Page 190 of Light Leech

“Great. Delightful. Wondrous, and so forth. Remove her implant and the rest of the brainstem while you’re at it and let’s move on.”

Mister Kim pulled out a violet light knife and began to cut into the back of Ralia’s head. Though much of it was chrome, blood ran down her neck like a river.

Chapter twenty-nine

My Beloved Sister

With the innovation of the neurospace, brainwashing no longer required the prying open of eyes like I had seen in older mindshows. If anything, it made my efforts to fight more futile, but I would take the relief where I could have it. Ad campaigns, subliminal messages, and all other forms of cognitive viruses were so commonplace that brainwashing was almost forgotten.

Dokkaebi and the Correction didn’t have time to subtly shape my mind. I was in their possession and a danger as long as I believed in the Luxist conviction.

So they did what they had to.

Odd colors and sounds that inspired revolting thoughts of betrayal began, but that agony was short-lived. Rather, I was given a brief reprieve, though what came during that pause was worse than any form of torture or conditioning. Zhu had shielded me from the initial barrages of cognitive warfare, but he could not save me from this.

Ralia lay prone on a surgical table. No oxygen to keep her breathing, no IV tubes with anesthetics to keep her asleep, no blood transfusing into her paling body. She was naked. Her scars were a tapestry of the vile nature of our work. Looking at her bare body, I knew she would have made some remark about it, turning even this dire circumstance into a joke. I let out a noise that sounded like a laugh, though it was the pained, tearful beginning of an agonizing bereavement.

I choked, screamed. I felt my agony go visceral.

This could not be. Tevon had died, just as I feared the rest of us would, but not her. Not Ralia. Ralia could never. If this were a work of fiction, she deserved the plot armor more than any of us.

I couldn’t even begin to fathom what her absence would mean for our efforts going forward. All that mattered was the person, not the tool that she was.

This was my sister with a connection stronger than blood. They treated her like an oyster, tossing aside the useless shell to remove the pearl in her head.

They did just that. I vomited. Though I was in my neurospace, I felt it run down my body. The excess liquid ran into the cracks between me and the chair I was strapped to.

My throat burned as I continued to cry out. The vomit in my esophagus made it even worse. Everything inside of my neck cried for relief, but I could not provide it. They killed her. My dear, dear Ralia was dead and there was nothing I could do to change that.

We had lost.

I continued to watch.

They pried apart the remnants of her skull and the chrome on the back of her head. Her head looked like a dissected avocado with the core standing out like a gem ready to be plucked.

They made a cut below the neck and sliced away any excess nerves as they removed her brain and the stem dangling below. Her brain had a few augments from where she had taken damage in Arabasia, but nothing else mattered in comparison to the violently vibrant blue glow in her brainstem. I saw the chromatic case that encased it as the light dimmed after exposure. Despite the horror of it, I felt relief in finally knowing what it looked like.

The Bite. The device responsible for this chain of misery that bound each of us Imps.

The woman who had plucked the brain placed it in violet infused water. Everyone else in the room clapped their blood covered gloves together, causing red to splatter on their white gowns and face shields to make them look like the murderers they were.

I shook my head, but the image would not leave my mind. I tried to message Boyband, but any outside communication was blocked.

“Ralia.“ My voice shook as I let her name leave my lips like a final prayer for her spirit’s ascension.

Hope was dead.

I cried. I cried harder than I ever had in my life.

My head throbbed from all the crying. I was inconsolable and the propaganda they forced on me had no effect. I couldn’t focus on any of it regardless of the amphetamines and focus tabs they used to amplify the neurowashing. Maybe Zhu protected me. Maybe it was my ascension.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t care.

The only thing I felt besides an exacerbating pain was burning hatred for the Correction.

“Where’s Kim?” I cried. I think my voice echoed, but the auditory input of my neurospace left me half-deaf.