My partner smiled, "You've got that right, ma'am."
"Take a seat. I'll let Dr. Burres know you're here."
Time passed awkwardly as we sat. The sound of glossy magazine pages being perused mindlessly. I kept my eye on the vase. The design reminded me of something my mother used to own. "He's ready," the receptionist called.
Dr. Anthony Burres, C.R.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Please," he gestured, "make yourselves at home."
We nodded and sat down on his black leather couch. Everything was expensive-- probably even the awards. His suit and the way he carried himself mocked our profession. I already hated him.
"Now," he cleared his throat, "I'm going to be upfront with you two. Someone fed him the pill."
Fuck.
The pill in question is another "advancement" in neurosubmersion. After Harold Krims discovered that through N.S. you could obtain the last minutes, hours, or even days of a human's life, people went apeshit. They wanted the freedom of death and an unplundered mind.
Enter the pill.
"What kind of dosage are we talking about here?"
"Well, in that we may consider ourselves somewhat lucky. Whomever fed it to him-- whether it was another person or himself-- had something cheap. Definitely from the streets. Wouldn't be surprised if a kid had sold it to him."
"Wait a second. Are you doubting that this was a suici-"
"Adam," I stopped him there. He's young, and still doesn't realize that there is a time to talk and the time to keep quiet. I looked back at the C.R., "Keep going."
"I extracted as much as I could," he started, "but there isn't much. With his," he held up a chip, "you'll be able to get a decent look at the last four days. I ran a test on his memories from a year ago. There are times when black or white splotches cloud the picture, and there are times when things go blank for countless minutes, seconds, and hours. I'm assuming the final four will be no different."
"Thank you." I took the chip, and the two of us exited.
- - -
Part Two, Silver Screen
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