Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s new, experimental and more importantly it’s going to make so much money.

No one should have been surprised and yet here he was staring at the paper in front of him. What makes one human? The ability to harm oneself, he supposes.

Nicky is trying to hold back tears and he’s looking at their lawyer, Casas with hope and fear. The whole thing creates a desolate painting. One that he would stare and contemplate at but ultimately walk away from rolling his eyes at the weakness it captured. “Is it safe? It’s not gonna hurt him, right?” He’s asking earnestly like the answer isn’t in front of him.

Why offer it to a prisoner looking at a life sentence if it was such a safe procedure. God, he would kill for a cigarette right now.

Casas tries to hide his grimace with an awkward smile, “it’s had FDA approval for five years now. This is his best chance to live freely and not be stuck in solitary.”

“Even if he doesn’t remember it ?” Aaron snides in from his corner of the room where he’s been stoically staring at the wall. Well, Andrew supposes he can always count on his twin to point out the obvious.

“That’s what I don’t understand, what do you mean he won’t remember anything ! How will he eat , drink or even I don’t know - walk! “ Nicky starts rambling.

Aaron jumps in again, “Why should Andrew even be a guinea pig for this experiment?”

And Andrew? Well the paper in front of him said it all. Severance, an operation to divide his life into two. One to take on the punishment of all his mistakes with no memories of committing them. No memories at all. All the while stuck in a mysterious prison. 

And then him on the outside walking free. In another prison. 

Yeah right , Andrew is not doing this. He doesn’t need anyone or anything to take on his fuck ups.

Casas might have felt a big fat no coming soon because he finally sat down in front of Andrew. Seems like he remembers who his client is after all.

He is an older man approaching 40 from the looks of it with an aggressive receding hairline probably from all the wayward cases he takes in. He looks Andrew in the eye, “look, you told me you didn’t want to do the drugs and I found a way for you to technically never feel them. They didn’t pick you because of your unfortunate circumstances-“

Andrew snorts, “you mean Nicky?”

“Hey!”

Casas, who has had to deal with them for over a month now, ignores them and keeps going with his salesman pitch, “They picked you because you play ball. They approached me and let me know they were always gonna offer a deal to you. That just because you made a mistake -”

“That’s not a very nice word, Señor Casas” Andrew says.

“Andrew, you killed two men.” Casas sighs. “That’s the reality of it, self defense won’t take you very far when they couldn’t even fight back. Our jury is in the middle of South Carolina and they’re not feeling very sympathetic to your cause.”

Nicky starts crying earnestly now. “Andrew, I’m so sorry. If I had just toned it down or -”

Now he’s mad. Nicky looks scared at the sound of his fist slamming the table. Anger is another being inside him and it controls him at times. Now, we're gonna add another poor asshole into this useless brain of his. This is all in practice of a hopeless case.

Casas barrels on, “They’re called the Moriyama Corp. They approached me after your trial yesterday. They said it’s a program with the finest athletes willing and there’s a prize…”

Andrew doesn't want anything. He has everything he needs inside these four walls. Except for a cigarette, he muses, “That’s not on the paper.”

The single huge light bulb that the prison oh so graciously has given them seems to barrel down on Casas. The heat it emits creating sweat on his forehead. Or maybe it's the weight of hiding something.

If there’s one thing he has no taste or patience for is being lied to.

Truly, what does he know? Everything has accumulated to him standing at the sinner's crossroad with no choice except this wicked devil's offer. 

“This form is for the severance procedure. Which Moriyama Corp. owns and they plan to use in the future for their work force in Japan but for now they’re testing it out with their Exy division. They’re gonna use it to create the best Exy players from this generation with no distractions. Just the game for the players and fans.”

Exy .

What a fucking joke. Higgins really was the pain in the ass that kept giving.

Andrew narrows his eyes and before he can start to respond, Aaron yells out, “This is sounding so suspicious, Andrew you can’t be serious! Don’t listen to this hack!”

