MIs went off automatically, based on internal readings from the implant's computer. It monitored several bodily processes, from endocrine to renal. In response to trauma, skyrocketing levels of stress, shock, adrenaline spikes, all of the things which happen to a person about to die, the Morphine Implant injected a dose of morphine into the system.
The moment Five's body, weak, limp and drained of all energy, hit that silicate carpet, his first thought was of the MI going off. He equated the sensation with death. An ultimate form of comfort from the drug would mean the worst. With his back against the wall, neck barely able to hold up his head, he used every joule of his energy, as if he could, through sheer power of will, hold back a possible rush of adrenaline which would set the whole thing in motion. The feeling of the cushioning hand of Providence, wiping away all pain and fear, scared him to death.
The Supreme Court ruled it cruel and unusual that any man or woman injured or facing death in the line of duty protecting this country should have to face such terror without any drugs to comfort them. The majority opinion ruled these people should instead be jabbed by a small injection of morphine, enough to make the outward journey not dominated by fear of the unknown. Elegant Analog Systemsi offered their Morphine Implant technology to the cause. The American people accepted. After graduating from the Academy, the Chicago Genetic Security Authority penned Five in for an appointment at the MI clinic, where they implanted him with the chip and an ampule of fun. For the next several months the GSA took a portion out of his check to pay if off.
How it worked exactly was the surgeon implanted a small device in his lower back, over the aorta. The theory behind this placement is because the adrenal gland dumps its epinephrine load into this artery. The aorta actually traveled through the device, once properly attached. Within this mechanism, a type of barometer measured the epinephrine levels within the blood. When the epinephrine started puffing away to a certain level above what a normal fight or flight might cause, closer to that of a panic attack or near-death experience, thereby signifying the probability the end is neigh, this triggered the mechanism to release morphine into the bloodstream.
EAS modified the device to detect other functions and chemical changes to the human body also associated with the moments before death. But all of these chemicals were also mimicked in panic attacks.
The problem was, some people who aren't going to die get panic attacks. And some people who are going to die don't panic. Nervous or anxiety ridden agents did not last long in the GSA. Their panic attacks set of the MIs too easily. All they could do to get around this flaw in the system, to make sure their agents didn't just drop into a drug-induced coma every time they worried too much about their bills, was to test the mental sturdiness of candidates at the entrance exam. The cost of this assessment was taken out of the agent's first paycheck if accepted into the Authority. If rejected, the money was still due.
This cost-saving protocol came about because the gressives in congress severly cut the GSA's budget. This was the same reason the Authority couldn't afford to send medics along with every agent like in the first days of the GSA. So the MI replaced the need for most medical assistance, since a gunshot wound was normally fatal in the field. Though the GSA provided a decent insurance package, with good hospitalization, to all its agents, rarely could a wounded agent make it to the emergency room in time. Up on the 70th, 80th, 90th floors in the middle of Westian ghettos, where most mods were to be found, getting to the hospital before blood loss killed you, or septicemia set in, wasn't always an option. If you went out in the field, a bullet to the gut usually meant death.
The blood from Five's shoulder made its way down his bicep, where it pressed up against his skin and thinned out as if blown by a highpowered fan. This effect was produced by Five's electromagnetic armor, which, like the MI, switched on automatically after the first bullet clipped him in the shoulder. Now the armor only made his blood crawl—like the marching ants he'd seen in the Living Museum—over his bicep in an unnatural way. The blood seemed like it didn't want to exist but had nowhere else to go, a situation he couldn't help but relate to his own at the moment. He managed to switch off his shield with his good hand, and he immediately dropped two inches to the floor in a hard thump. After that the only sound in the room was his labored breathing. The blood now ran off his arm in solid, thin lines, only breaking up into a drizzle after several centimeters of free fall on its way to a puddle of saturated carpet.
