《The Humanity Reclamation Project》 Part 1 of 2 Eric scooped up his nine-year-old daughter and kissed her on the cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll be home this afternoon, alright?¡± ¡°Can we play fairy-tea-party when you get home?¡± Jess asked. ¡°Of course we can!¡± He faked the enthusiasm for his daughters sake. ¡°But right now, Daddy has to go to work.¡± Setting her down, Eric ran a hand over her head, tousled her hair and turned for the door. His wife, Abigale, stood between him and the exit wearing the fluffy, blue bathrobe he¡¯d gifted her for her thirtieth birthday. She looked amazing, even with her wet hair wrapped in a towel on the top of her head. With a distinctive sway to her hips, she took several steps towards him. ¡°You weren¡¯t about to leave without properly saying goodbye, were you?¡± Eric dropped his tool bag, pulled her into a bear hug and softly pecked her lips. He knew what she wanted, but he was already cutting it close on time. ¡°I¡¯m running late. This evening, I promise!¡± Releasing her, he picked up his tool bag. ¡°But you¡¯re always too tired in the evenings!¡± She pouted, giving him a glare that he¡¯d seen with alarming frequency in recent days. He gave a final I¡¯m sorry look just before closing the door. Sadly, his wife wasn¡¯t wrong. Ever since the factory shifted to mandatory overtime ¨C to fulfill the new wave of contracts ¨C work had left him exhausted. Giving her the attention she deserved felt impossible. Eric took the steps two at a time from his apartment to the sidewalk then scrambled into the first available taxi. As the car pulled away from the curb and into the flow of traffic, he saw the driver through the rear view mirror ¨C an older man with a bushy red beard. Eric could feel the obligatory small talk approaching. ¡°Busy morning?¡± The cabbie asked in a thick Irish brogue. Eric let out a long sigh. ¡°It¡¯s about to be. I¡¯ve got a fourteen-hour shift ahead.¡± ¡°Dang. Well, you¡¯re not the only one. Those new humanity cops are busy too. I seen at least four of their vehicles racing up and down the roads this morning.¡± Eric whistled in surprise. A few months ago, he¡¯d noticed the new law enforcement agency operating in the city but he¡¯d ignored it. Just another waste of taxpayer dollars, he told himself. Meanwhile, the politicians were promising the HRA would reduce the city¡¯s homicide rate to zero, for good. ¡°Did you hear what they¡¯re actually doing?¡± the Irishman went on. ¡°No. Has anyone?¡± The new force¡¯s official name was The Humanity Reclamation Agency, but everyone just called them humanity cops for short. No one seemed to know what was so special about them, but they were becoming as common as the normal police. In some cities, they¡¯d even begun replacing the standard police departments entirely. The rest of the commute passed in idle conversation as they made their way through rush hour traffic. When they arrived at the factory, Eric payed the cabbie and stepped out of the taxi. Staring up at the entrance, he wondered if the union had sent them a reliable crane operator, or if the new guy would randomly disappear like the last one did. *** Eric lowered the mask of his welding helmet and tapped the end of an electric rod to the edge of the metal plates. As the blue arc flashed into existence, he began the delicate task of manipulating it to fuse the plates together. A single defect, even a few millimeters of lumpy fusing, would ruin the piece. Trying to focus on the weld, his attention drifted to the image being reflected off the polished metal plates. A moment later, he recognized the alarming image for what it was ¨C a pallet suspended from a crane, moving along the ceiling above him. Metal barrels weighed down the wooden pallet, their awkward size requiring a perfect suspension system to keep them in place ¨C a suspension system that currently looked like a tangle of straps and tethers. His body tensed as the load passed directly overhead, watching for even the smallest indication of something going wrong. But as the load kept going and moved farther away, he forced himself to relax and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, what little relief he felt was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling in his gut. It didn''t seem possible for a crane operator to be worse than the last guy, and yet he¡¯d just seen the proof. Even the last guy knew to never move a load directly over someone. Returning his attention to the weld, he realized what the