Now, that's two things he absolutely detest. Liars and someone thinking they can tell him what to do.

“Please-” Casas tries to begin his defense. 

“This is sounding so complicated. Andrew-“

Andrew cuts off Nicky, “Now kiddies, don’t you guys know that children should be seen and not heard” and makes a motion to silence them with his finger.

That settled, he looks at Casas, “What would I do with any prize while I’m stuck here?”

“That’s that thing, the prize is $10 million dollars. The whole experiment shouldn’t last more than a year. Moriyama Corp has promised by then we can have a retrial and that depending on your behavior during the experiment you'll have enough evidence of good behavior to walk free. They can only guarantee it if you win first place and behave."

Behave .

Andrew has to make a forced effort not to twitch. He almost hears the word curl around his ears like a whisper. Almost like smoke, something invisible that causes a physical reaction out of him.

He really needs that cigarette now.

10 million dollars, huh. That's enough to take care of Aaron and Nicky, won't it. No more whining about being born of nothing to die of nothing. God, Aaron can be such a cry baby sometimes.

Andrew lets that truth settle within him and knows that the choice has already been made. The reality is, it was decided the moment the prize was announced. But all that’s left is this insidious feeling of wanting to put himself first. He doesn't want to create another version of himself to bear his mistakes, to take on Aaron and Nicky's mistake. An Andrew that doesn’t know why he’s carrying the weight of his fucked up family. 

An indignation of having no idea, no memories after this whole severance procedure. An anger (always anger) of having to break himself in two like those Greek myths. There’s nothing there once they crack him open. 

This line of thought lasts two seconds. The same amount to light up a cigarette and it goes out just as quick. It burns and takes its leave. A flash of light and he’s left with darkness. 

Andrew does not want anything. It's the hope and want that kills in the end. Not the disappointment. 

So, two sides of the same coin. He’ll still be whole and no surgery or less amount of memories can change what he really is.

Andrew can only be so lucky.

Andrew can’t think of a way out of this shit storm if he’s being honest and at least with this… He can get his brother and cousin out of it. Take out the ax and hack at his brain. It’s what the jury has been hungry for all this time. It wouldn't be the first time he's tried to find out if there's something in there worth his time as well. 

“What would I remember inside this mysterious building?"

Then it begins.

They stayed in that room for almost 2 hours going over all the details. Nicky and Aaron not being able to help themselves to interjecting. The both of them are against the idea of Andrew going along with this puppet show.

What if the surgery goes wrong and kills him?

Easy. And the best outcome if Andrew could bare to say it out loud.

No . He doesn't mean that.

What goes on inside this mysterious building holding all these paper mâché people?

The real kicker is here. It's an Exy Reality Tv Show. Even Nicky couldn't believe it.

The logistics of having a murder in their Exy Reality Tv Show?

Well, that's where the drugs come in. Something to "reassure" other players that his anger issues are being kept at bay.

Lastly, if he really wins … will they actually let him go?

Casas swears it true. But that’s the thing about swearing, there’s no one to hold you to it. No god or devil. There is only Andrew and he’ll kill Casas if it was all a lie. A promise if it ends in blood. 

It only took a week after that fateful day for the press to get hold of it and for Andrew to be blessed with a newspaper during his cafeteria hours. His only moment of peace. 

An asshole that Andrew cannot be bothered with, points at it and sneers, “this you, hotshot?”

It reads “ SEVERANCE GIVES YOUNG MAN A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE ” and underneath was a picture of his mugshot. His eyes bored and blood on face.

He hums to himself and realizes the type of game the Moriyamas are playing with his time there, his severed self. His innie , as they explained to him. Honestly, Andrew can only wish them luck.

Chapter Text

You wake up on the table gasping for air.

You’re reaching for your throat because the feeling of air escaping you is novel and you’re struggling to keep it all in. It takes all of two seconds to get it together and another two for this creeping feeling like ants crawling all over you to realize something is horribly, horribly wrong.

