out when Barry arrived.
“How are you doing, my friend?”
Brian looked up and gave a thin smile. “I’m feeling weak. They started chemotherapy immediately and it knocks the life out of you.”
“It’s going to make you better. Get you back to full strength.” Barry pulled up a chair. “Get you back to being fighting fit.”
“My physical strength is unimportant. This is something I’ve learned through this tumour. When I saw it on the X-ray, it appeared as a small white spot between the two hemispheres of my brain, right here behind the eyes.” He rested his fingertip on his forehead. “A new piece of the brain had started to form. We think of tumours as bubbling horrid masses of flesh, forgetting of course that it’s real brain matter, these are real brain cells. They may be multiplying and duplicating in an unregulated way but it is still my brain and I am beginning to feel as though this new flesh may be utilised. There may be a power to this additional brain growth that can be harnessed. What I learned of myself, is that when weakened by chemotherapy, sitting now as I am without strength, I’m unafraid to lose my physical body. But my mind is everything. I had a vision that my body was discarded but my mind lived on. I’m not afraid to let my body die, Barry. But I’m terrified that my mind will be lost after my death.”
Barry cleared his throat then said, “Well, I’m glad to see you’re still philosophising.”
“What has happened to the women in Pittsburgh?”
“They’re being looked after. They’re getting the same as you. High end medical services with Consec picking up the bill.”
“I need to apologise to them.”
“No, you don’t. You need to focus on getting better; and so do they.”
Brian closed his eyes and rested a moment. “What are Consec doing with Veraceo?”
“Nothing. It’s an academic project now. Research only and down to a few people, just enough to keep the pilot light on.”
“Who?”
“Myself and Peter Fluorite; he’s in Pittsburgh now.”
“Why Pittsburgh? Are you producing content?”
“No, Brian. Everything has stopped. Peter is working with Consec Medical to get an understanding of it. But it’s over. There is no more Veraceo and it won’t ever be brought to market. It’s finished.”
----- X -----
It was a month before Brian returned to Bianca’s mission. When she opened the door she gasped and held a hand over her mouth in fright. He was half the bodyweight of when she last saw him. He’d been bald on top for a long time, but the hair at the sides had fallen away in patches here and there. His moustache and eyebrows had gone and his skin had become ashen and wrinkled.
He took his time explaining it all to Bianca. Veraceo-One, then Veraceo-Two and the Pittsburgh sadomasochism videos. The dinner with Consec, the meeting with Consec Leader. He left nothing out; his chances of survival weren’t that optimistic, he had a chance, but it was on the wrong side of fifty-fifty which made him feel there wasn’t time for secrets and subterfuge.
“I looked at the device you left,” Bianca said. “You told me it could change the world, but I had no idea of how literally you meant.”
“Bianca, I want you to help me with something. A legacy project. I fear I don’t have long left on this Earth. Very soon, all of this information,” he tapped his temple. “All of these ideas and knowledge will be lost. I don’t trust Consec. I don’t trust them to sit back and do nothing with Veraceo and all the knowledge of it could vanish along with me.”
“What do you want my help with?”
“I want to make a video confession; and I want you to hold on to it.”
----- X -----
Brian spent a week with Bianca, visiting every day. He transferred ten million dollars to her charitable foundation. Consec money would be spent feeding Toronto’s homeless. He fell into the habit of recording confessional videos. Philosophical videos. Thoughts on the nature of television. Musings on television’s ability to reshape the very topography of the human brain. Thoughts about violence… Many, many thoughts about violence… Musings on pornography and its impact on society. He had visions, too. Visions of the Pittsburgh women dissolving away to cancer, their flesh eaten away and bubbling with tumours. What had he done to those women? Many times he’d thought of them. Many times he’d wished to go to them and apologise. Many times he saw himself at the Consec black-tie dinner and imagined himself walking away. Many times he wished Consec Leader had watched Veraceo-Two and also had the tumour. That fantasy played on an endless loop. The thought of hurting Consec Leader, physically hurting him, was compelling.
