Vern awoke with a blistering headache. A man in a white lab coat stood with his back facing him and was fingering a little bright screen on a desk. Is it done? His thoughts kept drifting back to Erina, even with the headache. What a horrible goodbye that was. Poor girl didn’t even know what was going on. She did smile at one point in the visit, so Vern forced himself to focus on that image. I’m gonna think about that smile as much as I can while I still can. It won’t be long now.

A machine with numbers and graphs beeped steadily beside him. The bed he lay in was stiff, and the pillow, blankets, and sheets were all unnaturally white. There were no windows in the room, so Vern couldn’t tell if he was hundreds of feet in the air or thousands of feet underground. He supposed it didn’t matter. MoShun had him, and the stream of consciousness that knew itself as Vern Slupman was not long for this world. The physical alterations must’ve already been done.

“How do I look?” Vern gasped after speaking. The voice that came out of his throat was that of a stranger.

The surgeon lazily pointed to his right, where a massive mirror hung on an adjustable steel beam. Vern looked, but the mirror wasn’t appropriately angled. All he could see was a side view of the surgeon and the little document he was working on.

“Can I get up?” Vern asked. “I can’t see myself from this angle.”

The surgeon sighed, put down his tablet, and rushed to the mirror. He swung the mirror into the right angle in one quick, aggressive motion and returned to his desk, leaving Vern face to face with a man he’d never seen before.

The man that looked back at him through the mirror was a lower district, blue-collar grunt. His eyes were brown now and had bags beneath them. The skin below the eyes had a darker tinge than the rest of his now-tanned face. The shape of his face was a lot sharper than the roundness that he was used to, and the jaw was quite chiseled, but he still wasn’t an attractive man by any means. The beard was scruffy and patchy, the nose was too big and a touch crooked, one ear reached out like a satellite dish looking for a signal, while the other snuggled up against his head as if desperate for warmth. There seemed to be a perpetual look of sadness in the features as well. Although that might just be me.

He stared at the stranger in the mirror for about ten minutes, nearly in shock the whole time. There weren’t even scars. The surgeon did a fantastic job, but he was too angry and heartbroken to ever admit it. He didn’t want a new life in the lower districts. He didn’t want to leave Erina and Uncle Von behind. He wanted to see the squad again if they ever returned, no matter how unlikely that might’ve been. He didn’t want to be that grizzly-looking man in the mirror. That kind of man thinks wife-beating is a professional sport. He sighed. There wasn’t much else he could do. I suppose being high-born doesn’t mean you can’t die low.

At least his arm didn’t hurt anymore. He tested the repaired limb with multi-directional movements. Everything seems to be in order. I wonder if it’s still my arm. He doubted it. They most likely amputated the original and replaced it with an alter.

The surgeon slammed a fist on the desk and mumbled something about the damned program doing this to him every time. Vern jumped at the sudden sound, but it also helped snap him out of the hopelessness he’d been mired in.

Maybe this won’t be too bad, he thought. I’ll miss Erina with all my heart, but what did I really have to live for up here? I’ve been looking over my shoulder my whole life. I might finally get some peace now as… He leaned over and reached for the ID card on the white plastic night table. He scanned the blank card over his left wrist, and just as he thought, Vern Slupman and his familiar information were nowhere to be seen. Lyle Bolts… Lyle Bolts? That’s the name you give me? Oh well… is Bolts really that much worse than Slupman?

Maybe as Lyle Bolts, the janitor, I can just get out of bed every morning, complete my days of hard, honest work, then hit the bars, watch the game, and meet some friends for once. We can all talk about how much we hate the upper district folk. No one hates them more than I do. But I guess that hatred will be wiped with the rest of my memory.

Maybe Lyle Bolts will meet a single lady who’s slogging through her thirties. She’s already had a couple of husbands, but none of them worked out. She’s getting up in age and will be willing to settle with anyone, even Lyle Bolts, the janitor. We could make love. Even though neither of us will genuinely be attracted to the other, it can still be love, right?

Maybe she’ll get pregnant! “I didn’t think that could still happen at my age,” she’ll say. Maybe she’ll run out and purchase a zygone. I think they have those in the lower districts. Maybe not judging by their reproduction rate. But I’ll stop her. We’ll have a touching movie moment where I tell her we should keep it and raise it.

I’ll teach my boy everything I know about engineering… or… being a janitor, I guess. Then I’ll grow old with my raspy tavern wife and my low wages. I’ll complain about my pension for a bit, cry about the kind of man my son turned into while never once blaming myself, and then I’ll die from some heart-related mishap. A mishap that will most likely stem from having consumed too many Slupman products. How do you like that for poetic?