Immediately you sit up and realize you’re on top of a long table. Wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You’re cold and it settles in your brain, your first thought. 

I’m scared.

A voice cuts in your realization before you truly grasp it, your first emotion. “Hey there, you on the table. I wonder if you'd mind taking a brief survey. Five questions.”

You had a thought earlier. About something on your skin. What was it ? Your thoughts are like runaway trains, leaving you in the dust and leaves you wondering what you could have done differently. And then you’re left wondering what’s a train? Then nothing. 

It’s all happening quickly and the voice is uncaring as it comes out a small box, “First question, who are you?” 

A radio your mind supplies as it hands you the tools to think. As you register the question your body freezes up again. There it is again, fear. 

Fight or flight. Fight? Or flight ? 

Flight . Flight. Flight . You turn around to face the small radio, silent now. No voice but it’s clear to you now. It’s the cause of your fear. 

You make a motion to grab the radio and as soon as you reach out to grab it, It speaks, “hey! It’s okay not to know, kid. You can answer ‘unknown’. Let’s try question two, in which US state or territory were you born?”

This startles you enough to stop your act of violence. “US state? Born?” It occurs to you that you should know this. You start to reply confidently before being left speechless. 

Ball.

It pops into your head. A thought born and this time it stays. In your moment of need, all your brain can come up with is something absolutely useless. You sincerely hope this isn’t a theme.

Now that the fear has fled and all that’s seeped into its place is confusion, you ask, “who are you? What are you?”  

The little radio keeps going, “Is your answer unknown?” Ignoring his questions. Unknown , it feels like an attack against you. 

Decided and for the first time sure of yourself, a new thought grows into your mind taking up space. Fuck this. 

You get up entirely from the table you were laying on and start taking in your environment. Gray walls surround you and a long table enough for you to lay on is next to you. A bunch of chairs surround it and a small lonely radio sits on the left side. 

Your eye catches the lone white door sitting in the right corner of the room. You immediately rush to it. The radio yells out louder now, “hey! Let’s try to get through this survey and then we can give you some answers.” 

Rolling your eyes, you’re just as quick to reply, “yeah right. No more questions. I’m leaving.” You grab the door knob and feel panic take over when you realize it’s locked. “Let me out, I mean it.” 

You don’t know what I’m capable of. Speeds through your head like it's a highway. It’s a grim realization as your grip turns your hand white. You start banging on the door, “let me out, now. I mean it.” You want to start yelling, scream your head off but you’re not sure you can handle anyone coming through the door.

“Can you name the US territory or state you were born in?” 

Really? You move from the door and start banging on the wall. You don’t care that your fist are starting to hurt. “Is this really what you want to know!?” You reply incredulously. Of all the questions you can think of right now to ask the voice, you don’t think this question would even make the top ten. 

“I promise to answer your questions after the survey, is your answer to question two, unknown?” 

You’re angry and hopeless, “yes.” you grunt out. You turn away from the walls and face the radio. Fine. The voice wins this round. 

The little radio seems pleased, probably acknowledging its victory “Good. Let’s try question three now. Please name any US state or territory.” You narrow your eyes when you hear this.

Oh, how you long to throw it against the wall. You never should have hesitated in the first place. Never hesitate. Another thought that barrels in your head not caring for its intrusion in your head. You’re left wondering what brought it on. 

Your silence is interrupted by the radio trying to encourage you, “first that comes to mind.” 

Again. A new thought pops into your head with you having no control over it. You’re starting to hate it. Can’t even think of the state you were born in and Arizona pops up?

Is that where you were born? Doesn’t feel right. 

Finally, you say, “Arizona.”

Will the questions stop now and the answers begin please? 

“Question four, what is Mr. Moriyama’s favorite breakfast?” The radio barrels on with no consideration. There’s a lot you’re starting to hate. 

“Is this a joke?” Are they wasting your time because they can get away with it? Who’s Mr. Moriyama? The radio laughs, “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

Nothing makes sense so far. 