He was watching television news, CityPulse at Six was about to start. The show featured street based reporting and had a mission to capture the real life saga of Toronto life. Today it started with a horror. The first words from the anchor-man were, “We open tonight with the story of a terrifying knife attack in central Toronto. Two dead from stab wounds, four more injured and the attacker shot dead by police.”
The programme cut to an outside reporter. “It was here, by the popular stores on Yonge Street that today a tragedy unfolded as two people were stabbed to death by a nineteen year old literature student.”
The report changed to a black and white image of a young man and Brian almost jumped out of his chair.
He knew him… It was the kid… the electric shock kid.
“Bradley Etherington was a bright young man with no previous trouble with authorities,” the reporter continued. “Yet, friends tell us he suffered a sudden and rapid psychological collapse and was exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia.”
Etherington… Bradley Etherington… It was the boy he subjected to Viper-Sig. The same boy who had thought his fingers had fallen off. The boy was dead, but his face was on the television screen. A fleeting public television life that transcended death.
With all of his cancer treatment he’d forgotten about those Viper-Sig test subjects. There was a girl, too. Suzanne… Suzanne, something or other. Good God. The boy had lapsed into a psychotic episode only five weeks after being exposed. Was it the Viper-Sig, or was it caused by something else?
Brian got into the car and drove to Special Optical Laboratories. They said they’d moved everything to Pittsburgh, but was that just the equipment? Did they have any notes, or paperwork still at the old lab?
A vision came as he drove. A vision derived from the brain tumour, his new piece of brain working hard to bring forth a new kind of truth.
In his vision, people in an audience were gathered close to a television screen. He was on the television and people were watching him. Seeing these people so mesmerised somehow made television life more real than life in the flesh. His TV persona spoke to the viewers. “In this electronic age, we shall see ourselves translated more and more into the form of information. We are moving towards a technological extension of our consciousness.” The audience nodded in agreement, paying attention. “We will see this in politicians who will be replaced by imagery. A politician will be happy to abdicate in favour of his image, as the image shall be more powerful than he ever could be.”
The vision was a revelation.
This is how his legacy should be. He should be an image, not a real man, but a television character. Bigger than a mortal man, more powerful, more resonant.
He arrived at the laboratory, unlocked the door and entered an empty shell of a building. Whitewashed brick walls and a bare concrete floor. The viewing booths had been ripped out. The only noticeable reminder of what had been was the electrical conduit that channelled the power and signal cables to where fifty television screens had been. Other than that, it was all gone including the paperwork. There was no way to find how to contact Suzanne, the other test subject. To find her he needed the old paperwork; and to get that he needed to go to Pittsburgh.
----- X -----
From the outside, the Pittsburgh studio looked like it had been cleaned up. The badly boarded windows had been bricked correctly. T
he back door had been painted. On the roof, Brian could see satellite dishes he was sure he’d not seen before. He tried his electronic card on the back door and it opened. Inside, he found the lobby had been recently decorated and the walls had been painted. He walked from the lobby towards the main studio, becoming one with the darkness as he passed under an illuminated red sign with the words ‘Quiet - Filming In Progress’.
He heard some screaming or crying out coming from ahead.
He made it to the studio floor.
The sadomasochism set was in use. A black man was being pushed back against the wall which now looked like it was made from clay. He shrieked and juddered every time one of the black, rubber clad Punishers touched his skin against it. “Please. Stop. I didn’t do anything.” One of the Punishers pressed him against the clay with a boot to the chest, holding him against the wall as he shook and juddered. Was it electrified? Was the wet clay giving an electric shock?
Brian noticed that the two camera operators filming the action were both men, as was the only other person in the studio. This third man called out, “Okay, that’s probably enough. Bring him forward and hang him up, I want you to try electrocuting his cock and balls. See what it looks like.”
The Punishers nodded, but the black man screamed out. “Why the fuck are you doing this? Let me go. Please. Let me go. I won’t tell them