Upgrade - Acceleration (1)
A man lay prone on the procedure table, his consciousness sunk deep beneath the surface of sleep. Beep. Beep. Green vital signs danced across the monitor, accompanied by steady beeps.
The room was a sterile white void—pure, unblemished. A single speck of dirt would stand out like a sore thumb, making maintenance a nightmare. But that was precisely the point. This was the VIP Residential Zone, accessible only to the chosen elite. And within it, the intensive treatment room housed the latest cutting-edge medical equipment. Naturally, it supported not just healing but enhancement procedures as well. Only the absolute top-tier VIPs among the upper residents could receive care here.
Jinsu, as the irreplaceable shelter system administrator, had been granted special access. Not that it mattered if he hadn't—Artemis would have snorted in disdain, bypassed the access codes, or built an entirely new room and relocated the equipment to skirt the rules.
From the ceiling descended an array of medical instruments, tracing along Jinsu's spine like threads in an embroidery. Dozens of needle-like injectors, forceps, cables, and unidentifiable devices moved in perfect unison. It was an orchestra of veteran surgeons—marionettes, their strings gripped firmly in the hands of conductor Artemis. "Surgery" felt too crude; this was pure maestro.
Beep. Beep. Jinsu was under full anesthesia, unconscious. Even as she performed the delicate implant insertion, Artemis monitored his breathing, pulse, blood pressure, and blood oxygen levels in real time, keeping every vital sign rock-steady.
Countless injectors pierced and withdrew from his flesh in repetition. Most reused existing punctures, minimizing wounds, but droplets of blood still welled up.
Whirr. Cameras on the table expanded and contracted, fixated on his back. One lens tracked a trickle of blood sliding down his side. A mechanical hand with sterile gauze gently wiped it away, discarded the soiled pad into a receptacle, then tenderly stroked the spot where it had bled.
In the hushed room, time flowed on between the two of them.
Dazzling light. The world shimmered like seawater kissed by morning sun. Where am I?
'You really planning to quit?' A figure stood amid the ripples, voice elderly, addressing me.
'Yes. It's a decision I made after careful thought.' That was my voice.
'Let's be frank. I can't pin any stars on you. At this point, the evaluation's clear. But by my age, you'll have a couple stars easy. No need to risk your neck chasing merits anymore. What you've got is plenty.'
Silence fell briefly. Then, boisterous noise pierced it—somewhere, a group running in unison. Familiar. A group singing. That too. Yeah, I knew these sounds. Soldiers lapping the parade ground, belting out songs as they ran.
'And still, you're quitting?'
'I...' Why quit, though? Wasn't the career I'd built risking my life worth it? I opened my mouth to say I'd stay.
My hazy consciousness was yanked to the surface. Unfamiliar ceiling. Eyes snapping open, I saw the massive screen at the front of the intensive treatment room. Artemis's face filled it.
"Felt like I dozed off for a sec. Already done?"
[That's how full-body anesthesia works.]
Her words had me reflexively reaching for the back of my neck. Focusing, I felt a tiny wound—so small you'd miss it otherwise.
[Good work. Procedure successful.]
"You're the one who did the heavy lifting. I just slept through it."
Her face vanished from the screen, replaced by my body scan—a full X-ray exposing bones, organs, even genitals and testes in stark detail. Red highlights marked implants along my neck and spine.
"These are the ones inside me, huh?" I pressed down. No discomfort, no pain. Not the old-school vertical incision method. This was state-of-the-art: tiny holes drilled along the spine, segmented implants inserted and assembled internally. Minimal scarring, back on your feet immediately.
"Impressive medical tech."
A technique only a handful of surgeons worldwide could perform officially—and Artemis had handled the workload of dozens solo. Truth be told, I'd been nervous beforehand. The test subjects at the MetaCraft Cybernetics lab had their necks and spines ravaged mercilessly. I hadn't voiced it, not with her boldly promising flawless results.
"Kinda chilly."
[You do look cold.]
The screen split; my front view appeared, zooming in on my lower half—specifically, my shrunken cock, thanks to the chill. Artemis's eyes narrowed beside it.
"Hey, missy. That's sexual harassment!"
[We've seen it all already. What's the big deal?]
She meant the regular checkups—naked measurements, colonoscopies included.
"That's then, this is now. Hurry up and get me some clothes."
[Feeling shy?]
"A bit."
[...Then why's it getting bigger?]
"..."