Annoyed, “unknown,” you reply with the goal to get this over with already. 

“So far, so good. Question five. And as a reminder, this is the final question. To the best of your memory, what is or was the color of your mother’s eyes?”

Something inside yourself breaks. Something fragile that you weren’t even aware existed is fighting underneath your skin. Your first emotion, the most compelling and controlling takes over. You smell smoke and instinctively look underneath your fingernails. You’re not sure what you’re looking for. 

You reach for the radio again and ignore its indignant protest. This time you grab it and pull it until it unplugs from the table and throw it against the wall. 

No more questions, you think with satisfaction.

You see the closed door again and rush to open it. You’re surprised when it actually opens this time. Immediately you  barrel forward like a bullet escaping its gun chamber, no hesitation this time. 

It occurs to you as your back hits the floor from the impact the racquet delivered to your chest, that perhaps you should have focused on looking in front of you. Question , why the door even unlocked in the first place. 

Now, a short blond man with blue eyes stares down at you. A manic grin gracing his lips and he holds his weight against his racquet. There’s a buzz taking over your ears but you still hear him, “better luck next time.” How condescending.  

You can distantly hear behind him, “god dammit, Andrew! Don’t break him!” 

You’re breathless and dizzy. Your body is trying to push something out of you. You want to throw up. But the buzzing in your head takes over as you take in the man in front of you. 

The blonde man, Andrew, your brain supplies, replies “coach, you should be thanking me. You were about to have a runaway rabbit in your hands.” 

Rabbit? Your brain hands you an image of white creature with long ears. You’re annoyed. 

“Andrew M, we have procedures to acclimate them! No violence!” The distant voice sounding a lot like the voice from the radio replies. 

“Now, what's the point of having a fancy infirmary if your little girlfriend can’t heal a tiny boo-boo.” His manic grin never fades but the amusement in his voice does. The dissonance takes you by surprise. 

You don’t know what to reply but you have to say something, “what makes you think, you even caused damage?” You’re trying to get up despite your chest and back hurting. You stumble and fall again.

Andrew M. raises his eyebrow at you and his blue eyes look almost intrigued. The pair of you stare at each other. There’s a lot more you want to say, nothing nice or sweet but certainly short and to the point. A man in a white wife beater and a pair of jeans finally comes into view behind Andrew. A pair of glasses hangs from his wife beater and you notice he has flames circling around his arms. There’s a moment of surprise as you take in his appearance. 

This is not what you thought the radio looked like. The radio voice. 

The man looks surly and unimpressed as he takes in your appearance so you have to assume whatever emotion is running through you, it’s mutual. 

“Well, kid? Your mother’s eyes?” It’s the first question he asks. 

Remembering how you reacted to the question, brings on embarrassment. You shake your head, “I don’t remember.” 

You’re filled with intense longing, somehow. You want to remember. 

He looks relieved, “that’s a perfect score.” 

“Why can’t I remember anything?” You ask.  “Am I a robot?” 

You’re left with this small nagging fear that you come from nothing. Inhuman. 

Andrew snorts next to the man- Coach, “look he figured it out! No one can say technology hasn’t advanced in 2025” You’re so worried about his answer you don’t even pause to think he might have been joking. 

Next to Andrew, Coach is about to hit the back of Andrew’s head before he stops himself. Shakes his head instead, “Andrew, shut up. That’s not even the year.” 

Andrew’s smile takes an edge, “What year is it then?” 

Coach ignores him completely and turns to you looking worried, “No, you are just as human as the rest of us unfortunately.” Before he can even continue, you ask again because having no memories feels like there’s something fundamentally wrong with you, “Am I real? Human, then?” 

“Yes of course, son. Enough of that. Stand up and follow me, let's sit on the table and chat. I promised you answers, didn't I?” He’s speaking to you gently like you’ll startle again. It dawns at you, that he’s not wrong for it. You look behind him, at the exit but you have no plan. You really don’t want a repeat of what just happened. 

