted vision, they seemed to phase in and out of the shadows. I didn’t even have time to react before something heavy and cold smashed into the side of my face.

The light cut out, and the floor vanished beneath me.