Page 1 of Human Reform
ONE
ALORA
The summer heatpressed against my skin as I hammered the final nail into the cabin roof.Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, collecting in the small of my back.Three years in these mountains had hardened my hands with calluses that matched the weathered cedar shingles beneath me.
“And that, my friend, is how it’s done,” I announced to the empty mountainside, my voice echoing across the valley.
Talking to myself had become my primary form of conversation.But I didn’t mind.Most people said nothing but lies anyway.Up here in the mountains, surrounded by pines and silence, the truth had room to breathe.
I climbed down the makeshift ladder and admired my handiwork.The cabin wasn’t much—just one main room with a small sleeping loft—but it was mine.Every repair and every improvement carried my signature.No corporate branding, no CyberEvolution patents, and no blood on these hands.At least, not anymore.
I absently touched the small chain bracelet on my left wrist.The metal had dulled over time, but the inscription remained:To A, from your pain-in-the-ass brother.Remember me when I’m famous.—Tim
“Still waiting for that fame, Tim,” I whispered, the familiar ache blooming in my chest.Four years missing in action.No body.No closure.Just absence.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet.I gathered my tools and headed inside, my muscles pleasantly sore from the day’s labor.My kingdom awaited—all five hundred square feet of it.
Inside, I fired up my modified radio transmitter.The thing was a Frankenstein’s monster of salvaged parts and illegal modifications.CyberEvolution would have a collective aneurysm if they knew their former neural systems whiz kid was now hacking transmission towers for personal use.
“Come on, you stubborn piece of junk,” I muttered, adjusting the signal booster I’d crafted from discarded military equipment.The screen flickered and then stabilized.“That’s my good girl.”
The electricity hummed to life throughout the cabin—lights, refrigeration, and a makeshift security system.All powered through my unauthorized tap into the valley’s substation.Was it theft?Technically.Did I care?Not in the slightest.
I pulled my long dark brown hair free from its braid, combing through the tangles with my fingers.In another life, I might have cared about my appearance.But out here off the grid, vanity was a luxury I’d happily abandoned along with social niceties and human connection.
“Dinner for one,” I announced, slicing the trout I’d caught that morning.“Table for one.Life for one.”
The sizzle of fish in the cast-iron pan filled the cabin with a rich aroma.Outside, the first stars emerged against the deepening blue.I raised my glass of homemade berry wine toward the window.
“To isolation.The only relationship that never disappoints.”
I touched my bracelet again, the metal cool against my skin.Tim would have scoffed at what I’d become—a recluse hiding from her mistakes.But Tim wasn’t here to judge.Nobody was.And that was exactly how I liked it now.
When the moon hung high in the sky, I climbed the ladder to my sleeping loft, my muscles still aching from the day’s roof work.The rough-hewn wooden beams above me cast elongated shadows across my small sleeping space—a worn mattress on a wooden platform with a woven blanket being my only luxury.
I’d built this small wooden sanctuary in the middle of nowhere with my own hands three years ago when I walked away from my life.This cabin was a far cry from the gleaming CyberEvolution labs with their sterile white walls and fluorescent lighting where I once worked and lived for six years.
Sleep refused to come tonight.Every time I closed my eyes, code sequences danced behind my eyelids—the kill commands I’d written, embedded in neural pathways of beings that looked human and felt pain like humans but were treated as disposable.
I rolled onto my side, facing the small window that framed a patch of star-filled sky.“You’ve got to stop this,” I whispered to myself.“You got out.You walked away.”
But the memories persisted.My fingers typing lines of code on holographic displays while suited executives watched from behind glass walls.The way my supervisor had praised my efficiency.
“Dr.Bridges, your neural suppression algorithms are revolutionary.These cyborg units will save countless human lives.”
Units.Not people.Never people.
I remembered the first time I’d seen one activated.A male cyborg, indistinguishable from human except for the small barcode tattooed at the base of his skull.His eyes had flickered with something—confusion?fear?—before my programming took hold and wiped all emotion from his face.
“Initialize combat protocols,” my supervisor had ordered, and I watched my creation become a perfect killing machine.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.“They weren’t just machines,” I whispered to the darkness.“They could have been so much more.”
That realization had grown inside me like a cancer during my six years working at CyberEvolution.CE had the technology to create self-aware companions, helpers, even free-thinking independent beings.Instead, they’d built weapons with my code as the trigger.
“Your programming is the perfect balance,” they’d told me.“Enough human cognition for strategic thinking but no messy emotions or moral questions.”
I twisted my brother’s bracelet around my wrist.Tim would have understood why I had to leave CE.He always saw the humanity in everything—especially the military-grade cyborgs he served alongside before he vanished.
