Hi! My name is Eric Mohammed, and I’m about to be probed up the anus by a bunch of crazed military scientists thirsting to explore my inner workings.

I’m now the most important research subject of this day and age, and every crevice of my body shall be explored, prodded and analyzed, because—wait for it—I’m now a precious national treasure with a priceless brain that just had to be studied.

We must do it for science!

I must now be selfless, shut up completely, do as they ask without any complaint whatsoever, and make like a good little test subject. I had to cooperate. If I ever wanted my life back, that is.

Yeah. Absolutely no way in hell, broskies.

I won’t trouble you with the entire conversation, but here’s the gist of it:

It started with innocuous inquiries about me: my life, who my parents were, where I was raised, the events leading up to this moment, how my identity was stolen, then it devolved into some kind of interrogation where they tried to fish out my whereabouts in the last week and where I’d obtained the DreamStream—which they apparently were able to identify—and they quickly became frustrated with my half-assed answers, or my silence in some cases, and things devolved from there.

Then came the subtle threats.

Our “discussion” started to heat up, and we started shouting to our heart’s content. Fuchsia leaned in and whispered something in my ear, asking me for something, but at that point, I was shouting vehemently, and so I just snapped and told her to do whatever she wanted. She gave me a dirty look and a slap on the head for being rude at her and walked back to lean on the foot of the bed.

The disgruntled scientists made some calls, and so it happened that another gaggle of—surprise, surprise—well-dressed lawyers flooded into the room. I was then threatened with multiple lawsuits, citing the possession of an unapproved, and thus illegal neural augment, possibly for the purpose of identity fraud, followed by threats of the confiscation of my phone and the DreamStream, and perhaps the loss of my part-time job and any chance at a future job opportunity as a consequence of said lawsuit. Their argument was that I should just accept, because, in order to prove I had absolutely no augs in court, I’d have to let the government study me anyway, and that was an extra unnecessary step. It was better to just do it now, with my consent. No lawsuit needed.

The carrot in their deal was that I’d get a ticket to the easy life. Money, women, and drugs. Okay, I’m just making that last bit up. In truth, they offered a monthly stipend for the duration of their study, and to cover my higher education should I decide to resume my high school year and go to college. In essence, they’d give me a chance to put myself on the path to success.

I was tempted, to be honest, anything was better than my less-than-optimal pointless existence so far, but I didn’t like their shifty eyes. I was sure the consent forms they wanted me to sign had longer fine print than the clauses they put upfront. I’d essentially be giving away my freedom for the duration of the study, without an enclosed deadline, aka forever if they wanted to.

Hell no.

And so I remained steadfast, and after they exhausted all their tricks, the “discussion” ended on a sour note, with subtle threats of conscription by a grim-looking, ass-clenching, dead-serious military bigwig who came in and saw fit to explain to me that: because solid proof that I was augmented was available—in the form of the brain scans—and that I’d soon be of legal age to be eligible for selective conscription, according to the Military Recruitment Act, Section 5, Appendix Whatchamacallit of the Year 2065, I was going to scrub latrines on hostile alien worlds in a couple of months when he became my commanding officer, and that’s after they do the study anyways, that is.

You probably get the full picture of how balls-deep in shit I felt, and although by now I knew they wanted to study my brain real bad, I never realized the why of it, or how important it was for them, back at the time.

And, with their ultimatum issued, they up and left on that note.

I was at a loss. I know I’d originally planned to join the military for a chance to get augs, but not like this. I won’t be a damn test subject for a military experiment if I could damn well help it.

Farewell, cruel Earth. I’m going to die in PvP against space Kobolds now. You sucked ass anyway. I couldn’t help but lament, thinking of my impending conscription as I watched the hoard of lawyers, scientists, and angry military bears leave.

But then that Fuchsia—God bless her—started giggling uncontrollably. She’d been silently observing all this time, and only now did she show any reaction at all.

I looked at her questioningly, and after she calmed down she leaned closer. I won’t lie, it got me hot and bothered, but her next words changed everything.

“According to my stream settings, this will go live in about two hours.” She whispered conspiratorially.

I suddenly realized what she was talking about. Her stream had a time buffer thing that prevented viewers from watching in real-time, thus preventing trouble-makers from directly tracking her position and making her life into an absolute living hell.

“I love you, you beautiful bastard!” For a moment, I forgot I wasn’t talking to my buddy, Jim, and hugged her fiercely. I didn’t pay much attention to my actions at the time. What can I say? I was dumb and I was super excited.

Because all I could think was: Hell yeah! Take that you conniving bastards! We’re going public with this, boys.

Then I thought of something and exclaimed.

“Wait. Don’t you need consent for that!? Won’t this land you in trouble?”

“You gave consent when you told me to do whatever I wanted, but I guess you were too busy with your shouting match to pay attention to my question,” she stepped back and looked through the window in anticipation, “next time, be careful with what you agree to, you doof.”

“Does this mean I’m famous now?” I raised my voice over the shouts of protesters coming from outside.

I was already dressed, and we were going to get my things from safekeeping in the hospital’s security department. I hadn’t signed any waivers of liability—being unconscious during admittance and all—so they had to give them back.

“Oh, about that. I didn’t want to tell you, but… you kinda already are,” Fuschia said as we walked side by side.

“I’m what?” I couldn’t parse that response.

“Famous.”

“Nice try, I’m not falling for that one.”

“I’m serious.”

“Because of your stream?”

“You could say that.”

Just then, we arrived at the security desk, and the conversation abruptly ended. We did the old song and dance with the clerk who seemed very nervous—possibly because of the protesters outside—before she acquiesced and sent someone to bring my things back from somewhere—probably from the same college professor that tried to make me his test subject, or the military dude or god knows who else. After about thirty minutes I spent chatting with Fuchsia, I was handed my stuff back.

Phone, check. Memory chip, check. DreamStream, check.

It was time to get out of this place. Good thing I didn’t have to settle any bills before leaving. Free healthcare. Yay! Thanks, Canada. You will never be forgotten. One of the few countries to bring something to the table that made the Federation less shitty than it would have been.

I was completely distracted at this point and I forgot to ask Fuchsia about the fame thing. We left the hospital through a different exit to avoid the protesters that were undoubtedly waiting for us.

We said our goodbyes, and I thanked her for coming and helping me out. She subtly signaled me to call her at 5 PM, before we parted ways. I took the mag-rail and arrived at school to get my stuff from my locker. Then decided to visit the library again. An old cyborg witch had a reckoning coming her way in the form of yours truly.

I never noticed the people following me because I was super excited as I stared at the shiny, beautiful, flashing icons in the corner of my vision.

I was finally a real boy, and this was going to be the start of my great new life.

Oh, how little did I know…