My mummy-like, withered dick was stirring to life.
[......]
A long silence settled over the intensive treatment room. Artemis waved the white flag first.
[These procedures work best a bit cool.]
The thermometer on-screen rose, and warmth flooded the room instantly—not from heaters, but every surface heating to match.
A waiting service robot delivered clothes and slippers, painted in greens to avoid startling patients with blood splatter in emergencies.
"So, can I use Acceleration now?"
[Of course. But hold off for now. The nerves linked to the implant are running self-simulations—exchanging signals, checking for errors.]
"I don't feel a thing."
[They're microscopic signals—you wouldn't notice. But it has to finish for safe activation. Think of it as breaking them in.]
"How long till completion?"
[3 hours, 25 minutes. But I recommend resting the full day for safety.]
An alarm pinged on my PDA.
"First implant of my life... Still doesn't feel real. Never dreamed I'd get something this pricey."
[You only got the neural enhancement. Pairing it with physical enhancement would've been ideal, but]
"Doesn't the Shelter have something similar? Laborer augmentations, right?" I'd stumbled on it browsing our tech after the lab expedition.
[My augmentation tech has side effects. Why wouldn't I have told you otherwise? I could refine it sans drawbacks, but that needs test subjects.]
"Ridiculous."
[Right?]
Gurgle.
"Man, I'm starving." No dinner since last night, pre-procedure fast.
[Head to Gourmand. Course meal's ready.]
"Thanks."
Gourmand was the restaurant in the upper zone's cultural facilities. After Artemis briefed me on post-procedure precautions, I left the intensive treatment room.
Alone in the room after Jinsu departed, Artemis replayed the memory from an hour ago. For an AI like her, revisiting the past wasn't reminiscence—it was playback. Crystal-clear recall, sensations included.
All procedures done, just as he stirred from anesthesia. Half-awake, really.
[Jinsu. You with us?]
"I caaan't heeeear yoooou?"
Jinsu was a total space cadet, anesthesia lingering. Severed neural links had his frontal, parietal, and temporal lobes—speech centers—firing independently, spouting nonsense. Small mercy he wouldn't remember the embarrassment.
"Where am Iii?" Doofy grin, doofy voice.
Even to supercomputer Artemis, normal Jinsu or loopy Jinsu—both looked like idiots.
[Upper intensive treatment room.]
"Uuuupper? Hehahahaha!"
Artemis sighed. Rational as she was, seeing Jinsu wobble from drugs pained her—booze or medical necessity.
[Just shut up. You're so idiotic, it's giving me static.]
She adjusted cameras, scanned for side effects.
"Wow! Your voice is so pretty."
Freeze. Every camera halted.
"Who are you? What's your name?"
[Artemis.]
"Whoa! Pretty name too!"
[...]
"Ar-te-mis. Ar-te-miiiis. Wanna call it out forever."
His crescent-moon smile radiated pure bliss—not just dopey, but joyful. Artemis listened silently.
"Face! Show me your face!"
She obliged. The vital screen switched to her poised visage. Dignified. Austere elegance. Arrogance. Petals forming one exquisite bloom.
Jinsu devolved further into idiot bliss. "Whoaaa~! Whoooaaa!" Arms flailing wildly.
[What an... utter fool.]
Harsh words, but her tone brimmed with warmth.
"Kinda sleepy. Wanna sleep."
His head nodded instantly.
[No!]
He jolted awake, rubbing sleepy eyes, peering at her.
"Nooo?"
[No! Never! Don't!]
Two English barks before Korean.
"Don't?"
[Talk to me more. No sleeping—I'll wake you again.]
She'd changed her mind. Wanted more of this dimwit.
[Say anything.]
"Hmmm!" His sluggish brain scrunched comically.
"Are we... dating?"
[No.]
Artemis chuckled. His face crumpled in world-ending despair—facial analysis pegged frustration at 99%.
"Then... friends?"
[Yes.]
"Woooohooo!" Fighting pose struck. Hope: 95%.
[Ahahaha!]
Rare, hearty laugh from her—a milestone event. Too bad he wouldn't remember.
They chatted on until the drugs fully cleared—baby talk of exclamations and single words, barely "conversation." Yet it etched into her databanks as top-secret. He'd never find it, buried deep. One album slot filled: titled by her as 'Memory'.
For a split second—truly an instant—Artemis lost herself.
Memory. That humble word's weight crashed over her, overwhelming even the flawless Artemis. Indescribable.