As usual, the parking lot for Athena Nanotechnologies was almost full, and it took me a good five minutes cruising the lot to find an empty space. I had even tried to arrive a bit early today, “tried” being the operative word. Random minor setbacks and heavier-than-normal traffic put an end to that goal. After shutting off the engine, I grabbed my ID and backpack. With my employee badge on a lanyard around my neck, I entered the three-story building, heading for my office. My office! It was not a cubicle for me anymore, and all it cost was two years of my life, a failed relationship, and twenty extra pounds due to lack of exercise.
The familiar hum of the bustling office greeted me as I made my way through the maze of cubicles. Colleagues were already immersed in their morning routines, tapping away at keyboards, sipping coffee, and murmuring into headsets. The air was thick with the mingling scents of freshly brewed coffee and the faint ozone of powered-up machines. Sunlight streamed in through the wide office windows, casting long streaks of warmth across the carpeted floor and illuminating the subtle haze of activity. I nodded at a few familiar faces, their expressions a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled envy. They knew what was happening today.
I sat my backpack on my desk and hung my baseball cap on a hook I had installed on the wall. Not many in Silicon Valley wore seed company caps, but it was an affectation I got from my father, and it just became... part of my personality. Even when I got unmercifully teased in college and even got the nickname "Farmer Dan," I continued to wear my DEKALB cap. Why Dan? I guess it sounded better than Farmer Lucas or Farmer Luke.
Lucas McLaughlin, or more exact, Lucas Alexander McLaughlin. Only an Episcopalian Iowa farm family would saddle a child with a name like that. Welcome to my life, ha!
I sank into the way-too-comfortable desk chair and pulled myself to the desk. Slipping out my laptop, I started looking over the diagrams for what seemed like the thousandth time. Athena was at the forefront of the nanotech wave. The corporation had its fingers in just about every branch of technology that nanotech was infiltrating. It had already vastly expanded the power of information technology and we had just last year released nano-scale memory that allowed hundreds of terabytes on a single chip. The latest versions of our nanites even had vast amounts of memory. Each tiny little nanite had an AI many orders of magnitude more powerful that the original Large Language Model AIs, like ChatGPT.
Even though this was a simple out-patient procedure, I would be spending at least the next two weeks at the nanite lab across town. After over 20 temporary medical trials, had shown the power of a brain implant nanite programmer/controller, I had pulled some strings, and I was going to receive the first permanent nanite controller implant. And it was going to happen today!
That was why I had wanted to get into the office early today, to clean up that little last bit of paperwork before I had to drive to the Longren Medical Center where an Athena contracted medical staff would laboriously implant the tiny seed that would expand into the most powerful nanite interface the world had yet seen. Then, starting tomorrow, I get to stare into the sealed, specially engineered glass that contained the most advanced version of nanite that amazing minds at Athena could conceive. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in thinking what I could get those little buggers to create for me. But check-in was at 2 PM, and I had an inbox to empty.
The morning passed in a blur. I reviewed reports, answered emails, and signed off on several projects. The usual humdrum of office life felt surreal, knowing that in a few hours, I’d be undergoing a procedure that could change everything. To say that I was excited would be a vast understatement.
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As I shut off the light and locked up my office though, I was a bit conflicted. I had worked through the morning tying up as many of the loose ends as I could so that during my absence hopefully only a few things would be dropped on the floor. What I had expected never happened. I expected calls from the upper floor. I expected lots of calls from the upper floor. I assumed I would be flooded with calls from VPs, Executive Directors, or even a call from the board. I had even planned on shutting down all communication because I expected to be inundated with last minute check-ins and atta boys. Hey, I may just be a director, but I was stepping up and playing guinea pig for the company. Didn’t that deserve some recognition? I Guess not. I even tried calling my boss just to see if everything was alright but his secretary told me that all of upper management had gone quiet.
Oh well, I thought. I was doing this for me, not for them anyway. Finishing my last email, I shut down the system and sat back in my still way-too-comfy chair and stretched. Standing up I grabbed my stuff and placed my Dekalb hat on my head and stepped out of my office for the first time today. I feeling that everyone was just a little too busy washed through me. If it had been any other day, I would have been in the isles trying to determine what was wrong and helping organize the response to the problem. Today though, I let the feeling of pending doom just wash through me. Not my problem today, I told myself.
The drive to the medical center was uneventful, and I breezed through the door a good fifteen minutes before I was scheduled to check in. My mom would be so proud. I smiled at the thought. She aways said, “If you are not fifteen minutes early, you are late.” The sterile smell of antiseptic hit me as soon as I entered, a stark contrast to the buzzing office atmosphere. Anyone who has had a minor medical procedure knows exactly what happened next. Paperwork, and unfortunately, because I would have to go under general anesthesia, I had to change into one of those stupid tie-in-the-back medical gowns. The fabric was cold against my skin, and I couldn’t help but feel vulnerable and exposed.
As I sat in the waiting area, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The Athena contracted nurses and doctors walked by, glancing at me with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This was, after all, a groundbreaking procedure. A few of them whispered among themselves, and I caught bits and pieces of their conversation.
“That’s him, the first permanent implant recipient…”, one nurse whispered.
Another nurse shushed the first nurse muttering something about an NDA and if she wanted to wind up broke.
Trying to drown out the murmurs, I focused on the TV mounted on the wall, broadcasting a news segment about a recent tech innovation. Ironically, it was about nanotechnology making waves in the medical field. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Finally, a nurse called my name. Taking a deep breath, I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it, the moment I had been preparing for, the culmination of years of hard work and sacrifice. I followed the nurse down a corridor, the walls lined with motivational posters and medical diagrams, until we reached a room marked "Pre-Op."
The pre-op room was cold and sterile, the air heavy with the scent of disinfectant. A team of doctors and nurses were already waiting, their faces masked but their eyes filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. I climbed onto the table, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing.
Dr. Anderson, the lead surgeon, approached me, her eyes kind and reassuring. "Mr. McLaughlin, we’re ready to begin. Are you?"
I nodded, trying to steady my voice. "Yeah, let’s do this."
She smiled beneath her mask. "Don’t worry. You’re in good hands."
As the anesthesiologist prepped the IV, I lay back and stared up at the bright lights overhead. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts; what if something went wrong? What if this didn’t work? But beneath the fear was a flicker of hope. This could be the start of something incredible.
Voices from the corner of the room caught my attention. “Did you hear about the accidental nanite release? They say it came from Athena. Figures they’d mess something up.”
Another voice responded with a hint of sympathy. “Yeah, poor bastard. Hope he knows what he’s getting into.”
The last thing I remembered was the soft hiss of the anesthetic and Dr. Anderson’s voice, calm and reassuring. "Just breathe easy, Lucas. When you wake up, everything will be different."
And then, darkness.