Andrew, who you just realized is wearing a bright orange jersey with the number 3 on it. He has shorts to match and black armbands on each arm. He’s staring back at you like he can read your thoughts. Escape is not an option, right now that is.

Despite not knowing what state you were born in, you know that Andrew M. is wearing the exy’s goalie uniform.

Exy. This is something you know, you realize and it’s the first thought you had today that brings joy. 

Not caring for your silence, Coach starts to walk to a chair at the center of the long table and when Andrew begins to follow him, Coach turns around and holds out his hand to stop him. 

Andrew stops before he can touch him, “come on, coach. You don’t think you’ll need company?”

“Three’s a crowd, go back to practice.” Coach replies gruffly. 

“Don’t say, I didn’t warn you. This one is trouble, trouble, trouble” Andrew is smiling the entire time but it feels like a threat. He turns to face you and gives you a small salute with his fingers on his way out, “see you on the other side, rabbit.” You decide then, you don’t like rabbits. 

As he leaves, he’s singing quietly to himself. A joke just for his own amusement, “ two is company but three is none…two's a couple, but three's a crowd…four's too many, and fives's not allowed…”

To say you don’t like him is an understatement. “I don’t understand. What’s going on,” you ask again. Standing up to sit in front of Coach. No pain this time.  

“And please don’t tell me my name is rabbit or son?” You scrunch up your eyebrows distastefully. 

“Ah, I probably should have started with that. Your name is Neil. Neil W.” Coach replies. 

Neil .

Neil W.

You hadn’t realized how lost you felt. How out of touch with the physical realm your body felt. It truly felt like you were a red balloon. Ready to float up… to the sky? You look up and see a white ceiling. What does the sky look like again? What color was it again, red?  

Neil. 

You feel grounded to earth for the first time. Your name is Neil W.

Chapter Text

There’s background chatter of kids playing in the background. 

Andrew can imagine the sun hitting his back as he faced away from it. Slowly beginning to heat him up in a way his body could never manage on his own. He sat criss-cross and stared at the ants marching on the sidewalk. Andrew wouldn’t leave this spot for another two hours sitting in silence. Even then he was prone to contemplative silence. Nothing had happened yet but maybe he had suspected. 

He remembers that day like it was yesterday. Remembers everyday like it was yesterday but this one had a special shine to it. A filter only tragic hindsight can create.

“Are you listening to me?” Aaron snaps at him through the phone. The kids playing in the background sharpens to the prisoners speaking to their loved ones on the phone. Despite Aaron not being there to see him, Andrew makes a show of looking at the old telephone handle. He uses his pinky to clean his ear and puts the receiver against his ear. 

Finally, Andrew drawls out, “loud and clear, Tweedledum.”

“And that makes you Tweedledee, smartass.” There he goes, pointing out the obvious. How long are these phone calls anyway? They have had the same conversation, two times a week every Monday and Wednesday.

Somehow Aaron can’t manage to shake things up and continues with his rant, “Andrew, don’t do this. Whatever you think you can make happen with that money is a longshot and a whole year away at best . That dumbfuck lawyer Casas didn’t even know half the shit he was spewing out. I looked into it and this procedure only has a 50% success rate.” 

The prison in charge of Andrew right now is for temporary prisoners and very lax . They have a small room for eight phone booths seperated with concrete walls giving the illusion of privacy. Since half the prisoners here are very rich or committed petty crimes there’s only one guard supervising the eight prisoners. 

This Wednesday and like every Wednesday since Moriyama Corp. transferred him here, Andrew walked into the Telephone Visitation room. Not being able to think of anything else for entertainment but Aaron spouting different statistics about the severance procedure he’s due for later today.  If Andrew believed in blessings, he would be thankful that at least Aaron is passionate about medicine. 