Of course, Lyle Bolts won’t know it was the Slupman products that slowly rotted his organs. He’ll probably think something like, “It’s just my time.” The wall screen will have told him that nine of ten doctors recommend Slupman products, and Lyle Bolts will never question what that one doctor who disagrees has to say. “Nine of ten is good enough for me,” he’ll think. Vern Slupman knows that nine of ten doctors were paid to recommend, but Mister Bolts won’t know that.

More good news: I, as Lyle Bolts, will no longer be aware that I, as Vern Slupman, turned a blind eye to the fact that millions of people are eating and feeding their babies what is effectively a slow-working poison. That’s a weight off the old shoulders.

You know what? This all sounds horrible. I don’t want to be Lyle Bolts. I’m gonna miss Erina too much. I hate this. I should have never agreed to this. Better yet, I should have just taken care of the squad for all our sakes. Erina. I want to see you grow old. I’ll never get to see the great woman you’ll become.

He glared at the surgeon’s back. The man was still struggling with the datapad, mumbling a steady string of curses under his breath. If I can get up, if my legs could just work, I can kill him before he has a chance to wipe my memory. Then it’s just a matter of punching in the data on his tiny screen. I know how lazy these doctors are. Everything is automated in that program, and yet this knob-head still can’t figure it out. If I succeed, Vern Slupman will be gone, and Lyle Bolts will officially be mopping floors oblivious to any previous life or secrets as far as MoShun is concerned.

Vern Slupman will still live. He might look different. That’s fine. I could work with that. All I really want is to be able to keep an eye on Erina. I might not even introduce myself to her. Let her mourn me instead of implicating her in all this. But just know that I’ll always be there for you, Erina, like a guardian angel. I can’t leave you alone with these monsters.

He swung his legs out from beneath the blankets and gently lowered them off the side of the bed until his toes touched the cold, polished floor. He was standing now and scanned the room. The doctor was no more than ten steps away. He’d need to identify and locate a weapon before beginning his attempt.

A scalpel lay on the desk beside the datapad. Is that the one you used on me? Maybe I’ll rearrange your face a bit, too, you bastard. With the weapon located, Vern took his first step. It was quiet enough. His legs were a bit weak, so he couldn’t control them as completely as he would’ve liked. The foot came down a bit quick, but the slight slapping noise was minimal. Thankfully, the frustrated grunts from the surgeon were enough to overpower it.

He took a couple more steps, maintaining a careful balance between going slow to avoid getting caught and going fast enough not to miss the opportunity. He stood even with the foot of his bed when the surgeon exclaimed, “finally!” Vern froze and nearly evacuated his bladder on the sanitary white floor.

The surgeon took a step back, half-turned, snatched the clipboard from a pole at the foot of the bed, and returned to the datapad without ever spotting Vern or even noticing that the bed was empty. Vern exhaled and continued onward.

He was three steps away now. Each step made his palms sweat as he replayed his plan over and over in his mind. Wrap an arm around the guy’s shoulders, grab the scalpel, and slit the throat. Manage all that in one fluid motion, and you’re golden.

He was close now. No more steps necessary. He couldn’t do it. He was close enough that the surgeon must’ve felt him breathing on his neck, but he showed no signs of knowing anything. He was muttering new curses at the datapad. Apparently, the next part of the process was just as complicated as the last. And I trusted you to operate on me?

You’ve got to do this. Get it over with. What are you gonna do if the guy just turns around now with you right here less than a foot away? What will be your excuse? “Maybe Lyle Bolts will be gay, so I’m just practicing in case.” Just kill the bastard. It wouldn’t be the worst thing Vern Slupman has ever done. Think of Erina.

He nodded and clenched his fists. His breathing was picking up. He’d have to do this before his own nerves betrayed him. One… two… the door swung open. Vern lost all strength in his knees, and he collapsed. He managed to push himself in a way where he fell toward the bed, and he caught himself on the corner of the mattress so that only his knees hit the floor. The scalpel produced a gentle jingling sound as it struck the hard floor.

“What the Hel?” The surgeon turned and helped Vern back onto the bed. “We still have to perform the memory wipe, mister Slupman. You can get out of bed when that’s done, and you’ve had a bit of rest, alright?”

Vern nodded, but he was focused on the man that had barged in, ruining his plans.

“Oh, good,” the man at the door said. “Looks like I made it in time, then.

It took a while through the rage filter, but Vern finally recognized him as Ortio Bismock Willodroudt. Head of the Willodroudt family, who oversees every currency-based industry such as mints, banking, and the like. Ortio Willodroudt was one of the most powerful men under the dome. He was one of the very few, if not the only one left, who wasn’t intimidated by Sakero MoShun. Vern had always liked Ortio, and they often gravitated toward each other at boring parties.

He was a very old man, and it was starting to show. No one knew his actual age, but there wasn’t a black hair left on him. His balding head was crowned by white and grey, and the beard on his dark-brown face was pure as snow. His dark eyes wandered around the room, as lucid as a thirty-year-old.