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If he turned his head the right way he could avoid looking at his wound, but when he did this he looked directly at the limp body of the man who still held a gun loosely in what Five hoped were lifeless fingers. The attacker looked devoid of life, the way the man's face pressed up unnaturally against the floor, with half of his body disappeared into the interior of his invisible compartment. The wall hiding this compartment didn't ripple. It didn't ripple because there was no wall. The wall itself, at least for its several square feet, was only a permeable membrane, the same color as the rest of the room. This was something Five had never seen before. It must have been new technology. Even at the GSA they hadn't talked about this type of tech. Most likely, it must have also been extremely expensive. Too expensive for a recom living in a dingy unit in Westian Town. One armed and ready, with brass enough to plug off two shots before doing the dead-man-disco to return fire. Now the attacker lay with his head to the side, cheek against the carpet, only half of his body visible, and this looked even more grotesque than the blood flowing from his chest.
He was a young man but already balding, with a rat-like face due to his large, aquiline nose and smooth pate. When Five had come back into the room after talking to Vander, he saw this man climbing through the wall, as if he were returning to his hiding spot. But hearing Five approach he whipped around, crouched inside the hole, so all Five could see were glimpses of his face, flashing in and out of the wall, and the gun directed towards Five. The sight of all this stunned him, momentarily rooting him to the spot. It all seemed unreal. The man held the gun at Five for too long, several seconds before pulling the trigger, managing to squeeze off two shots.
Though Five, in his astonishment, had forgotten to switch on his electric armor, the first bullet caused the armor to instantly switch on, stopping the next bullet. This had given Five enough twist so the lead skipped off his static field, and in that same motion, Five got off three shots of his own, intent only on immobilization, then another two for good measure. He could now see the grim results of his effort.
Less of these earthly things mattered to him though, the more he bled. His own senses began to disappear, each heartbeat pumping more of the world out of him. The bullet hole near his shoulder radiated ice outward, crystalline, the way frost forms on a glasspane, down his forearm, toward his fingers.
Before then he only thought about death the way a soldier thinks about death; that when the times comes, he'll be clever enough to escape it; that it'll be someone else it takes in its fell clutches, never him. But there, with the blood pumping out and his body in a state of shock, his deep focus slipped. There was a gauge inside of him he could almost visualize, like a lie detector scratching mountains and valleys in wider and wider apertures, and each time he could feel himself far from that center of oneness, each time, further and further outward. He wasn't sure how to save himself.
With all his energy, he tried to slow his heart rate to keep the morphine inside the implant. This was more than a matter of death to him. It was a debt he could not afford.
Without an MI, and agent could not return to the field. And if yours went off, injecting you with that sweet poison, and you managed to live, the Genetic Security Authority only gave you two months to have it replaced.
The problem was, you had to pay for out of pocket. The problem was, Five had no money. The problem was, Five was already mired in debt. And if he got suspended without pay, he couldn't make enough money to have the MI replaced, much less pay his existing debts. Not getting MIs replaced was the main reason, in those days, agents left the Authority. The second most common reason was addiction to morphine.
From the back, Vander came running toward him, the footsteps almost inaudible to Five at that moment, with his hearing so dulled down. Five tried to say, "What were you doing back there?" But the words didn't appear. The laughter from Vander's end never showed up. Only a face of horror, the last thing and injured person desires to set eyes upon.
The one hot coil of pain from Five's shoulder radiated out till it commandeered every sense from his face to his chest, infecting him with an unnamed agony. When he managed to open his eyelids as if they were iron shutters, he could make out Vander at his side, eyes wide, mouth gaping, a driplet of blood on his pinky. Vander had an expression that couldn't mean anything good, like waking up out of a haze and finding yourself in the hospital with an auto-priest at the foot of the bed, mechanically reciting extreme-unction. Especially from Vander, who never showed any real emotion, that dreadful expression painted on his partner's face sent the final quake of panic through Five. The edges of his vision blurred to zero, his hearing shrunk, his mouth dried out, and a wave of glory rushed through him.
In that instant, only one memory flashed before his shut eyes. Just a single picture from his existence. For a normal person, he'd heard, an entire life of memories was supposed to flash at curtains down. That's what they told him. But Five was not a normal person.
iElegant Analog Systems (EAS): Formerly Elgin Analog Systems when it was founded in Elgin, Illinois circa 2067. After the Great Migration, having to move their HQ to Chicago, the company restructured itself, gradually moving away from the manufacture of analog computers and communication devices into the the new field of Human Implant Technology, in which, over the next twenty years, it became not only the industry leader but controlled a virtual monopoly over the HIT market. motto: Make your life EASy.