Identity
"Deep in a research complex in San Diego, California, the lights on many instruments and machines beeped warmly in the empty night. The halls were hollow and vacant, that day's researchers gone home towards the end of a long day. The walls and floors beamed and pulsed, as Dr. Arnold Vaulkner remained behind running tests in his own private laboratory.
His lab assistant, Theresa Palmer, eyed him questioningly from the side.
'Should we run a few more?'
Dr. Vaulkner smiled grimly, unsure how to proceed. Many things needed to be done. This was important work. The research complex, Amalgamated Research Facilities, had been used to serious work for a long time. Human subjects were no stranger to ARF, who routinely supplied such test subjects with food, shelter, and a small stipend at the end of each research project.
The Graphical Identity Spectrum whirred in front of Dr. Arnold Vaulkner, reassuring him there would be no need for concerns about continuing. The GIS was more than capable. 'Sure, I suppose. This is getting serious. These results need to be studied.'
Theresa nodded, and went to the waiting room to collect another subject. The third of the day, an older, short, meek bald man, subject 3C, was shuffled in. The GIS read out digital charts, results, and analyzed data immediately on a high tech screen. 3C was moved into the testing area, with scrubs, and told to stand perfectly still.
The purple beam shot out of GIS to a dull, low hum, and smoothly scanned over 3C's body. The data created instantly in front of Dr. Vaulkner and Theresa Palmer's eyes. They both reacted with a low whistle. Yet again, no digital human identity, or soul matrix, in sight. They exchanged a look, as 3C looked around curiously. Dr. Vaulkner shifted. 'That's the modern world. No need for a soul at all.'
The subjects were acting strangely lately; and today they barely seemed human. There was nothing left to do but conclude that the IV virus had reached full pandemic levels. IV, or Identity Virus, was reported to have developed in 1950, grow worse in the eighties, and now in 2023 have reached maximum levels within the population. That's what the infected were reported to do. Lack any kind of social or psychological identity, or soul, at all. It was like being able to record that nobody was there...
The subjects in the waiting room were banging around. Subject 3C started bumping his head on the glass in front of him. This again. Dr. Vaulkner gulped nervously. Theresa looked at him worriedly. Nobody was there. Security had gone home for the night.
The banging sounded louder, as the waiting room door audibly crashed open. The doctor and his assistant jumped, avoiding the waiting room doorway and 3C's detection. Trying to find someplace to hide, they both split up and got behind separate machines in the large, darkened lab room.
A few tense moments. Trying to find weapons. The infected IV subjects roamed around the dark lab, moaning, bumping, and disappearing from sight.
Theresa screamed. Subject 1C, a large, younger man, and the first subject of the day, had grabbed her violently from behind. Dr. Vaulkner grimaced and backed away. She had been a good assistant, but this is how pandemics were. Bodies dropped all the time.
He bolted for the door, grabbing his keys off the table as he threw himself toward the dimly lit parking lot a few hundred feet away. He quickly unlocked his car and revved it. Time to go. He had an apartment nearby in the city downtown. He would wait it out there.
Dr. Arnold Vaulkner gasped as he arrived at the square in the dark of night. They were milling about by the hundreds, stumbling around and pounding on the empty cars. It had happened. The virus had finally triggered. This was it. Armageddon.
He was one of the only ones with an identity, or soul, left. Arnold prayed for survivors, as the IV infected noticed him turn his car slowly around back the way he had come. They lurched in his direction, the warmth of a human soul gone from their vacant eyes."
Short Stories