distraction had cost him. The line of fused metal wasn¡¯t merely a little lumpy, it had cooled too fast and pulled the plates out of position. This obviously wouldn¡¯t pass inspection, and he¡¯d have to reset the plates to do the work all over again. It took several minutes to break the weld, grind the edges, and reposition the pieces. With everything set and ready to repeat the process, he heard a clanking noise from above. Snapping his gaze straight up towards the noise, another crane load of barrels had moved over him but this time they weren¡¯t moving slow or steady. The crane jerked to a stop, causing the load to swing. A barrel shifted, one of the straps lost tension and slipped, allowing the pallet to tilt. Two heavy steel barrels tumbled right over the edge, falling towards him. Several workers throughout the open workshop yelled in alarm. Others dove for cover. Eric threw himself back, tripped on a power cord and fell flat on the cement as the steel drums slammed into his work area, flattening the weld machine and his toolbox. The hard impact of steel against cement echoed through the building and left a ringing in his ears.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Eric patted himself down to make sure he was still in one piece. His workmates rushed over to see if he was alright. After the initial panic and repetitive ¡®are you ok¡¯ questions, everyone began to calm down and started looking at the pancaked work area. Apparently the barrels had been empty but the workers gazes were drawn to the red explosive hazard labels on their sides. Slowly, as if mentally linked, they all turned to face the crane operator as he descended the ladder from the control station to ground level. The five-foot nothing, brown-haired man didn¡¯t appear to be a day over eighteen, a kid compared to most of the other on-site workers. ¡®Johnson¡¯ was stitched on his uniform and his expression looked like that of a kid recently roused from a nap. Several workers stalked towards him, armed with pipe wrenches and sledgehammers. Veins pulsing and fists clenched, Eric walked faster than the maddening crowd, intent on beating them to the kid. Johnson finally seemed to realize the situation he was in and quickly backed away, ending up in a corner, his sleepy visage replaced by obvious panic and desperation. A sharp deafening noise cut through the air, forcing everyone to cover their ears. It was the bosses¡¯ air horn, turned up for maximum volume. As the noise echoed to silence, the shift manager moved between Johnson and the crowd, his gaze practically daring them to take another step. ¡°Early lunch break, everyone! Now get the fuck out before I fire every last one of you!¡± He glared at the mob, bearing what Eric guessed was the man¡¯s best tough guy look. Some glared back, no doubt wanting to give Johnson what he plainly deserved, but as the moment passed, one by one, they dropped their tools and shuffled towards the exit. Eric threw off his welder¡¯s mask and kicked the doors open as he stormed out. Several minutes later, sitting on a bench across the street from the factory with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, Eric couldnt stop thinking about it. If I¡¯d been even a moment slower, I¡¯d be dead. Abigale wouldn¡¯t be able to pay the rent. In a few months, she and Jess would be homeless. In a year¡­ His mind flashed from one horrible image to another, ruining his appetite. He stared at the factory entrance, wanting to believe his boss would do the right thing and fire the guy, but what if he didn¡¯t? After several minutes debating one bad option after another in his mind, Johnson emerged from the workshop and hurried down the sidewalk. He still wore his issued work uniform, meaning the boss hadn¡¯t fired him. Judging from the boys smug expression, the boss hadn¡¯t even threatened to do so. With barely a thought, Eric dropped his half-eaten sandwich in the trash bin and followed Johnson. Somehow it felt like the natural solution, a third option he hadn¡¯t considered. The boy just wouldn''t come back after lunch and everything would be alright. And if I do it right then no one will know anything about it, just another worker who quit without saying anything. The kid made a beeline down the sidewalk for a block and a half. At the last alley before the intersection, he disappeared between the tall red-bricked buildings. Eric jogged to catch up and turned into the alley. He found himself at a vacant loading dock behind an abandoned retail