“Live Subject Test #1,” I murmur into the mic, steeling myself. “Subject is a twenty-nine-year-old human female with no existing pain conditions.” I pause to grab a medi-cuff from the other side of the computer, sliding it up my forearm and waiting briefly for a reading. “Baseline vitals within normal range. Initial stimulus will be minimal. Calibration only.”
The rote mundanity of it all steadies me, even as I pick up a lancet from the table.
“Calibration via pinprick to left index finger,” I murmur. “Initializing…”
I jab my finger.
And then pain?—
—it only lasts for a second before it justvanishes.
I let out a shocked exhale, then a surprised laugh. It…it actually worked. And this might have more usage than for chronic pain; it could cure painaltogether. I put the needle down carefully on the table, then press on the wound…and once again, it hurts for a split second before stopping completely.
“Holy shi—” I start, only to remember I’m being recorded.
“Test successful,” I say. “Latency at…fuck yes, 200 milliseconds. No spike in the post-interval. I fucking did it.”
I laugh again.
“Sorry for the cursing. This is…reallyfucking exciting.”
It’s at this point that I should take the damn device off, leave the lab, and go home. Go over the readings with a fine-toothed comb. Get someactual sleep.
But it’s like my whole body is vibrating—and another test can’t hurt.
Especially when ‘hurt’ won’t be part of my vocabulary much longer if I manage to make this work.
I go over to one of my colleagues’ desks, searching for what I can use to safely intensify the pain. That was the calibration phase…but this is therealtest. Then I’ll be done, I promise myself. I end up grabbing an electrical nerve stim I can use to zap myself, then I go back to my station to put the cuff back on.
“Live Subject Test #2,” I say. “Input is electric shock via subcutaneous nerve stimulator, pain level two out of ten. Initializing…”
The stim snaps to life with a simple press from my other hand—and it’s enough to make me yelp. I hiss through my teeth at the shock of it, then it’s gone. No aftershock. No ache. No lingering burn in my muscle.
I blink, stunned…then excited.
It workedagain.
“Test successful,” I say, unable to keep the stubborn pride out of my voice, resisting the urge to addsuck it, Rhyss.“Latency at less than three hundred milliseconds. Higher than before but…that’s fine, that’s fine. And no?—”
I’m about to say “no spike post-interval,” but all of a sudden I can’t speak.
My voice chokes in my throat…I try to suck in a breath and stutter instead. My hand shoots out to brace me against the desk, fingers curling around the edge.
There’s…something is wrong.
At first, I’m sure it’s a stroke, something neurological. Would it be possible for it to rob my ability to speak? No—no, I’m still language-ing, I’m stillthinkingin words, so it’s not that. It’s…
My whole body seizes up.
There it is. The spike.
So,somuch worse than the initial zap.
Or…not worse.
Not worse at all.
Better.
