“Will it hurt?”
“No, it’s quite painless. Like historical laser eye surgery.”
“I heard those traditional methods had a lot of complications.” The woman clenched her fists, which were smooth and obviously tended to with daily youth creams, and tried to shift her body, forgetting the restraints that kept her arms and legs firmly pinned in place.
“Technology has come a long way since then. MyChoice has a one hundred percent success rate on implants. You’ve nothing to fear, and an afterlife of your choosing awaits.” I always had to be soothing. People were understandably skittish on the topic of their inevitable death. The woman nodded and visibly relaxed at these words, so I readied the plastic eyelid holders and suction cups.
“Shall we?”
She nodded. I propped her eyes open with the devices and returned to my booth. Elinor Chang. Seventy-two. Healthy corneas. Selected a short video of her late husband laughing. I typed a few notes into her file then readied the program.
“It will go dark for a moment, but that’s normal. You’ll be done very soon.”
“I’m ready.” Her voice shook slightly.
I pressed start and the infinitesimal point of the needle neared her eyeball. A soft, quick puncture, and it was on to the next. The needle retreated and the lights slowly turned on.
“All finished, Mrs. Chang. See? Wasn’t that easy?”
The table released her limbs and she sat up, laughing with relief.
“That was nothing. I’m sorry for being so nervous.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Chang. We experience it all the time. Try to stay out of direct sunlight for a couple of days, but you shouldn’t notice any significant aftereffects. We’re grateful you chose MyChoice for your event horizon needs.”
***
“We have a one hundred percent success rate on implants, and our AI testing has shown complete resonance with MyChoice visuals on a consciousness as it approaches its event horizon upon death. The implants are triggered by the shutdown of the body, leaving you with a last sight curated by your very self.”
The screen in the break room parroted the company’s advertisements on a loop, a well-dressed blond man with a full head of hair smiling gently at the camera.
“The technology is revolutionary. It means that even when our physical bodies are gone, our consciousness can continue experiencing the joys of our lives for eternity. It’s the afterlife we’ve always wanted.”
A hundred percent success rate means they could afford to give us better coffee than this. I sighed and sipped my murky brew, the flavor of coffee just a hint on the tongue compared to the overwhelming taste of bland water. The success rate was a scam. They made sure to say it was for implants, since the only people who could attest to the realization of the implant were already starting to decompose. Death was the world’s most viable business opportunity.
Mrs. Chang was my last patient for the day, so I visited the front desk to collect my list for tomorrow.
“Ran-yisheng, you only have four patients tomorrow, and we’ve just had a request for a last-minute booking. Mind if we add her to your list?” The young man at the desk looked at me with bright eyes and a soft smile. The new staff were all so hopeful, as if they were truly making a great change in the world. Forcing my lips to curve at the corners, I nodded.
“No problem.”
They weren’t wrong, I supposed. The discoveries found in the science of quantum consciousness had been earth-shakingly revolutionary. For thousands of years, scientists had looked outward to the stars. When they began to look inward, to quantum physics and the study of the most fundamental building blocks of nature, they unraveled more than expected. But science is rarely science for science’s sake. There were always those who studied for our sake, for mankind, for ways to make our lives longer or for options to cheat death.
They still couldn’t cheat death, but they found the next best thing: quantum consciousness. Event horizons, previously used to describe the theoretical descent into a black hole, were now being applied to our own consciousness. Death was no longer death. Human consciousness, a topic long befuddling to philosophers, didn’t disappear once our bodies were gone, as we’d always believed. Instead, it entered an event horizon upon bodily death, forever approaching oblivion but never entirely reaching it, transitioning to an alternate dimension of being that gave us a new plane of existence: infinity formed from our last, most impacting impressions.
Time was relative, after all. Consciousness could transcend the fabric of spacetime. We can dream of a lifetime in a few seconds, our subconscious minds running millions of senses and feelings in the time it takes for you to be jostled from a light slumber. That was how the scientists had convinced the world.