store. Dumpsters, discarded shopping carts, and bits of rubble were everywhere. Crows pecked at some spilled trash as a mangy cat ran down the far end of the alley. A loud sniff from behind a particularly large dumpster caught Eric¡¯s attention. Treading lightly, he stepped past the corner to investigate. The kid stood facing him, bloodshot eyes unfocused as they drifted one way then the other. His left hand a piece of paper rolled into a tube. In the palm of his right, two rows of white powder lay ready. Eric didn¡¯t care what variety of drug it was or what excuse the kid might give. Knowing the guy was a junkie only made it easier to reach down and pick up a loose brick off the ground. At first the kid didn¡¯t respond, apparently not realizing what was about to happen. But as Eric drew back for the initial blow, Johnson¡¯s eyes went wide. He threw his hands up to shield himself, far too late. The brick connected with the kid¡¯s face, tearing a bloody streak across his eyes and nose. As Eric stalked closer, the kid stumbled back several steps, falling against the wall. ¡°Please, I¡¯m sorry! I didn¡¯t mean for it to-¡± Eric kicked the kid in the gut to knock the air from his lungs, then gripped the front of Johnson''s uniform and slammed the brick into the kids head, over and over as hard as he could. A minute later, the boy hung limp in Eric¡¯s grip. Patches of skull bone were visible through torn skin, the face impossible to recognize. Heart pounding like a sledgehammer, Eric¡¯s hand bled from the hard edges of the brick where it had torn into his own skin. But despite everything, his emotions were calm. He¡¯d never done anything like this before, but it felt perfectly natural. As he looked down at the dying body, he knew he¡¯d done a favor for himself, Abigale, Jess, and even his coworkers and their families. Work might be difficult for a few days without a crane operator, but at least they would all be safe. Then maybe the union would finally send them someone who wasn¡¯t an accident waiting to happen. He let the body drop to the ground and tossed the brick into the dumpster. After a few moments of wiping blood off his hands and making sure he hadn¡¯t dropped anything, Eric strolled out from behind the dumpster. What he saw next froze him in his tracks. A man blocked his exit through the alley, scanning Eric up and down with a casual eye while a sipping from a coffee cup. He wore a uniform that vaguely resembled that of a police officer but with no name, rank, or insignia. Lowering the cup from his mouth, he asked ¡°Didn¡¯t I just bring you in last week?¡± Despite the mans casual tone Eric¡¯s attention focused on the only details that seemed to matter, the very real pistol on the officer¡¯s hip and the taser gun in his hand. Fear began to take over as he wondered if the cop knew what had happened a minute ago, a mere ten feet from where he now stood. Eric didn¡¯t wait to find out. He ran for the far end of the alley, hoping to find another exit onto the street. Three steps into his escape, taser wires hit him from behind, the electrical current overpowering his body, forcing him to spasm and twitch. Mere seconds felt like an hour under the pain. When the current ceased, Eric fell to his knees. Unable to stay upright, he managed to roll forward and onto his side so he could look back at his attacker. The officer stalked closer, stopping an inch outside of arm¡¯s reach, taser gun still tight in his grip. This close, Eric could see the words on the dull-colored badge on the man¡¯s belt - The Humanity Reclamation Agency. Eric tried to show his hands so the cop would know he¡¯d given up. Instead, the HRA agent pulled the taser trigger again, shocking Eric into unconsciousness. With Eric limp and unresponsive on the ground, the officer pulled out his cell phone and hit the redial button. ¡°This is 421. Yes, two for the facility. One¡¯s a regular. The other¡¯s a code red with probable brain damage¡­¡± *** Part 2 of 2 Groggy with a dull ache in his back, Eric opened his eyes and tried sit up, but found himself unable to move more than a few inches. Damn that hurt. Moving a bit revealed that his arms, legs, and chest were restrained with thick leather straps, holding him tight to a medical gurney. Even his head had a strap limiting its range of motion and preventing him from seeing the full room around him. What little he could see did not look encouraging. Directly above, a helmet-like device hung from the ceiling with several data-cables coming out of it. The