Chapter Text
If this had never happened, he would've never got into this stupid philosophy of life and death. But one day, the sky came crashing down, and his life crashed, fell under itself and crumbled into dust at the click of a finger.
While the world around him whirled in chaos and dismantled the wreckage, he slowly comprehended the bitter truth. Your family, house, age, all your achievements and fruits of hard work - they don’t matter, for all of it can disappear in a split second. Breathing heavily from his compressed chest, he coughed. He wanted to turn away from the sight of his crushed arm, but instead saw someone's motionless face nearby. Then turned around again. It's better that way.
The pain has passed, the sensation of his body was gone, as if the head and everything else had been severed. It was probably bad, but he didn't care anymore. Lying under six feet of rubble and rebar, he wondered what could he done to deserve such a fate. The conclusion was even more cruel - nothing, no one deserved it, no one is to blame. The world is just chaotic, cruel and meaningless. Most of them never had time to realize what happened, that they would never wake up and everything they worked for was gone in the blink of an eye. It would be better if he never woke up with them; never understood, never realized, simply disappeared from this world, not disturbing himself with final regrets. Heavy as pieces of concrete crushing his chest, they caused him much more pain. But it won't last long; with every gasp, less air remains. It was already difficult to breathe, his heart, stuck between ribs and stone, rushed about like a bird in a cage.
Taking another convulsive breath, Chai Chunlei finally opened his eyes.
It took him a moment to see the cracked ceiling of his apartment and realize it wasn't crushing him; that burning, throbbing pain in his chest was caused by something else. Groaning, the man reached out to the bedside table. The fingers of his left hand were still numb and didn't obey well; they scattered empty soda cans on the floor and finally found a blister of pills. Putting two under his tongue, Chai swallowed the familiar bitterness and closed his eyes again, waiting for the fit to subside.
Eight years have already passed, but the pain never went anywhere. Sometimes it let go, giving him a few hours of peace, but would certainly return, as an invariable part of his life.
The monthly trip to the hospital was as depressing as ever. Familiar grey corridors filled with grey people, an exhausting waiting at the door, indifferent doctors asking the same questions, getting the same answers. Well, he didn’t have expensive insurance that included basic courtesy, and didn’t need anyone’s pity, so it would suffice. He updated documents, received med prescriptions, and is free to go with his miserable life. What will happen next, doesn't even bother him anymore.
Nobody can hear you when your spark is not a flame,
And your heartbeat's just a whisper, and nobody knows your name.
No one understands you, but everyone’s the same.
And everybody bleeds, but you might not see the pain...
...at least, the music made all the wait a little enjoyable.
The robot secretary spoke in a monotonous, irritably tired voice, not even looking at him. She always looked burnt out and never supported his attempts at small talk - apparently, overworking didn't spare robots either. She certified the medical records and handed him the papers, along with a bunch of brochures and flyers. Not reading anything, Chai quickly shoved them into the bag - the line behind him grew and became nervous.
"One moment, please," OL-404 suddenly bent over the computer. “It says we have an express mail for you."
Chai snorted. A letter? What century do they live in? But the worker ignored him and placed a thick envelope on the counter. Hesitantly picking it up, Chai stepped aside, clearing the line. Quite heavy, he should open it at home. But who had the idea to send mail through clinic administration? And who even decided to contact him, of all people? He had a couple of guys from college as friends, and they probably forgot about him long ago. There was no address or sender name on the envelope, just the letter V embossed in silver. The parcel was put down at the bottom of the bag, but the questions stayed to disturb him further.
While waiting for the train, he paced back and forth, tapping his foot to the music in his headphones. The station was empty at the time, and no one paid any attention to him. Stopping at the yellow warning line, he stopped his gaze on the lines of railway tracks. Sometimes, impulsive thoughts came to his head - to close his eyes and take a step down, to open a window and jump, to end a ruined life that should've been over a long time ago. Although he tried to crush them every time, the doubts were growing back and offered him violent ideas. If he was smarter, he'd probably go crazy from thinking about the meaninglessness of this life. Instead, he cautiously stepped away from the edge of the platform and started pacing again.
Nothing's ever easy, when your world just falls apart,
And you shatter into pieces, and you don't know where to start.
All the world's a stage, so we all just play our part,
And everybody watches, but they might not see the heart...
At least, wandering around the city was nice. Nothing can replace the feeling of a long trip with your favorite music in the player. To watch the neighborhoods change as the train winds its way up and down, as the sun creeps along behind, catching reflections on the glass of many office buildings. To enjoy the music, to beat the rhythm with his fingers, hiding his hand in the scarf folds as not to be so noticeable. Seems like a trifle, but it helped him to forget about everything and have some fun in the moment.