Do you remember falling asleep, just a light drop of sleep for but a moment, and dreaming a whole realm of experiences in what felt like a blink of an eye? Yes? Well, your death event horizon is just like that. You see the world in a grain of sand.
It was a promising revelation, until the realizations started pouring in. If our death event horizons were formed from last impressions, what of those who were murdered? What of those who died with horrific images burned into their eyes as their sight grew dim? Then came the inevitable pity for those who had gone before us, lost to an infinity of traumatic last sights. Companies like MyChoice were formed to alleviate those fears in the most profitable way possible. For a significant fee, you could make your last sight be anything you liked.
I looked at my list. Jeff Lee. Eighty-four. Pictures of him and his wife touring Luoyang. Fei Wang. Sixty-two. Video of her husband holding their baby. Mary Xu. Fifty-nine. Video of cats. Most people chose videos or pictures of their loved ones, to see their faces forever as their connection to time unraveled, slowed, to make a happy memory become their eternity.
The last name on my list—the new addition. Lucy Bai. Thirty-two. Video of herself on vacation. I closed my eyes and looked at the list again. There could be any number of thirty-two-year-old Lucy Bais in Nanjing. But it would be her, of course. She’d requested an implant video of herself. I snorted. A video of Lucy Bai, beautiful and shimmering, her life a barrage of colors and brand names and glasses of champagne.
I packed up and left the clinic, stepping to the corner of the street and hailing a self-driving taxi. The doors slid open and I settled inside, enjoying the quiet efficiency of the vehicle. My apartment was almost an hour’s drive away, but it gave me plenty of time to think. That was always my problem. I preferred thinking rather than doing. The last I’d seen online, Lucy and Xian were still together. I tried not to browse his feeds too often, but work was my only distraction, so I had too much free time to wonder. My commutes to work tended to be my downfall. I scrolled his feed slowly, enjoying the pain of his bright grin, the eyes both sultry and mischievous, turned away from the camera and towards the perfect face of the woman beside him. Our relationship felt like it had been the work of a moment, an inkling of neglect, but I’d lost track of time in my research into infinity.
***
Back at my apartment, I put my lab clothes in the wash and stepped into the shower, letting it run over my dark hair and bounce off my shoulders. He’d always liked my shoulders, marveling at their broadness, wrapping his arms around them in this very shower. He’d liked having a boyfriend who was a scientist, who was studying quantum consciousness. But he hadn’t liked the long research hours, the days I would disappear into myself, searching for the piece of the puzzle. Lucy didn’t love him like I did, but she made time for him. She made him a part of her life, which is what he had always wanted. Someone who was present.
I unwrapped a pack of frozen dumplings and set the water to boil, leaning on the counter as I waited for the bubbles to appear. Implant specialists had to undergo a psychological test to qualify for the job. With a short video, they could change the nature of someone’s afterlife, for better or for worse. I had never abused my power, never considered it a possibility, but as I thought of Lucy’s visit tomorrow, I felt a small twinge at the thought of the unthinkable. I sighed as I turned the boiling water down to a simmer, letting the dumplings plop to the bottom of the pan. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault. The mistakes were my own.
***
“Lucy, long time no see.”
“Ran Ran? Fancy seeing you here.”
She was as beautiful as I remembered, her large eyes accentuating the smallness of her petite nose and chin. She cocked her head at me as her eyes roved over my body, one hand delicately brushing her hair over her shoulder.
“I assumed you knew and that’s why you booked with our clinic.”
She shrugged.
“It had good reviews online. I had no idea you worked here.”
“You’re rather young to be requesting an implant.” I dispensed with the pleasantries, not wanting to extend the appointment longer than necessary. “Have you read through the information booklet?”
“Any of us could go at any time,” she laughed. “I don’t think age should be a factor.”
“You can only get one implant, so a lot of people prefer to wait until they’re sure they have something they’ll want to use as a last memory.”
She leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Well, you’ve seen my choice, haven’t you? I’m sure I’ll always love myself. I have to live with myself forever, after all.”
“It’s a bit strange.” I couldn’t help myself. “To choose a video of yourself. Most people choose their loved ones.”
“Even loved ones lie, cheat, and betray. The only one I can be sure of is myself.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some generic beautiful scenery?”
“I’d like the video I chose, please.”
I hesitated.
“You’ve been with Wei Xian for a while.”
“Do you always overstep with your patients’ personal decisions?”
Her large eyes were hardened, narrowed, and though her face still wore a smile, it was crafted from marble.
“I would think having this conversation is a conflict of interest for you.”
“My apologies.”
I gestured to the padded table and she lay down, flinching as I pressed the button to activate the restraints. I went to position the eyelid holder and suction cup, her large unblinking eyes stared at me, daring me to hesitate. Placing them with a practiced hand, I tried not to notice her eyes following me as I moved behind the booth. Patients’ eyes dried out quickly without blinking, so I didn’t have much time.
“It will go dark for a moment, but that’s normal. We’ll be finished very soon.”
“A’Xian is lovely, but he isn’t my whole life.” Her voice drifted over from the operating table. “He never needed to be. He just needed more than you could give.”
I scrolled through the prepared videos in the system, hovering over the one of Lucy dressed in Louis Vuitton and blowing kisses to the camera from atop a low white wall in Santorini.
“Get on with it, then.” Her voice was steeped in irritation.
A minuscule scroll upwards by one slot, and I activated the program. Mary Xu’s cats. Lucy hated cats. The needle descended, puncturing both eyeballs before returning to stasis.
“Keep out of direct sunlight for a couple of days. You shouldn’t notice any significant aftereffects.”
***
I cleared the data for the day, our usual process for end of shift. Like other event horizon implant clinics, we never stored the patients’ videos after implantation. I wondered how many others had fudged the boundaries of ethics in this line of work before I realized I didn’t really care. Despite my earlier vigor, I’d become detached to the theory, wanting less and less to do with quantum consciousness as time slid by. I smirked as I thought of Lucy, imagining her petite nose turned up at the sight of two fluffy cats for eternity. There were worse fates, surely.
***
I quit the implant clinic later that week. Not out of guilt for what I’d done, but because seeing Lucy reminded me of how I’d squandered my time in the past, a reminder that threatened to unravel the tight ball of twine I kept hidden in my chest. The clinic had paid me well for a decade and I lived a frugal life, so I could afford not to work for some time. I spent my first day of freedom buying clothes that weren’t lab wear and stopping for a roasted milk bubble tea at the stall near my apartment. I’d just taken my first sip, turning away as I chewed on the tapioca boba, when a voice resonated into my bones.
“A’Ran.”
He was stunning in the midday sun, his dark hair messy and his lips curved up into a gentle smile.
“Wei Xian.”
He laughed and stepped closer.
“There’s no need to be so formal.”
I cleared my throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by the clinic, but they said you quit recently. I was going to come by your apartment.”
“I’m going back now. You can come there to talk, if you like.”
He nodded and fell in stride with me, knowing the way by habit. The toughened ball of twine in my heart unraveled a little.
“Lucy told you?”
“She did.”
He didn’t elaborate until I’d closed the door of my apartment, and our shoes were set aside. Xian sat at my low table, comfortable in familiar surroundings.
“She wasn’t particularly nice about it, but you know how she can get.”
“You’re better than I, I imagine.”
I set my bags down, brought two beers from the fridge, and joined him at the table.
“I’m surprised to hear you quit,” he said, accepting the bottle and taking a sip. “This was your life’s work.”
“I’ve grown tired of it.”
He looked at me, a question in his eyes, and I relented.
“This job, all of this—it makes you see the importance of time. I felt like I was wasting mine. That I’ve already wasted much of it.”
“That’s unlike you.”
