Night City, 2070

Another war had ended with the signing of a peace agreement. Night City had become a free city, where the interests of large corporations intersected. Many companies returned with great enthusiasm, the market was flooded with new technologies, and in this chaos, crime reached a new level. No one could handle the rampaging gangs, and the streets fell completely under their control. The police became a minor threat to these ruthless bands.

The Militech Corporation, known for its advanced military developments, launched a new ambitious project called "Life After Death." Their philosophy was simple: why worry about human resources when they could become infinite?

The main focus of all human life had always been the study of one's own essence. What is the soul, mind, and consciousness? All these studies were aimed at one goal — to uncover the secrets of the human body and extend its lifespan. The "Life After Death" project was about preserving the mind of a deceased person and subsequently resurrecting them in a new body. Attempts had been made repeatedly, but in most cases ended in failure: the test subjects went mad, their brains, now representing only code in the form of zeros and ones, could not correctly form a sense of self and consciousness, leading to fatal failures and the destruction of their personalities.

In a laboratory surrounded by cold walls and flickering screens, Michael Baker, a leading specialist in the field of neurotechnology, worked. Militech had brought him in to implement this project with one goal — to create an immortal army so that no corporation could ever stand against them. He was examining the latest brain sample.

"So, who's next?" he asked his assistant of Asian descent. Although she didn't particularly enjoy working for him, she diligently performed her duties.

"Matthew Carrington, worked as a detective in the police, died in 2030, his brain was preserved as a unique sample," said the girl with numerous cyber-implants that allowed her to work better with flesh.

"Alright, starting the simulation," he said, monitoring the data.

Matthew Carrington's (Michael's) POV

Loading...

These words again. What do they mean?

Loading additional module...

Creating permanent connection....

15... 56... 99... 100.

Launching Program K3-8 "Life After Death."

I didn't understand the symbols that constantly floated before my eyes. It felt like something tugged at me, and suddenly I was filled with a mass of feelings, an indistinct sound, as if someone was rummaging in my ear, creating a multitude of unpleasant sensations. I barely felt my body and tried to open my eyes, but nothing worked.

"Alright, it seems everything's launched, let's try. Matthew, can you hear me?" a voice sounded. It was strange, unnatural.

I tried to respond but couldn't.

"Speech modules are still loading," a softer voice with an accent that sounded Japanese echoed. The distinct sounds of the language were clearly noticeable, and the voice seemed a bit distant. How do I recognize accents so well? These memories surfaced immediately, a practice in my work as a detective to notice small details, although two sets of memories still slightly hindered my normal thinking.

What speech modules? I didn't understand. Did I lose my voice and now have an implant? I'd seen people who had undergone such operations; they had a special device on their throat to imitate a voice.

"Alright, got it, let's continue. Brain frequencies are within normal limits, no errors, simulation is going well," the male voice said again. Strange doctors, what are they talking about? "How well has the memory transferred?"

"About 83 percent, some of it was lost, he was in stasis for too long," the Japanese woman's voice sounded.

"Not bad, we've made good progress in our research. Alright, the speech module has started. Matthew, say something," the man said.

"T...ttt...aaasss mn... oyyy," I tried to say something, but the words were distorted, and I didn't feel like I could speak. The sounds came out of me on their own.

"Alright, the decoding is incorrect. Hold on a second, there, error corrected," the man said.

Rebooting speech module... 12%... 54%... 100%...

The words appeared before me again. I barely understood anything. I wanted to get up, open my eyes, and finally look in the mirror. I didn't feel my body. My memories blurred like a vague dream. In my past life, I was Michael... or maybe Matthew? I couldn't understand what was happening to me. A sense of loss and uncertainty tormented me.

"Now everything should be fine. Try again," the man said.

"What's happening to me? Am I paralyzed?" I asked. My voice was robotic, devoid of any emotion despite the storm of feelings inside me.

"You could say that. Your condition matches that term," the man replied.

"Speak plainly. Why can't I open my eyes? Why can't I feel my body?" I demanded.

"Plainly? Alright. You don't have a body. All that's left of you is your brain, which died a long time ago. All you are now is fragments of your memory," the doctor responded.

"You're lying! That's impossible, it's absurd! Medicine isn't capable of such things," I exclaimed angrily, but my voice remained calm and monotone. There was nothing in my memory about such technologies. Even in the more advanced world of Matthew, this didn't exist.