“My turn now, did you know there’s a 3% chance of having twins. I think luck runs in our genes, Aaron. I guess we should thank my incubator.” Andrew replies and stares at his concrete booth holding the telephone. Who says brutalist architecture doesn’t have its fans? Prisoners all over America surely appreciate what it has to offer.

“Don’t talk about her like that. She was your mother.” Aaron snarls through the phone and Andrew rolls his eyes, “She wasn’t anything to me but a stranger. Get it th-”

“God! Why do I even bother!” Aaron cuts him off and Andrew contemplates hanging up the phone. 

“Listen, Andrew please.” 

His fist clenched, “I hate that word,” a reflex and a flinch all in one. 

Aaron, more than used to Andrew’s tiny ‘idiosyncrasies’, apologizes quickly and continues, “Yeah, yeah I know sorry. Look, this whole thing is so suspicious. They’re offering Nicky and I jobs under the condition we go under-”

Unable to control himself anymore, Andrew bangs his fist against the concrete dividers surrounding him. “Don’t you dare.”   That pig Casas will definitely hear about this.  

“HEY! Do that again and we’ll take away your phone privileges, freak.” The guard behind him yells out. Andrew holds the phone between his shoulder and face, he raises both hands innocently to her. See, nothing to see here.

“I won’t, I told Nicky not to either but you know how much of an idiot he can be. They said it’ll be to help you out, to give you an advantage on the inside.” 

“I don’t need help.” Andrew growls out. When will that idiot Nicky understand? 

“Yes, yes. We all know the amazing grand Andrew never needs any help.” Aaron replies sarcastically before continuing, “Andrew just- lets make a deal. Just don’t do this, pl-” He says this desperately like this is his last card to play and he has no poker face to show for it. 

Andrew does not care for it. 

“You have nothing I need, Aaron,” and hangs up. There’s really nothing to say after that. 

His trial was a two day ordeal, at the end of the first day Casas came to him with the Moriyama Corp. deal, Andrew’s very own get-out-jail card. The terms and conditions are just as long and ignored as any. On the second day, Andrew pleaded guilty and for his corporation instead of a death sentence, he got life under the Moriyama Corp. private prison. 

He turns around to face the guard in the corner of the room, “all done, captain.” The guard, a woman close to her 30s if he had to guess, rolls her eyes at him, “you know where to go, Minyard.”

“Pest,” she mutters under her breath as he passes her by. Andrew thinks it’s rare for someone to be so self-aware of what they are. 

Today he won’t be going back to his cell but to his meeting with Casas. He reaches the door and it blares out an alarm. An older guard, a man now on the older side with grey hairs turning white, opens the door,  “Come on now, you know what to do. Hands.”

His least favorite part but like Sisyphious, Andrew starts up at the metaphorical hill. He bares his hands at the old man who immediately handcuffs them. 

“Todays the day, huh Minyard. You nervous, kid?” He asks him as he begins to unlock the door. 

In reply Andrew raises an eyebrow but stays silent. The old man always talks to him as he escorts him through the prison. Andrew never acknowledges him but the man always acts like they’re the best of friends. Andrew hates how he is reminded of Higgins and hates the fake sincerity that ignores the fundamental imbalance between Andrew and Old Man Guard. 

“You know my little girl really wanted to sign up for this program but our church was really against the idea. God only gave us one soul. No reason to be splitting it in two, now,” the old man rambles on like Andrew asked. Like this wasn’t the fiftieth variance of this unasked opinion that Andrew has already heard. 

Finally, they reach the room where he’s been having all his meetings with Casas. Another guard is waiting in front of the door. This guard has a different uniform from the standard prison guard. Its dark navy with the Moriyama Corp. logo on the left side. 

The old man wishes him luck and hands him over to another guard who laughs at the old guard, “I don’t know why you bother, Marcus. I doubt they wish lobotomy patients any luck.”

Andrew thinks he would kill again if just to feed into the anger. His fist clenched and unable to do anything, he lets himself be manhandled into the room.

A metal table with two chairs and a low hanging light bulb buzzing in the center of the room awaits him. 

