The World Is Mine For The Taking

The media on Hope Island were battering the research facility's doors, their relentless knocking echoing through the halls. News of an infected individual attacking a facility member had spread like wildfire. I knew exactly who had leaked the information—it was Evan himself.

My mother stood by the window, her eyes fixed on the throng of reporters camped outside. The sight of their flashing cameras and shouting voices created a chaotic buzz that seemed to seep through the glass.

"It looks like this mess won't blow over anytime soon, unless you make a statement, Jessica," she said, her voice edged with frustration.

In contrast, Shredica sat slumped in a chair, her gaze wandering aimlessly around the room. Her detached expression was a stark contrast to the frenetic energy outside, and I couldn't help but focus on her forlorn demeanor.

"You have to believe me, Mother. She didn't go berserk. If anything, it was the opposite—she saved me."

Mother's eyes locked onto mine, her expression a mix of concern and restrained fury. "I believe you. And I can't forgive Evan for trying to harm you. But as much as I'd like to tear him apart, we're powerless against the media. It's only a matter of time before the authorities step in. The only thing keeping them at bay is my position as the captain of the Slayers.

Without that privilege, they'd already be breaking down the doors and swarming this place."

A heavy silence fell between us.

"We need to do something about this," my mother said, her voice tight with urgency. "Obviously, I don't want anything happening to Shredica. She's been a savior to both of us. But my power alone won't cut it with the authorities. If only we could somehow make her speak…"

I fell silent, torn. There was a method—a way to make her appear more human, less like an infected. But using that method on someone who had saved me from being raped was something I wasn't willing to consider.

Just then, the phone rang, its shrill tone slicing through the tension. Shredica's head snapped around, her growl a mix of confusion and agitation. My mother hurried to the phone, her face a mask of focused determination as she answered the call.

I didn't need to hear the conversation or know who was on the other end of the line; the fury etched on my mother's face made it all too clear.

"You've got to be kidding me?!" she barked into the phone, her voice trembling with anger. "She's not infected! Didn't I make that clear before?! Stop with these ridiculous accusations and leave us the hell alone!"

Her voice reverberated violently through the room, a stark contrast to the tense silence that had settled before.

"Your son tried to rape my daughter!" she screamed, her voice cracking with emotion. "And Shredica saved my daughter from that monster! Has your son turned into an infected?! No, he hasn't!"

The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the very air had thickened with dread. When the call ended, my mother's shoulders sagged, and a heavy, defeated sigh escaped her, the sound echoing in the stillness like the final note of a dirge.

"The mayor has made his final verdict," she said, her voice drained as she set the phone down with a dull thud. "He wants us to publicly present Shredica and prove she's not infected. If we can prove she's human, she'll be released, and her actions will be classified as self-defense and justice. Additionally, Evan will be charged with attempted rape and sentenced to six years and one day.

But if she's found to be infected, she'll face immediate execution."

I fell silent.

"If we don't comply, we'll be arrested for obstruction of justice."

"H-How much time do we have?" I stammered.

My mother glanced at Shredica before answering. "About a week."

***

There was only one week left.

My fingers danced across the laptop keyboard, racing to put together a plan. It was a high-stakes gamble, but it was the only shot I had to save Shredica.

The laptop was connected to a complex device, its array of wires snaking across the desk. I was in the process of uploading data into the device—a hypnotic contraption capable of manipulating memories. Once someone wore it, I could tweak, erase, or implant memories with precision.

This method had a dark history. It was first used in the 80th year of Ruination to create superhuman soldiers, embedding memories of lifetime training into their minds. My late father had once experimented with it, but the project was ultimately deemed a failure.

The device was a marvel of twisted engineering. It was a complex assembly of circuits, sensors, and neural interfaces, each meticulously designed to interface with the human brain. The core of the device was a sleek, metallic helmet fitted with electrodes and microchips that would map and interact with neural pathways.

As I continued the upload, I could almost feel the hum of the machine resonating through the room. The device operated on advanced neuro-synchronization technology. Once activated, it emitted a series of controlled electromagnetic pulses.

These pulses were fine-tuned to align with the brain's natural electrical activity, creating a feedback loop that allowed for precise manipulation of cognitive functions.

The core principle behind this hypnotic device was to reprogram the neural connections responsible for memory and perception. When someone wore the helmet, it created an artificial neural network overlay. This overlay could rewrite or erase specific memories, implant new ones, or even alter the perception of reality.

By interfacing directly with the brain's synaptic processes, the device could effectively 'reset' a subject's identity or make them believe they were something they were not.

In Shredica's case, the device could be used to mask her infected status. By altering her memory and sensory perceptions, it could make her believe she was fully human, effectively convincing those around her that she was not infected. The device would simulate human experiences and memories, erasing the corrupted ones that revealed her true nature.

This might work—well, in theory anyway. I had no way of knowing if it would be effective. My father had failed, and I certainly didn't trust myself to succeed where he hadn't. I doubted that I could achieve what my father had been unable to.
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The reason for his failure was that those who underwent the experiment had their minds shattered. They went insane. Despite the failure, the experiment did produce some results. The subjects acted according to the memories they were given, moving as if they were trained soldiers.

Their bodies were sluggish, though, because they weren't actually soldiers and couldn't physically perform as their memories suggested. Still, the concept my father had developed did have some merit.

It ended in a catastrophe. The subjects went on a rampage, brutally massacring everyone involved in the project, including my father. Thankfully, they were killed afterward.

Now, not only was I recreating the experiment, but I was also on the verge of potentially causing an even greater disaster than the one before.

I continued to refine the plan, aware that the stakes were high and the potential for failure loomed large. The theoretical basis for the hypnotic device was grounded in the manipulation of neural pathways through implanted memories. The core idea was to create a synthetic form of muscle memory by encoding false experiences into the subjects' brains.

The device worked by emitting a series of targeted electromagnetic pulses, designed to interact with specific neural circuits associated with memory and cognition. Once a subject wore the device, it would synchronize with their brainwaves, allowing for the implantation of detailed, fabricated memories.

In theory, these memories would override existing ones, creating the illusion of a lifetime of training and expertise.

However, the original experiment faced critical issues. The neural disruption caused by the device's intense pulses often led to cognitive dissonance and psychological fragmentation. Subjects experienced severe mental distress and disorientation, eventually resulting in complete mental collapse.

The device induced an altered state of consciousness where the subjects' motor functions did not align with the fabricated memories, leading to physical sluggishness and a lack of coordination.

Despite these failures, there was a glimmer of success. The subjects demonstrated an ability to perform actions consistent with the implanted memories, albeit with limited effectiveness. This suggested that while the device could not fully integrate new memories into functional behavior, it did have a significant impact on their perception of their capabilities.

As I reviewed the data, I meticulously adjusted the settings on the device to minimize potential cognitive damage. I recalibrated the electromagnetic frequencies to reduce the risk of mental disintegration while enhancing the clarity of memory implantation.

The challenge was to balance the intensity of the pulses to ensure that they were potent enough to induce the desired changes without pushing the subjects' minds to the brink of insanity.

After five days of sleepless nights, I finally got it done. My desk was littered with empty coffee cups, a testament to the relentless work. Without pausing, I set to work, attaching the device to Shredica's head and activating it.