Yeah, we all begin on the outside looking in,
So we all die young.
We're wearing thin, thinking 'bout what could’ve been,
While we all die young...
Lately, this is the only pleasure he has available.
At home, he gutted the bag on the bed. Another pile of documents, flyers advertising expensive drugs, insurance rates and rhinoplasty services. Nothing new, except for... Taking out the envelope, Chai tore it with his teeth and pulled out a thin tablet. It had nothing but a few files, the same video message in two languages, English and Standard Chinese. Burning with curiosity, he sat on the floor, put the tablet on his knees and turned on the first one. After a short opening, a tall man appeared on the screen, easy to recognize.
“Greetings, dear candidate,” Kale Vandelay, director of the largest technology company in the world, gave him a patronizing smile. "If you received this message, then you have been selected as a possible participant in our new project Armstrong. I suppose you are confused right now. Allow me to explain.
Project Armstrong is a new era in history of Vandelay Technologies, that will expand the capabilities and range of cybernetic implants all around the world. It is currently in stage of beta testing, and we need volunteers to try our new developments. Now you may ask, why we decided to invite you? The answer is simple. First of all, our project is aimed to support handicapped people. And, as a gesture of charity, we offer our help to those who need it most: individuals with low income and disability. Are you tired of doctors promises and lost hope to return to your normal life? Perhaps this is your chance to change everything.
If you decide to participate in testing, come to this address on any day from four to twelve a.m. Take your identification document and medical card with you. Show this invitation as a pass. Good luck, and see you at the Vandelay Technologies campus. Together we will build a new future for everyone!”.
It took him about a minute to process the information. Then another minute to view the video again, and another one, to sit in silent shock. Vandelay was speaking slowly and clearly, but the words just couldn't fit in Chai's head, too beautiful, too unreal to be true. Suddenly anxious, he forgot about dinner and paced around the small apartment, unsure what to do now.
The rational part of his mind said it was either a blatant lie or someone's cruel prank. A cyberimplant, even the smallest one, isn't a can of beer, it's expensive as heck. Much more expensive than a small fry like him can afford. The state allowance helped him not to die of hunger and rent a one-room hole in a far away neighborhood, but there was nothing of luxury. Even if by some miracle he finds a job, he still won't be able to cover all the expenses.
And suddenly, one of the most influential people in the world says he's ready to spend a shit ton of money on his surgery. What's this if not another white lie? He had heard enough of them from doctors who said he'd get better, that his arm would regain sensitivity, and he could live as before. But nothing happened. His heart was beating faster and harder, and his paralyzed arm was slowly but inevitably atrophying. And so he was left to live like that, a broken man in a broken body, with no hope of ever becoming healthy again. Because he needed money for treatment, but no means to get them - no one gave him a job, because employers prefer people with two working arms. A vicious cycle.
Putting the tablet aside, he tried to distract himself, do some household chores, and get the stupid message out of his head. Efforts were in vain - the powerful man and his magic words haunted him still. Even the music player didn't help him to get rid of anxiety aching in his chest; and Chai reached for the invitation again. All evening he was laying and listening until he memorized it. Kale Vandelay was promising him a new future again and again, and even the mistrust built up over the years was beginning to fade behind hope. Tossing and turning in bed, he wondered if he should take a step forward. He didn't want to hold a false hope again, but… Chai touched the forearm of his right hand. Although the skin felt warmth and pain, the muscles didn't move, the fingers didn't bend, and the limb hung like a dead weight, like a useless vestige; so he was hiding it in a scarf-made sling as not to frighten people. But if he had an arm made of metal, how everything could change! He could do anything, get any hobby, any job. He could finally learn to play guitar. Even if a crippled heart doesn't allow him to live long, it would be a much happier existence than the one he has now.
After all, what does he have left to lose? Everything he once loved died eight years ago. Life is all he has, and it holds no value to a global company.
Yeah, we all begin on the outside looking in,
So we all die young.
We're wearing thin, thinking 'bout what could’ve been,
While we all die young...
When sun began to dawn over the horizon, he made his final decision.
The address led him to one of the company's many unloading centers, an imposing building occupying a vast stretch of the seashore. Outsiders weren't allowed in, robots were on duty at the command post, and Chai was frankly nervous until curiosity pushed him forward. What's the worst that can happen? Most likely, these guys will laugh at him, say he was deceived like a petty fool, and send him home. But SBR-001 listened to him, scanned the tablet and nodded.
"Not fake. Go to the atrium and find the terminal, our employee will take your documents."