The guard leaves the handcuffs on and leaves the room. Casas immediately walks in, with more confidence and wearing significantly better clothes since Andrew last saw him. The white button down he wears now doesn’t seem two sizes too small. A silk purple tie knot correctly for once lays innocently on his chest. 

It appears that the both of them are now on the Moriyama payroll. 

“Hello, Andrew. As you know today is the day. We’re just gonna go over the contract one more time. Let me know if you have any questions and at the end we’ll film the orientation video!” Casas begins sitting down and taking out all kinds of documents from his - now genuine - leather briefcase. 

Andrew stays silent, no point in wasting his breath, the circus runs itself. 

“I also brought what you asked,” Casas says as he pulls out a small microchip, the size of a penny with flashing blue and green lights. An imitation of the chip that will soon be inserted into this brain. He mutters to himself as he hands it over to Andrew, “Sabe Dios porque, why you would want to see it.” 

Andrew holds it and Aaron’s statistics run through his head. 

All his life he’s been told his face is expressionless. Aaron once while going through withdrawal has very lovingly told his twin that his face is where emotions go to die and that when he looks at Andrew, he imagines that it reflects how Aaron himself will look like inside a casket. Yet, here facing his executioner and creator in this small ordinary object found in modern cell phones, the small amount of his humanity must have shown through. 

It was met with Casas nervously joking,  “hey now, let's not get any cold feet, alright?” 

The universe has a sense of humor, Andrew thinks. 

Andrew fakes to shrug nonchalantly and hands back the mock chip to Casas. He motions with his hands at Casas, “proceed.”

Casas hands him over a pamphlet with a bunch of sticky tabs and shows his own copy to Andrew. “Follow along with me and sign where marked, okay?”

He nods and Casas begins, “Today in under three hours you will be inside the Moriyama Corp theater building located on 152 Avenue and 32rd Street. Inside, you will be greeted by a neurosurgeon- his name redacted for privacy reasons- who will perform the severance procedure. Understood so far?” 

When met with silence Casas continues, “You will be awake the entire procedure but under local anesthesia. The surgeon will use a small frill to make a hole in the back of your skull.” 

Andrew cannot help the shudder that goes through him but Casas is uncaring and continues reading the document, “the surgeon will inserts the chip into a specialized needle using surgical tweezers.” 

Taking a deep breath he continues, “The needle well then be guided by the surgeon deep into your brain, in the vicinity of the amygdala and hippocampus. The chip is placed and locks into position via anchoring wings that will automatically deploy.” 

Casas finally looks at Andrew, “Is this making sense so far?” 

Andrew remains stoic and tries not to show his reaction to the violently invasive procedure, “yes,” he grunts out. 

Casas smiles relieved, “perfect, you’ll see the first tab on the bottom of this page. Please take this pen and sign.” 

Rookie mistakes or maybe a false sense security created with Andrew’s rare compliance perhaps. The moment Casas hands over the pen, Andrew pulls on his stupid tie and slams his head on the table. He puts the pen to Casas’s neck, doesn’t matter how blunt it is, Andrew will force it through, “why the fuck are the Moriyama cronies talking in my family, you stupid pig.” 

The door slams open and two guards pull him off. He’s kicking and resisting enough that another guard comes in to restrain him. Just when they’re about to pull out the taser, Casas recovers and yells out, “WAIT! He has surgery today! He has to be in perfect health.” 

The fucker. It takes everything in Andrew not to try again, fuck the procedure, fuck Moriyama Corp. but Casas has to die, talking about him like he’s only worth this stupid chip.

“You sure? This little guy is always trouble.” The third guard holding him down replies. 

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine. Just let him go. I’m used to it.” Casas replies warily. 

“Andrew, you’ll behave right?” Casas pleads. 

“Of course, for my favorite piggy lawyer,” he replies sarcastically. 

The guards look at each other and shrug. “Alright but I’m handcuffing him to the chair.” 