wires were tied together in a bundle as they went up into the drop-tile ceiling. A similar bundle of cables reappeared on the far wall where they connected to a large display screen and a series of machines he didn''t recognize. To his left stood a long medical table. Most of its contents were covered by white sheets, but the items he could see looked rather ordinary for a hospital setting¡ªstethoscopes, pill bottles and other medical tools. At the far end of the table, a laptop sat open. Beyond all that, a pair of double doors. To his right¡­ Eric startled upon realizing what he was seeing. Johnson lay on a gurney similar to the one he was on, hooked up to a life support machine. Another helmet device hung from cables in the ceiling, already fitted onto Johnson¡¯s head, indicator lights pulsing in rhythm with the heartbeat monitor nearby. Johnson¡¯s wounds were still bloody and unbandaged. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake,¡± a dry, raspy voice surprised him from behind. An old, thin man walked up beside him¡ªwrinkled skin, thick glasses, and a white lab coat with The Humanity Reclamation Agency logo on the right shoulder. ¡°Doc? Who are you? Where am I?¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you worry about any of that. I just need a minute to finish preparing my tools then we¡¯ll get started.¡± The doctor gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, headed for the door but then stopped abruptly. ¡°But since you¡¯re awake, I suppose we can let the computers do their thing.¡± The doctor stepped on a foot pedal, triggering a mechanism below the gurney. It tilted Eric almost to a standing position, enough so that he could see the old man at eye level. ¡°Now, try to relax. This won¡¯t hurt a bit.¡± The man reached up and pulled the helmet down, roughly shoving it onto Eric¡¯s head. Eric heard the distinct click of a button, followed by the sound of several computers coming to life. Large areas of his head began to tingle in waves as low voltage electric pulsed through his skin. ¡°What is this thing? Why are you doing this?¡± ¡°The machine is scanning and sorting your memories before we do the procedure. It won¡¯t harm you in any way, I promise.¡± ¡°A memory scan? Is that even possible?¡± Rolling his eyes, the old man shuffled out of sight while mumbling to himself. Eric¡¯s mind spun in confusion, unsure if it was a good thing or not that he¡¯d been brought here. He had no desire to face the regular police after what he¡¯d done but, somehow, being helpless and at the mercy of this old doctor felt even worse. Apparently finished with whatever he¡¯d been doing, the doctor returned to the laptop. ¡°Well then, now we can get started. Shall we?¡± ¡°Wha- What do you intend to do to me?¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s nothing we haven''t done before.¡± The old man droned on as he typed something into the laptop. ¡°You did quite a number on Mr Johnson so he will take a bit longer, but by the time he leaves here, you¡¯ll both be fine. We¡¯ll take care of him. It¡¯s what we do.¡± ¡°Then why am I here?¡± ¡°Why?¡± The old man seemed surprised. ¡°Because you killed him. That¡¯s-¡± ¡°Killed?¡± His heart pounded as he heard the word. ¡°You said he was fine!¡± ¡°No need to be so loud! And I said he will be fine by the time we¡¯re done with him. Same as you.¡± Eric froze as he picked up on the particular way the doctor phrased it. ¡°What exactly do you mean by that?¡± The doctor let out a long annoyed sigh. ¡°Questions! Questions! So many questions! And always the same ones!¡± He pulled back the white cloth on the side table, revealing several syringes, scalpels, bone saws, an electric drill and a variety of other ominous tools. ¡°You¡¯d think that after having done this three or four times already, you¡¯d react a little differently.¡± He picked up a syringe with a blue liquid, popped off the plastic needle protector and approached Eric. ¡°No, wait! Whatever that is, I don¡¯t want it!¡± Eric struggled against the restraints but couldn¡¯t even shift side to side. He could barely wiggle at all. ¡°Don¡¯t-¡± ¡°Oh, hush!¡± The doctor jabbed the needle between Eric¡¯s ribs without mercy, as deep as it would go. A heavy tingling sensation started in his toes and fingertips, then crawled up Eric¡¯s arms and legs as it closed in on his torso. Everywhere the tingling went, complete numbness followed soon after. He could still think clearly, but his sense of touch and muscle control were gone. Even his head would have hung limp if not for the leather strap holding him in place. Back at the laptop, the doctor typed something. ¡°As I was saying, by tonight you and Mr. Johnson will both be home, safe and sound. No one will ever know what happened. And it looks like your memories are intact so let¡¯s do what needs to be done.