Chapter 1: Awake

August 15 2134

I jolt awake and find myself in a blank white room — no doors, no windows. The floor and walls look smooth like concrete, but it’s as white as fresh snow. There’s a vague outline of a rectangle on the wall to my left which reaches to the floor that might be some sort of exit, but there seems to be no way to open it from inside. There are a few similar outlines along the walls, which suggest the placement of windows that are all sealed like this door is.

I try to think of the last thing I can remember, anything to give me an idea of where I am or what’s going on. I manage to clear the fog of unconsciousness from my mind, but these memories don’t feel like mine. I can remember things in stark detail — every mundane detail that made up most of my life, my dad dying when I was 15, exactly where I was when I heard we were at war, everything up until being in a jail cell somewhere I don’t know the name of — but it’s like I’m a passive observer looking on from inside someone else’s head. What the hell? I look down at myself to make sure nothing is wrong with my body — no visible damage. So it’s just my head that’s fucked. Great.

I reach into my memories to see if there’s any explanation for what’s happening to me. Or… is it really my memory? Am I really a twenty-three old named Matt like my memory suggests, or is that someone else entirely? How would that even work, taking someone else’s memories? I sit up to look at my surroundings a little better, try to process exactly what’s happening to me.

I’m on a hospital bed, more like the ones they have in the ER than the nicer ones they have in the rooms — a safety rail is pulled up on one side, and my head is slightly elevated. The sheets are white, from what I can tell the frame is some sort of plastic imitation metal. I’m wearing a light blue hospital gown, which sits loose on my shoulders and is splayed around me loosely.

I barely have the time to assess my immediate surroundings, when my vision is suddenly obstructed by a pop-up window. It’s a clean, light blue box with plain black text on it that reads “Subject 72 Online. All Systems Nominal.”

I scream and jump back, falling off the bed and onto the floor. I would normally wince in pain from the impact, or yelp in shock from my bare ass hitting the cold ground, but the only thing in my mind now is panic. I blink a couple times and look side to side, but the window stays centered in my vision. What is this? What’s happening to me? Why do I feel like some hollow vessel for someone else? Who even am I? My thoughts start to spiral — that seems familiar, at least — and I stick my head in between my legs and try my best to not hyperventilate. Attempt unsuccessful. I start breathing faster, lungs and diaphragm starting to ache, and suddenly the window flashes a new set of text — “Warning — Heart Rate Elevated." I jump again, and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes.At that moment a panel opens in the wall, exactly where I thought the door might be, and a woman steps into the room. I start to study the features of her face, when another pop-up window appears next to her head with a profile. [Name: Rachel Whitman; Age: 31; Height: 5'3"; Hair Color: Brown; Eye Color: Green] I stop reading the window. Even what I've read feels like too much personal information, knowing her name and age without ever speaking to her, and there's a lot more information on this panel that probably gets a lot more personal. I avoid looking at her face, instead turning my gaze to the floor by my feet.

The woman — Rachel, according to the window — walks over and squats down to look at me face-to-face. I look back up to meet her gaze — her skin has a gentle tan to it, her hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, and she has an undercut. She has magenta highlights, and she's wearing a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, black dress pants, square glasses with rose gold frames, and platform boots that come up [3 inches] off the ground. She reaches her hand out to me, and I stare at it for what feels like an eternity. She sighs, drops her hand, and says "you seem confused." I nod slowly at her. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Oh right, I was already starting to do that earlier. "I remember…"

The cell is cold. My joints ache and it feels like my head has been split open. I’m wearing my normal hoodie and jeans, but they took my shoes.

“I remember a jail cell…”

Steps echo down the hall on the other side of the bars. Four people come into view, all dressed in martial uniforms. They’re leading a small team of men with broad shoulders and three piece suits, with sunglasses and stern expressions.

“Military officers, men in suits…”

The door opens, and the officers storm in to surround me before I can move towards the exit to the small space, holding my arms and bringing a cloth to my face as I start to thrash and scream.

“and getting knocked out."

Her face seems to lighten up at that. "Okay, that's good. That's the last time you were conscious before you woke up just now. Now, do you know your number?"

You are reading story Human Enough for Me at novel35.com

My number? The thing on the first pop-up window? "S-seventy Two? What does it mean?"

"We'll get there. For now I want you to come with me, if you don't mind." She holds her hand out again, and this time I look at it for just a moment before reaching out to take it. She pulls me to my feet and promptly lets go of my hand, walking back over to the open panel in the wall. I hesitantly follow after her.

There’s an off-white hallway outside that goes on for [102 meters east, 37 meters west] with grey doors every [10 meters]. If I see one more fucking measurement pop up on the corner of my vision I think I might rip my eyes out.

“Seventy-Two is your designation number.” Rachel says after a few moments of walking in silence. “You are the genetic clone of Matthew Anston, a prolific political activist from the mid-21st century, who died about 60 years ago. The hope is that you would be an exact copy in mind and body, however in an attempt to perfectly reconstruct the brain, we’ve had to incorporate some artificial components to get acceptable results. Because of our shortcomings, we haven’t been able to make a clone that actually thinks it’s Matthew, yet. Though, we haven’t made many clones that can actually think, in the first place.”

That’s why I don’t feel like my mind is mine. “Artificial components?” So that’s what’s causing these pop-up windows, I guess.

“While you have a fully formed brain, we were unable to perfectly reconstruct Matthew’s exact brain structure. To compensate for this, you have small implants in your hippocampus, visual cortex, motor cortex, auditory cortex, and prefrontal cortex. Because of the main locations of this system, we’ve come to call it the Cortex system.”

Robot brain — cool. Terrifying and violating, sure, but also cool. “Is there like… a settings menu for this shit? I keep getting windows and numbers popping up on my vision; it’s stressing me out.”

Rachel’s eyes light up in some way I can’t quite name — is it fascination? Fear? Why would she be afraid? “If you press the backs of your hands together, you should see a settings menu.” She explains, demonstrating the motion.

I mimic the motion and a menu pops up. “Uh… how do I select things?”

“Everything from here should be a matter of conscious decision making. Focus on the section of the menu you want to access and will the display to change, and when you want to change a setting just think of what you want to change and the new value you want it set to. Fairly straightforward, I hope.”

I nod. “Th-thanks.” I look at the menu and go to Visual; Visual Disturbances; I turn all of it off: Alert Windows: Off, Shortcuts: Off, Quick Info: Off. That’s better. No more pop-up windows. I breathe a sigh of relief and close the menu, focusing my attention back to the physical world. Rachel looks over at me, that same look of fascination and fear still on her face.

“We’re going to be meeting the rest of the team in a moment here.” She explains. “They can explain the purpose of the project to you.”

“Project?”

She hisses through her teeth. “I’ll… just let them explain.” She stops in front of one of the doors and grabs the doorknob. “There’s a lot you need to get caught up on.”

You can find story with these keywords: Human Enough for Me, Read Human Enough for Me, Human Enough for Me novel, Human Enough for Me book, Human Enough for Me story, Human Enough for Me full, Human Enough for Me Latest Chapter