I shrugged.
“Did you give Lucy a gruesome death?” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “But I can’t tell you what she chose. Patient confidentiality.”
“It’s fine,” he said, laughing. “I can probably guess.”
I took a deep draught of my beer, swallowing the cold liquid before clearing my throat.
“A’Xian.”
He looked at me, his eyes curved slightly the way they always did when he smiled.
“Why did you come to find me? Just because Lucy told you I worked there?”
“I was going to talk to you about a possible implant of my own.”
My whole head jerked back, startled.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Xian said, wryly. “It’s not like I was ever against your work.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he sighed. “But Lucy made a good point. We’re all fated to die, but we don’t know when. It’d be nice to know my consciousness will experience something beautiful for eternity even after I’m gone from this world. That’s how you’ve always told it, isn’t it?”
The ball of twine tightened.
“You have time. You don’t have to decide this now.”
“Nobody knows how much time we have. Not even you, A’Ran.”
I shifted on my cushion and set down the beer. The thought of Xian dying to thoughts of Lucy’s face made me feel disgusted, thrown off balance.
“The implants—” I cleared my throat again. “Well, they’re a stopgap measure. A theory based on a theory. Nobody knows if the manufactured image will truly be your last memory, or if other emotions and images will overpower them. You might be better to wait.”
He laughed, a beautiful laugh that haunted my dreams.
“You’re not doing a very good job of selling your company’s products.”
“They’re not my company anymore,” I grumbled.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, still laughing. “I promise you I won’t rush into anything. What are you going to do now, then?”
“I might travel. See the world a bit. I have time now.”
“That’s good to hear.”
He got up to leave, the beers finished, and I thought desperately for an excuse to make him stay, a way to delay the inevitable, to stay time that I might have just a moment longer.
“It was really good to see you, A’Ran.” Xian’s shoes were already on.
“Wait,” I said, anxious.
He looked at me, his eyes a mixture of understanding and uncertainty. We stared at each other, eyes locked, and the twine in my chest unraveled completely. Our shared gaze slowed everything around me to a period of infinity. Here was my own personal event horizon, the moment in which I succumbed to the gravitational pull of a shared look. The moment of eternity was broken by Xian’s quirked eyebrow.
“Come with me,” I choked, brought back to reality. “I can give you what you need now. I have time now.”
I waited another eternity for his answer.
He stepped closer and brushed my cheek with his hand.
“Time is a precious thing, A’Ran. Never waste a moment of it again.”
He left without a clear answer, and the hours streamed by with the rapid beating of my heart, the closed door unmoving and solid.
***
“I can’t believe you, Ran. You know I hate cats.”
The lyrical voice hissed in my ear, my earbud trying its hardest to convey the speaker’s withering derision.
“What do you mean, Lucy?”
“Don’t act innocent. I know you’re jealous, but I didn’t think you’d stoop this low. You’re lucky you quit the clinic already.”
“Did something go wrong with the implant?” My heart skipped a beat.
“It malfunctioned. Triggered while I was driving. I could’ve actually died, Ran. All I could see were those stupid cats.”
Trust Lucy to still drive a car. There goes MyChoice’s implant success rate.
“It was a mistake. They’ll likely give you anything you want if you keep quiet about it.”
She disconnected the call.
“Shit.”
There would be trouble, but I wasn’t sure how much. MyChoice would pay Lucy an exorbitant sum to keep her quiet, and I no doubt would be forced to pitch in for that payment. So much for travelling. I threw on a coat and called a taxi. It would be best to deal with this quickly. I checked the feed as the taxi drove me to the clinic but couldn’t see any news involving MyChoice and Lucy.
“Ran,” said the young man from the front desk, the one with the hopeful eyes. I noticed the honorific had been dropped.
“The director said to go to her office as soon as you arrived.”
I nodded at him and opened the door to Jiang-yisheng’s office, a plush space built to welcome with warmth and wealth. Clients never left Jiang-yisheng’s office without a newfound faith in the wonders of event horizon implants, even if they were skeptical upon arrival.