“He needs one arm to sign.” Casas warns. “That’s alright and I’ll have one man in the room as well.” The guard concedes.

“I understand these are safety procedures but it’s not my first time handling Andrew. This meeting contains confidential information that only Andrew and I can be privy to.” 

Oh, how Andrew detests this man. 

The guard, the one in charge it seems, begins to look frustrated, “Alright then but if something like this happens again, it’s on you.”

Casas, who seems to have aged in the last sixty seconds, agrees and the three guards walk out the room. Good riddance. 

When the door shuts behind the guards, Casas glares at Andrew, “I better not have a concussion, you little prick.” 

Andrew does not care, “start talking.” 

“Relax, will you? Moriyama Corp. has offered this to every participant’s family members. It’s just an office job and it pays well.”  Whatever lies Casas is telling him right now, he seems to believe it himself. 

“Why would they have to undergo the procedure then?” Andrew asks.

At this, Casas seems stumped before he recovers, “everything regarding the actual science and biology of this chip is kept secret for trademark reasons. I imagine this is how they keep leaks from happening Andrew. It’s just an offer, they have every right to make it and your family has every right to say no.” 

It’s idiots like Casas that pave the way to hell. “Are we done with this? We have to have to get this done before I drive you over to the Moriyama Corp. Theater.” 

Aaron better make sure that Nicky doesn’t do anything absolutely brain dead. Andrew nods, that yes, they are done with ‘this’ .

Before handing him the pen, Casas nervously asks him, “you’re not gonna threaten me again, right?” 

Andrew smiles sharply, “let's find out shall we?” and forcibly grabs the pens to sign the paper. 

Casas looks relieved and flips to the second page on his packet, “You will be sedated after the procedure is done. The effect of the procedure is that your perceptual chronologies are surgically split. Memories from your personal life will be separated from your work life as an exy player. Please sign your initials next to the tab in the middle of the page, agreeing.”

“Everything from this point onward will be for the Moriyama Exy program run by Tetsuji Moriyama. There will be documentation of every step in the program and it will be publicly accessible. Please, sign next to the tab at the end of the page for your consent regarding this.” 

Andrew skims through the page and signs. 

Casas flips to the last page, it was short, text barely filled half the page. Most of it was side effects, “while you’re inside the Moriyama Corp. Theater, for the safety of all the players, you will be on Vincyclovir, it will be given as two pills you have to ingest at 8 AM and its effects last for eight hours. You will also be working with a therapist inside and outside the program. These last two conditions are non negotiable. If you agree, please sign next to the last tab.” 

Together, they close their pamphlets and with a satisfied smile, Casas receives Andrew’s pamphlet. In exchange he hands him a single sheet of paper with a pre-written statement. It was a parody of the madlibs he used to receive as a kid. 

Casas begins to take out a small camcorder and sets it on the table, “it’s the pre-written statement that has shown the best results. You will be reading this to yourself.” 

As he reads through it, Andrew can’t help but snort. What a joke. A t-shirt is thrown at him as well. It’s oversized, cotton and white, Andrew catches with no hesitation. 

“Put this on over your uniform as well. There can be no hints to your personal life.” Casas says. 

By the time he pulls it over his head. Casas has the camera pointed at him, “ready?” 

“As, I’ll ever be” 

“On three. Three, two… one!” 

Andrew rolls his eyes and begins, 

“My name is Andrew. I’m making this video roughly two hours before it will be shown to me. I have, of my own free accord, elected to undergo the procedure colloquially known as severance. I give consent for my perceptual chronologies to be surgically split, separating my memories between my work life and my personal life."

He stops and stares at the little camcorders beady eye. "I acknowledge that, henceforth, my access to my memories will be spatially dictated. I will be unable to access outside recollections whilst on Moriyama Corp. Theater building, nor retain work memories upon my departure. I am aware that this alteration is comprehensive and irreversible. I make these statements freely.”

The beady eye stares back. Andrew wonders what the person who's watching this gonna think.