¡± A display screen on the far wall lit up, showing a series of distorted images. Eric had a vague sense of deja-vu as he saw them. One showed his conversation with Abigale from that morning. Another was him following Johnson into the alley. The screen continued to flicker between recent memories until it stopped at an image of the barrels falling towards him from above.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°So, it seems like everything began about three hours ago¡­¡± The old man mumbled. ¡°Oh, yes. I can see why you might be upset with him. If those had landed on your head, even I wouldn¡¯t be able to save you.¡± The doctor hit a button, and everything after the accident faded to static. ¡°Not to worry. We¡¯re going to replace those nasty memories with something far more mundane.¡± Replace? He¡¯d intended to ask the question out loud, but the numbness had spread to his face making it impossible to speak properly. Instead, his only utterance was an inquisitive grunt followed by a trickle of drool. The sound of typing and mouse clicks continued as the static transformed into images of a normal medical office, a prescription slip, a pharmacy and Eric receiving pills. ¡°There, that should work. You felt sick during your lunch break, went to a doctor, and took the rest of the day off. Your replacement will never suspect a thing.¡± What the hell are you talking about?! And what do you mean by ¡®replacement¡¯? The old man stepped on a foot pedal below the gurney causing Eric to turn and face the back wall of the room. Eric suddenly felt grateful for the numbing injection he¡¯d been given ¨C it was probably the only reason he didn''t vomit at the sight in front of him. Several tall glass fluid tanks were built into the wall, each containing a featureless, hairless body. Their skin seemed transparent, allowing a blurred view of the internal organs. Some were male, others female, of various sizes and body builds. Each one appeared to be connected to a life support system and wore a helmet device similar to the one the doctor had placed on him. A slight pinch in his side caused Eric to glance down to see the source. The old doctor had stuck him in the hip with a long, fat needle. Based on a medical show he¡¯d seen, Eric guessed the red and yellow mixture being extracted was bone marrow. Once the syringe had filled to capacity, the doctor inserted the vial into a receptor on the life support system of one of the blank bodies. Then he retrieved two other vials from the table, green and orange, and injected them as well. The tubes inside the tank flowed with the red and yellow bone marrow, gradually mixing with the blue and orange chemicals. As soon as they fed into the body, its featureless appearance began to change. The transparent skin grew thicker and gained color. Brown hair began to grow from the scalp and chin, visibly longer with each passing second. Its muscles expanded, skin texture solidified, and several burn scars appeared on its arms. Eric felt like he was watching a horror movie as the body in the tank transformed into a near perfect replica of him. ¡°And now the memories.¡± The helmet attached to the body¡¯s head lit up, pulsing in rhythm with the life support machines nearby. ¡°Are you almost done?¡± A young nurse asked, arriving through the double doorway. The doctor seemed surprised by the interruption. ¡°What? Oh yes, perfect timing. I¡¯ve just finished. You can take him.¡± Strolling into the room like she¡¯d seen it all a thousand times, she pulled the helmet off Eric¡¯s head, readjusted the gurney so he was reclined again, and pushed him towards the double doors. The sound of plastic wheels rolling over a tiled floor made it hard for Eric to hear anything as she moved him into a long hallway. He tried to say something, to protest, to argue, to demand a lawyer. But despite his best efforts, his mouth never managed more than a whisper and drool. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sir.¡± She droned, the words sounding like an old habitual phrase that came more from habit than any actual decision on her part. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of you. It¡¯s what we do here.