"Increased risk of rejection, mind rejection rate at 10%," the Japanese woman's voice echoed.

"Again, I was too blunt. Let's break it down step by step, no need to panic. But really, he shouldn't be able to feel anything, so what's the reason, hmm..." the scientist mused.

"The mind is trying to adapt based on old principles and build new realities under previous criteria," the Japanese woman suggested.

"That's somewhat justifiable," the scientist confirmed.

"What are you talking about? Answer me, or you'll regret it and not get away with just a broken tooth," I said.

"Ha, amusing, but alright. It's the year 2070, you died in 2030. Progress has reached unprecedented heights, and you've become part of our 'Life After Death' project. We restored your personality from your brain," the scientist explained.

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I pondered his words for a few seconds, finding similarities in my consciousness, the minute details, sounds, and the happenings around me, as well as the words before me. The more I became convinced of the state I was in, the more I wanted to escape, to run away from this truth. Had I died and been given someone else's memory?

"Mind rejection risk at 47%," the assistant announced.

"Matthew, please calm down. The situation isn't as dire as it seems, I assure you," the scientist said.

This only made me angrier, and I tried to do something, anything, but all I managed were robotic sounds. I couldn't be a damn brain in a jar; it just couldn't be.

"Mind rejection risk at 61%," the Japanese woman announced.

"Alright, shut it down, we'll try a different approach," the scientist ordered.

My thoughts became heavier, and I didn't want to think at all. Was something pulling me? What was happening?

End POV

"Yes, it's tough. I'm not a psychologist and I'm bad at handling the workings of the mind. Any suggestions?" Henry asked his assistant.

"First, introduce yourself. Knowing your name can help create a more comfortable environment. Create a favorable atmosphere, tell him he's part of a life-saving program and that we managed to restore him. And give him a goal," suggested the Japanese woman, Masashi.

"Alright, let's try that. Let's lower the emotional module to about 45 percent, then gradually increase it to seventy during the conversation," Henry agreed.

"We wanted to keep as much humanity as possible," Masashi reminded him doubtfully.

"Yes, I know. But colder thinking will make it easier to accept the circumstances," Henry acknowledged, rubbing his temples.

"I'm starting it up," Masashi said, her fingers poised before the holographic monitor.

"Yes, start it. And wait, erase the last memory logs, we'll start over," Henry waved his hand dismissively.

Matthew Carrington's POV

Loading...

Loading additional module...

Creating permanent connection...

15... 56... 99... 100.

Launching Program K3-8 "Life After Death."

I didn't understand the symbols that constantly floated before my eyes. It felt like something tugged at me, and suddenly I was filled with a mass of feelings, an indistinct sound, as if someone was rummaging in my ear, creating a multitude of unpleasant sensations. I barely felt my body and tried to open my eyes, but nothing worked.

"Can you hear me, Matthew? I'm Dr. Henry Baker, a leading scientist in robotics and human brain research. You are part of a life-saving program. We were able to restore your brain. Could you say something?" an unfamiliar voice sounded. Matthew, yes, or am I Maxim?

"What's happening to me?" I asked. It seemed this was the doctor. I needed to remember: did I die in a fire in my room or in an explosion at a checkpoint? My name was trying to come off my tongue. I wanted to say that my name was Maxim, I was just a student. But all my memories insisted: I am Matthew Carrington, a detective.

"You were severely injured and died in 2030. Today is September 2070. Medicine has advanced significantly, and we were able to save you," Henry explained.

"I see. What is my condition?" I asked, hoping that my body wasn't in as bad a state as it seemed. Though I couldn't feel it, I still had hope.

"You have completely lost your body. We are currently in the process of replacing all your limbs with robotic ones," Henry informed me. His words hit my mind hard. What did he mean by "completely lost my body"?

"I don't understand," I said. I didn't just fail to grasp my current state; I also couldn't comprehend how they had revived me fifty years later. I knew there were cryocapsules that wealthy people used to freeze themselves and wake up in the future when they could extend their lives.

"It's hard to accept, but this is the situation. We've revived you, and it's up to you to decide how to proceed," the doctor said.

"Live as a robot? Not feeling or sensing anything? That's worse than death," I said. In such a state, I wasn't going to live.

"Oh, not at all. Technology has advanced to an incredible level. There are many augmentations that allow you to realistically experience various tastes, touches, and even pleasure," Henry replied.

