The chip’s durability was a selling point. Near-indestructible, brochures said. And so it was. Indestructible as the virus took hold, as the body fevered and perished, as cold limbs twitched and reanimated. His chip kept him present for the first metallic taste of torn flesh.
He remained as the corneas clouded over. Cartilage disintegrated. Bone ground against bone. The mouth hung open, gnawing. Still, he was awake. Always.
Darkness came at last when the optical nerve rotted away. All that was left to him was the dragging sound of feet as the stiff muscles jerked the whole shambling thing forward.
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alt="Neuroluxe Implant no 3Z82M99B64 by Bryanna Botham"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Blindly Following Orders by Chris Tattersall"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Donor by Collette Night"
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alt="Second Sight by Jim Myhill"
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>