She saw me enter and gestured to the seat opposite her desk. Everything about Jiang-yisheng was smooth—her surgically enhanced face, the tight bun atop her head, the graceful movement of her arm as she extended it before her, hand as delicate and perfectly poised as a ballerina’s. She was ethereal, a true queen of the afterlife.
“Ran, darling. This is quite a situation. You’ve never made such a mistake before.”
“I apologize, Jiang-yisheng. I’m not sure how this happened.”
“Are you not?” Her eyes quirked to my face as she reached over to collect a small teapot, eyes as shrewd as they were perfectly lined. She poured two cups of green tea and delicately pushed one toward me. I made no move to pick it up.
“Our dear client has led me to believe you two have a history. I hope you haven’t let personal issues interfere with the ethical requirements of our clinic.”
“Not at all, Jiang-yisheng, I assure you. Mrs. Xu’s video was right before Lucy’s. It must have been a simple slip of the finger.”
“Hmm. Regardless of intent, I’m afraid there will be some consequences.”
I nodded. I expected as much.
“You will be fined three million yuan for this transgression.”
That was about two-thirds of my savings. I closed my eyes briefly, but it could be worse.
“You will no longer receive company pension upon retirement or the company discount on implants, and you will be barred from using our company’s services going forward.”
I wasn’t sure I even wanted an implant, having but one instance of joy in my life that no longer belonged to me. I nodded again, working my face into an expression of mild remorse.
“I understand, Jiang-yisheng. Thank you for not pressing charges.”
“Lucy requested we not.”
That surprised me.
“Do you know why the implant malfunctioned?” I couldn’t help my curiosity. All the good clinics had the same success rate as MyChoice; malfunctions were incredibly rare.
“We don’t know. I have a theory Lucy’s consciousness simply didn’t resonate with a last image that wasn’t meant for her.”
“That’s quite the theory. You make it sound like consciousness could have self-awareness.”
“Why not?”
I laughed. “Consciousness is self-awareness. It can’t possess what it already is by its very nature.”
Jiang-yisheng leaned forward in her seat, the cup of green tea held perfectly still in her hand, the steam playing off its surface casting a gentle haze over her face.
“Let’s set aside the philosophical talk. You used to be so full of vigor for this career, Zhan Ran. You believed in what we were doing. That our infinite afterlives were of the utmost importance. I’ve long seen you lose that vigor. You were so promising, back then.”
I shifted in my seat.
“You spend too much time thinking about infinity, you tend to lose sight of the present,” I said, my lip curling.
“The present is nothing. Just a blip in the grand scheme of things.”
“I fear we won’t be able to come to an agreement on this point.”
She sighed and sipped her tea.
“I won’t push you. Take care of yourself, Ran. Enjoy whatever present you build for yourself.”
I left the building, my bank digits severely reduced, and immediately stopped at the sight of his face. We stared at each other, my eyes wide and hopeful, his narrowing into a slight frown. I felt the same timelessness I always felt when we shared a look. In that moment, I knew that my death, whenever it arrived, would not be overridden by any other last image. I would see the eyes I saw in every waking moment, every feverish dream. My consciousness could not possibly allow any other kind of descent into infinity.
He turned and entered the clinic and I carried on, lost in the sight of those eyes, stepping into the road and ignoring the self-driving taxis as they swerved to avoid my body, immersed in my own infinite loop of regret and longing.
— Chezza Lee is a Chinese-English emerging speculative fiction writer. She was born in England and currently lives in Canada. She has a BA (Hons) Degree in English and Philosophy and an MA in Renaissance Literature. Her words have been published in Darkwinter, AIPT Comics, Edmonton Journal, and The Bristol Journal of English Studies. She is currently working on a xianxia pirate novel. Chezza can be found on Twitter @misschezza2 or at chezzalee.com.