Once the Best

Sweat ran down his brow in streams and he turned his head at the sound of the Mission bells. A sigh escaped his lips as he wondered how he had gotten so low. Once considered the BMW Queen of the South Coast, he had been hiding in trash bins to avoid old acquaintances as they passed by on their way to the better restaurants and bars.

He couldn’t remember if it was the gambling or the meth that caused it all. Both were really just some harmless fun, an adventure into the dark underbelly of the underclass. A couple of nights higher than a kite and reigning supreme in the High-Limit Room of the local casino. He was worth a million and a half; thirty thousand wouldn’t be missed. Now all he had was thirty thousand memories of a different life.

As if shit couldn’t get worse. The homeless encampments, the lice, and the unwanted addicts were a dream life now. Fucking unreal. Musk had promised them it would all be a perfect new way of being. Truth be told, it was all a perfect new way of dying. The wealthy, the elite, the middle classes with their health insurance plans, and even the working poor were all gone. Poor working slaves, they never even knew what hit them. Those stuck in menial jobs and receiving government health care were the first to go. As always, their mesh updates lagged behind. The poor sots had shown up to work like any other day, only to be slain before they could even clock in.

NeuraLink had proven itself to be an imperfect god. Thousands of hours of research had been spent analyzing the human brain to produce the ultimate solution. Genetic illnesses were now reversed in vivo but the mind had a way of going awry during all stages of life. LifeMesh was made to correct that. Implanted into the recipient’s brain with an outpatient surgery, LifeMesh detected and corrected chemical imbalances, sent memories and thoughts across the NeuraLink Network to others on command, and helped scrub any imperfections that could lead to diseases of the brain. Even video games were played using the Mesh. It was the proverbial gift that just kept giving.

Michael had never heard such violence. Lucky – or unlucky – to be hiding in a trash bin when the download occurred, he was spared a quick and painful death. What was meant to be a mood enhancer only fueled the rage behind the ensuing bloodshed. Cowering in silence, he heard the raised voices of past friends as they ranted on in unbridled anger. Any object they could get their hands on served as the weapon of choice. Even the children and babies were not spared.

Day five and still alive. The stench of death hung in the air and flies buzzed over the deceased. The bodies had initially been robbed of their earthly possessions, then the remaining dregs realized such things no longer held value. Who was there to buy diamond earrings or turn a hundred dollar bill into much of anything? All money was good for was starting fires and rolling tobacco.

The bells of Mission Santa Barbara rang again and he sighed. Michael had told Three Ponies it would be no good looking for others. Only those who were hiding or camping out on Homeless Hill had survived. Forgotten by society, they never had a chance at receiving an implant. Nobody worried about where they slept or what they ate, as long as they remained invisible and away from the railroad tracks and freeway ramps. Now the invisible were the only ones who were visible and the liquor and grocery stores were owned by different gangs.

Michael finally reached his destination. A blood-spattered sign read Tres Freres. It was once his place, a booming restaurant he shared with his husband, Robert. He pushed aside a bloodied corpse with a grunt and the door creaked open. A worse stench slapped him in the face and he considered whether or not it would be worth it. Collecting his nerve, he stepped inside and gingerly stepped over the dead as he made his way towards the office.

Robert was there. One of the most generous and handsome of all people lay face down, half his head pulverized. Robert’s hand was closed tightly, as if to belt whomever had attacked him with the kitchen meat tenderizer.

Michael slowly tore at Robert’s fingers, fighting the urge to puke, stand, and run. Rigor mortis was no friend but Michael knew he had to finish. Finally, Robert’s last finger opened with a pop.

There it was. A 14K gold heart locket inscribed with Love Always, Michael. It was a first anniversary gift and carried a picture of their wedding kiss. Robert had bragged of it being his most prized possession.

“I’m going to need you with me, love,” Michael said. “It’s going to be a long haul.”

Escaping the stench of Tres Freres, Michael grasped the locket as he turned to leave town. Maybe it’ll be better in the next place.

One can only hope.