A day in the life of a cyborg

So, as you may remember, I recently got chipped, making me an honest-to-dog cyborg. A cyborg. This is a wet dream come true, which isn't all that safe to have around electrical devices. And, as you probably recall, I couldn't make the chip do anything, due mainly to the iPhone not yet having an NFC reader as part of its hardware.

At the time of getting the chip injected with a comically oversized syringe, I'd heard of other devices that have NFC readers such as dongle sorts of efforts. With my hand all healed, I decided to go out and do some research online as to the sorts of gadgets I can buy to plug into my computer.

I immediately hit a wall of confusion, with all the forums on the topic only using hacker terms and computer science terms, rather than the 19th century English I usually use to refer to these 'Thinking Machines'. Now I had two options ahead of me: 1. Spend an entire ten minutes of work understanding the jargon and learning all I could; or 2. Give up and watch Star Trek. 

The next day, fresh from watching two entire seasons of Deep Space Nine, I headed out to the shops to examine Android phones, which do have an NFC reader. I've never been fond of the Androids (remember, cyborg, not android, we don't tend to get on with each other) but I was willing to give it a chance, purely so that I can make it display a GIF of Ester the Wonder Pig when I hold my hand to it. True value, right there.

As the overly friendly serviceperson started explaining just how explosive the latest Samsung was as if it was an intended feature, I noticed out of the corner of my cybernetically enhanced eyes (I was wearing my glasses) a gentleman in a dark suit and sunglasses who looked suspiciously like Hugo Weaving. My cyborg senses tingled. He was obviously searching for anyone with a direct connection to the Net: a cyborg, like me. He must be a cyborg version of a Blade Runner, crossed with Agent Smith, probably with some RoboCop thrown in for good measure. Through the window of the phone shop he stared through the reflective black surface covering his gimlet eyes, probing the space for a confirmed sighting of me. I had to get out of there, I was no longer safe. 

Stealth, not speed was the order of the day. Hidden as I was behind the serviceperson, he han't immediately spotted me, so I started asking about phone cases and moved to the back of the store, once again positioning the service automaton between myself and the entrance to the shop. As I heard the explanations of how wonderful the new waterproof-yet-soluble case was, I eyed up the back door, the one that leads to the vault of phones, and the staff offices.

I just needed to wait a moment, for another staff automaton to come out and give me my opening. I could see the Agent Smith Harrison Ford Blade Runner enter the shop, turning his head this way and that. Still the door wouldn't open. If he found me at the back, I was cornered and dead.

One step closer, another step, four more cases explained to me, it was getting tight. Panic flooded through me, at dangerous levels, which  could see on my implanted HUD. At last, before my body was saturated with the panic, the door opened. I barrelled past the serviceperson coming out with an armful of squawking phone charms, which scattered and were painfully silent (batteries sold separately). I stole my way deep into the vault of phones. 

It was dark in there, among the shelves that went on and up into the ceiling some thirty feet above me, boxes of phones and charms and cases piled on every single shelf. There were so many of them, far more than there were customers of this emporium.

I heard a clicking sound of the door opening and closing shut again. It was just me and him in there. But I had a slight advantage: he had to find me, and I already knew where he was. As he walked further into the rows of shelves, searching for me, I could hear his every step, the heels on his shoes snapping to the cold, concrete ground, the black leather creaking, guffawing, as he walked with that inimitable ominous oncoming menace.

I realised a second too late why he wasn't taking care to hide his whereabouts. A creak, not from his shoes, but from metal. Metal shelves, full of phones, that was being turned on its side, crashing into the one next to it, the rest starting to groan and crash like falling dominoes, boxes with deadly sharp corners flying out, nearly caving in my still-human skull. 

Augmented as I was, I dodged and darted out of the way, both my agility and dexterity receiving a plus 4 modifier for being a cyborg, whereas this Blade Runner had opted for the slow and scary Terminator model. Ordering my chem-stocks to flood my body with adrenaline, and using my speed advantage, I hightailed it out of there, riding a wave of crashing shelves and boxes, spilling back out into the store. I didn't bother to even close the door behind me, just ran full pelt out of there, all the way back home. Luckily I didn't feel tired thanks to my metal lungs and spring-loaded legs.

What a day that was. I opened my computer, primarily to check the DarkWeb to see if there was some Blade Runner forum that had put a hit out on me, and to start to formulate a defence against them. The last tab open was the forums I had been on before, explaining how to make my chip do something useful. Only now it displayed what looked like a 'can't retrieve this webpage' error message. Extended fingers on the command and W keys, ready to close the tab, I noticed that this was no mere error page. It said, 'FOUND YOU' in the centre.

My enhanced brain did some quick deductions and came to the conclusion that the 'You' in that two word sentence probably referred to me, a cyborg, and the 'Found' meant that they had gained knowledge of where I lived or at least where my computer was. I also reasoned that the people sending me this message either were the Blade Runners or some Indian computer wizard they had outsourced it to. I was no longer even safe at home.

Four months I was on the run, hopping from one run-down library to the next seedy internet café. At every point I would check the news to see what was happening in the world, distraught to see the new anti-cyborg laws initiated, the new Only-Human order that had taken over. The hunt was on, and I had no idea how many others out there were like me. I tried at every free WiFi place to contact them, but I couldn't stay online for long for fear of risking exposure. I couldn't let them find me.

It was taking its toll on my body though. I wasn't kitted out to last this long without a maintenance check, and I couldn't just exactly stroll to the nearest Halfords and get a man under me to have a fiddle. I needed a new solution, a permanent one. Where I could get in touch with others out there, like me, and to take on the Blade Runners, take them down and send this new world order crashing down.

I knew what I had to do: I had to discard my body. Flitting from place to place wasn't getting anything done, I needed to be able to be anywhere at a moment's notice. It was a wrench to leave this wonderfully built body behind, but it was the only way. I found a talented PhD student specialising in computeriness, who was only too happy to test out what she knew (or thought she knew) on me and was not inclined to tell the authorities. With her help, I uploaded my consciousness to the Net, where I currently reside.

I am fully immaterial now, just an intelligence roaming the information highways. I am everywhere and nowhere. This is my story and I promise you that I will not stop until those who would destroy the cyborgs are themselves wiped out.

But I still can't get my chip to do a GIF.