I fell silent, pondering. If that were true, the situation wasn't as terrible as it seemed. But I didn't see the point in living. I wasn't in my own time. Where was my family? They were probably all dead by now. With the levels of air pollution, I doubted they had lived another fifty years. Maybe I had grandchildren somewhere, but why would they need a useless grandfather? First, I needed to figure out who I was, setting aside thoughts of family.

Matthew Carrington's POV

"You can continue working in the police force. Believe me, your skills will be highly valued. There are many unsolved cases in this city, and you would be a very useful person," the doctor said.

This statement triggered a surge of anger in me. The police? Going back to serving the authorities, taking the hits, realizing the futility of my work? No, that's not happening.

"Mind rejection risk at 48%," the familiar voice with a Japanese accent announced.

"And I haven't introduced you. This is my assistant, Masashi. If you don't want to work in the police, we will find you something else that suits you," Henry said.

"No. Just disconnect me. I just want to die again," I said, wishing for it all to end.

"Sorry, but we can't disconnect you. A lot of resources have been invested in you, and we want to get some return on that investment," Henry replied.

At that moment, everything became clear to me. What kind of life-saving organization was this? It was all empty talk. They were just another bunch of crazy bastards wanting to use people. I wouldn't be surprised if I wasn't even considered a person, meaning I had no rights. The perfect slave for them.

"Mind rejection risk at 72%," Masashi announced.

"Shut it down, I honestly don't understand," Henry said.

My thoughts became heavy, and I didn't want to think at all. Something was pulling me down. What was happening?

End POV

"So, what went wrong?" Henry asked.

"It seems he didn't like your words about the police and the refusal to disconnect him," Masashi replied.

"Damn, alright, let's try again. Do we have anything that can help us?" he asked Masashi, clearly at a loss.

"We can alter some memories to include patriotic feelings, a desire to fight criminals due to some tragedy," Masashi suggested.

"Yes, exactly, do what you think is necessary," Henry agreed.

Masashi nodded, though she thought to herself that Henry was almost completely useless in working with the mind, but his skills in robotics were too good to ignore. She finished enhancing the patient's emotions around memories of his father, giving him a greater sense of purpose in fighting criminals and slightly reducing the negative background of his life memories.

"It's ready," she said.

"Excellent, start K3-8," Henry instructed.

Once again, Matthew Carrington was waking up. Next to the operating table stood a module that stored the entire volume of the brain's memories. Technology had advanced to astonishing heights. Data storage units could now hold enormous amounts of information. The same Braindance technology, which recreated all the user's feelings and memories, was used here to transfer an entire personality.

And once again, an almost identical conversation began.

POV Matthew Carrington

"You can continue working in the police force. Believe me, your skills will be highly valued. There are so many unsolved cases. Crime has not diminished at all, and only you can stop this rampant lawlessness," the doctor said.

This news stirred mixed feelings within me: something inside resisted, but I had dedicated my entire life to fighting criminals and striving to cleanse the world of evil. For my father, I had to continue my work.

"I'll think about it. I need time to accept myself," I said.

"Of course. If you need anything, just let us know," the doctor replied.

"By the way, when will I be able to move?" I asked.

"We need to request a body from our Militech headquarters, prepare some documents, and you can start your new life," Henry responded.

"I see," I said.

The whole situation with my condition seemed strange and unnatural. I struggled to feel like myself. My head was in turmoil: I remembered the life of a student named Maxim, but now I felt like Matthew. Every time I tried to recall something, I hit an impenetrable wall. Previously, old memories always flickered at the edge of my consciousness, like echoes of the past. Now, when I tried to remember something, I encountered only emptiness.

Life would never be the same for me again. Now I was just a semblance of a living person, a shadow of my former self. If what he said was true and it was now 2070, it was hard to accept. What was the point of living? My time ended long ago. My goals used to be simple and clear: to put criminals behind bars, raise a family, care for the future. Now, only work remained, cold and soulless, like the world around me.

"I'll leave you alone for a while to think, but know that we will have to shut you down for the night and put you into a kind of sleep," Henry said.

I heard footsteps retreating, and it seemed they really had left. All that remained was to accept my current state. I sat in the darkness, realizing that my old life was gone. The weight of these thoughts pressed heavily on me. There was much to ponder about the "Life After Death" project. What a name! Maybe I really was lucky to be revived, but for what purpose?