The steel guards stepped aside to let him into the closed area, and a spark of hope flared up inside with renewed vigor. Not fake, he said? Forgetting about fear, Chai rushed to the entrance, dancing and spinning, ignoring the sidelong glances of working staff. Even half an hour of tedious bureaucracy couldn't spoil his mood: he stood in line, filled out a bunch of paperwork not reading or remembering what was inside, and finally received his cherished ticket to a new future.
"The ferry to Vandelay Island will arrive in ten minutes. Have a nice trip," in the end, the robot handed him a sheet of paper. "Also, please fill out this application when you have time."
Chai grabbed the documents he needed and flew out of the queue, almost spinning in a dance. He wanted to sing out loud from overflowing delight. Hell, he would have sung if hadn't been afraid of those bulky security guys throwing him out - they're already looking at him as if he's nuts. But who cares?! It's not a dream and not a lie, he'll have a new arm, he'll be all right! For eight years he believed successes and dreams don't matter, because they can collapse at any moment - but it turned out they can be fulfilled just as suddenly. Life doesn't stand still and changes, even when everything seems to be over.
We are reborn from the bottom,
We are long gone, but not forgotten.
Still we stay!
The restless sea foamed and crashed against the boards, rocking the ship. Unaccustomed, his head was a little dizzy, and he felt intoxicated with joy. Chai wasn't expecting the trip, but was too happy to worry. He's got everything he needs - some cash, the music player and himself - and the rest can be sorted out on the spot. He wandered aimlessly up and down the crowded decks, listening to music and enjoying the atmosphere. An hour later, when the sun was almost up, the blue line of the shore appeared on the horizon, hidden by the morning mist. Cutting through it, the lighthouse beam circled across the sky, leading them to the promised miracle.
At the landing, they were met by an old and tired LU-C1LLE, who collected their papers and gave out laminated passes. She didn't appreciate his creativity, and playing the imaginary guitar didn't impress her either. Well, that's fine. Doesn't matter if no one understands his reasons for rejoicing; why he's finally happy, actually happy, and nothing can spoil this day. Full of energy, Chai ran through the corridors until he flew out of the security building and into the streets, the music muting all the sounds of people and commercials around.
Yeah, we all begin on the outside looking in,
So we all die young.
We're wearing thin, thinking 'bout what could’ve been,
While we all die young.
The production complex was huge and looked like a whole city. It’s own pier, dense construction, strings of roads, bridges, rails and freight tracks connecting all buildings to each other. Bright orange and puffy zeppelins floated in the sky and greeted guests with neon lights. In the center, against the string of mountains, rose a glass skyscraper in the form of V letter - the heart and soul of the entire island.
His first destination was the orientation center. An impressive crowd gathered inside, and soon he understood why. The production was ready for opening, and Kale Vandelay himself came out to greet the guests. To the sounds of loud applause, the man went out onto the balcony. He looked as fine and stylish as he was in the video: a confident pose, black gloves and leather lapel coat, a sharp look and patronizing smile, like a father watching his silly children.
"What a historic day! You're the best of the best, and about to be even better thanks to our robotic enhancements. Vandelay has always been about helping people. And you all in project Armstrong are about to show the world just how special you can become.” He spread his hands wide, and the crowd responded with a roar of approval. "Now, go! Get ready for a better life!"
A wave of people rushed forward, and Chai followed. Here we go! Rows of steel doors swung open, long queues began to line up at the checkpoints. This didn't stop him. He had enough of standing and waiting his turn! He's been chasing this dream, and he wants it right now. Weaving between the other participants, Chai smiled awkwardly and came up with excuses as he went, to let himself ahead of the queue. Just before the entrance, he jumped over the turnstile, slipped past the tall bull guy and jumped into the closing door right in front of him. He was lucky, otherwise the irritated man would've broken the rest of him for this.
Inside was unusually quiet, only the mechanics hummed in the depths. Under the subdued light were people in closed suits and masks. The abrupt change of scenery made him a bit nervous. The grumpy robot poked him on the shoulder and handed a plastic container with a medical gown, asking him to change. Taking the basket, Chai hid behind the folding screen. His stomach twisted with anticipation and anxiety; the future surgery scared him a little. Music would've helped, but the player, unfortunately, had to be left behind with the rest of his stuff.
The doctors didn't say a word to him, exchanged nods and pointed to an imposing, tomograph-like machine with a wide table underneath. Taking a deep breath, Chai obediently lay down on the cold steel surface, then tried to calm his rapidly pounding heart. Everything will be fine, he has nothing to worry about; and an ominous feeling of premonition is just the work of his anxious brain. A breathing mask was put on his face, nose filled with a sweetish gas; the operating table moved slowly into the machine. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Before diving in, he heard a faint thud of plastic and felt something fall on his chest. Chai didn't understand what it was - anesthesia did its job, sending the patient into a deep sleep.