¡± Several turns later, she rolled him through another pair of double doors marked ¡®morgue¡¯. Inside, a man glanced up from a clipboard and perked up as he saw the nurse arrive. His ID tag marked him as the mortician¡¯s assistant. ¡°Another one?¡± The nurse nodded. ¡°Awesome!¡± The assistant answered far too eagerly, moving to make room for the gurney. The nurse wheeled Eric over to a short conveyor belt that led straight into a bulky machine, its entrance blocked by a steel slide gate. Whatever it was, Eric felt far more concerned by the fact that she had taken him into a morgue. I¡¯m not dead yet! Deciding it was time to get the hell out of there, Eric steeled himself for action and waited for his opportune moment. As the nurse and mortician¡¯s assistant began unbuckling the leather straps that held him to the gurney, Eric figured his opportunity would be soon. The biggest delay seemed to be the mortician¡¯s assistant, as he repeatedly fumbled the buckles while stealing glances at the nurse. ¡°So, ah, what¡¯cha doing Saturday night?¡± Eric rolled his eyes at the boy¡¯s pathetic lead in, wishing they would hurry up so he could escape. ¡°Not you,¡± she answered with a glare and unbuckled the final strap. Eric used every ounce of willpower he had, commanding his body to spring into action. He felt the surge of his blood pressure and the adrenaline that came with it, but his body never actually moved. It simply lay there, barely twitching a finger. The nurse and the assistant hadn''t even seemed to notice his attempt. It took a combined full body effort from them to roll him off the medical gurney and onto a slab of cardboard on the conveyor belt. As soon as they had him re-positioned, the nurse gave a lazy salute and sauntered out. ¡°Damn!¡± The kid commented. ¡°Eventually, she¡¯ll come around. As for you, you¡¯ve got nothing to worry about. I¡¯ll take good care of you. It¡¯s what we do here.¡± He pulled a lever, opening the slide gate to the machine¡¯s main chamber. An intense fiery light shone from inside as Eric felt the heat wash over him. The smell of old burnt flesh soon followed. The assistant flipped a switch and the conveyor began moving him towards the opening, feet first. Eric¡¯s previous efforts to make himself move were nothing compared to motivation and willpower he now possessed. But even as his feet began to steam and blister, his body still refused to move. Wait! I have a family! I don¡¯t deserve this! Help- *** ¡°¡­hey, wake up!¡± Eric blinked away the sleep in his eyes, his mind slow and groggy as he managing to piece together his surroundings. He was in the back seat of a taxi. ¡°This is the address you wanted, right?¡± The driver insisted, sounding impatient. Eric recognized the steps leading to the door of his apartment but struggled to remember how he¡¯d gotten here. He vaguely recalled something serious happening at work but not what it was, leaving on an early lunch break, feeling sick, and going to see a doctor. But after filling his prescription at the pharmacy he couldn¡¯t remember anything else. The apartment building was definitely where he lived but something felt wrong. ¡°Don¡¯t forget your bag, man.¡± The driver pointed to a small, white paper bag laying in the seat next to him. The pharmacy logo seemed familiar. Eric picked it up, got out and paid the driver. But as he shuffled towards the front door something nagged at him from the recesses of his mind, as if he was missing something important. My tools! Eric realized. He¡¯d never gone back to work to get hem. Oh well, they¡¯ll still be there tomorrow. Opening the apartment door, he stepped inside and saw his daughter¡¯s schoolbook lying open on the couch. Jess lay sprawled out next to it, as if she¡¯d fallen asleep while reading. He closed the door quietly and tiptoed into the kitchen. There, he opened the pharmacy bag and found a bottle of pills. The label read, ¡°For headaches. Take two pills as needed.¡± The subtle creak of a floorboard caught his attention just before the familiar voice did. ¡°You¡¯re home early!¡± Abigale whispered in an excited voice, her infectious smile and the look in her eyes reminding him of their conversation from that morning. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re too tired again.¡± Out of habit, he almost said that he was. But to his surprise he didn''t feel tired at all, more like he¡¯d just woken up from an extra long nap. He smiled at his wife, slipped a hand around her waist and quietly led the way to the bedroom to avoid waking Jess.