Ortio Willodroudt inched his way toward Vern’s bed with a cane and a slight hump to his posture. “I heard you were going through with this, Slupman. I know better than to ask why, but I think I might know.”

“Apologies, Mister Willodroudt,” the surgeon said in a shaking voice. “Visiting hours come later.”

Ortio glared at the man. “He won’t know me come later, young fool.”

“That’s kinda the point,” the surgeon forced a confident scoff, but it didn’t fool anyone. He shrugged and returned to his desk. Vern thought he was simply going back to the datapad and would give him and Ortio a bit of time to converse, but he was wrong. The doctor pulled a drawer open and yanked a mess of tangled electrons out. He worked at untangling them, and Vern watched with horror in his brand new brown eyes. That was it. Those were the tools that were going to erase Vern Slupman from existence.

“Doctor, why don’t you enjoy yourself a short break,” Ortio said.

The surgeon looked at him, perplexed.

“They work you guys all sorts of hours, I know it,” Ortio said. “I’ll take care of the memory wipe.”

“I can’t allow that. Are you crazy?”

“Oh, come now,” Ortio said. “Big bad MoShun won’t find out. I’ll eat the heat if he does. That fool don’t scare me. I just wanna speak to my old friend here before I can’t, you know? I’ll perform the memory sweep and input the data for you. I know how it all works. Look who you’re talking to here.”

It was clear by the look on his face that the surgeon wanted nothing to do with this new plan. At the same time, one did not simply deny the wishes of the grand Ortio Willodroudt. Vern held back a chuckle but felt bad for the young man. There was no right answer when faced with two options of disobeying Ortio Willodroudt or disobeying Sakero MoShun. Vern supposed the doctor’s best chance was to do as Willodroudt says because MoShun doesn’t care who does it, as long as the memory wipe is done.

The surgeon must’ve figured the same. He nodded and left the room.

Ortio shut the door and smiled at Vern. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Vern laughed. “Same old, same old, I guess.”

“Same old, same old with a different nose,” Ortio grimaced. “A big old nose, too. You couldn’t have picked a better face, there Vern?”

They laughed. “They never handed me a magazine when I came in.”

Ortio chuckled, and his face dropped deadpan a second later. “This is all about your little foray outside the dome, isn’t it?”

“Big daddy MoShun wanted something done, and I…” he was going to keep the lie going, but Ortio’s kind old eyes pulled the truth out, “I didn’t do it.”

“Sakero know?”

Vern shook his head.

“You lied to the big dog?” Ortio cracked a smile. “Bold, Slupman. Very bold.”

“I don’t want the sweep, Ortio.”

Willodroudt shrugged. “Might do you some good. Those blue-collar lives aren’t all bad. There’s a lot to be said about a day of hard work.”

“I don’t want to lose Erina.”

Ortio pursed his dark lips in thought. “Von’s little girl?”

Vern nodded.

“Yeah,” Ortio said absentmindedly. “They’re all monsters, ain’t they?”

Vern wept. He’d been holding it in for too long.

Ortio got up and walked toward the desk.

“No! Please, Ortio. Let’s just talk for a bit longer. I’ll do it, I just… not yet, come on.”

Ortio touched the screen of the datapad a few times and dropped it heavily on the desk. “There. Vern Slupman is dead. Officially, at least.” He wandered over to the nightstand and took the blank ID card. “Welcome to your new life…” He took Vern’s arm and scanned the card. He dropped the arm and furrowed his brow as information appeared on the card. “Lyle Bolts? What kind of Gilzak superhero secret identity name is that?” He shrugged and dropped the card on the table. It turned blank again a few seconds after. “Anyway, this is the part where we would tell you you’ve been in an accident and that you’re stable now and everything is fine. We’d explain a few things about your new life, and the memories we’d have implanted would all start lighting up. I don’t like it.”

“You aren’t gonna…”

“Of course not,” Ortio nearly spat. “I don’t know what that clown MoShun is up to, but I know that letting your consciousness be extinguished would only be helping whatever nasty plan he’s got going on. Plus, I like you. Erina is a sweet girl. She’ll need her uncle in her life, even if her uncle has a nose like that.”

“I can’t possibly thank you enough, Ortio!” Vern’s new eyes were getting their first test. The tear ducts worked flawlessly.

“Just report to me every now and then with some information, and we’ll call it even,” Ortio winked.

“You got it,” Vern said. “No problem.”

“Alright then,” Ortio said. “You’re gonna have to act all dumb and confused when that little shit doctor returns.”

Vern nodded. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind since Ortio had first entered the room. Now with the imminent threat of his life ending averted, the gnawing thing took an extra hard bite. “Wait! There is one more thing you can do for me if you’re willing.”

Ortio narrowed his chestnut eyes. “Anything.”