The machine hums. It is a low, constant tone that vibrates in your teeth. You sit in the chair. The leather is cold. You are the operator. You are also the subject. This is the protocol. You check the dials. The voltage is set to maximum. The current flows through the copper wires. It enters the helmet. It leaves the body. You feel the heat. It spreads from your temples to your fingertips. You are not afraid. Fear is a variable we do not control. We control the output.

Margaret sits in the corner. She watches you. Her hands are folded in her lap. She is your wife. She is the witness. She does not speak. She does not need to. Her silence is a data point. It is heavy. It presses against your chest. You look at the screen. The waveform is flat. It is steady. It is perfect. You adjust the slider. The number changes. One becomes two. Two becomes three. You are testing the limits. You are finding the edge. This is what you do. This is your work.

The room is white. The light is bright. There are no shadows. There is no dust. The air is filtered. It is clean. It is sterile. You breathe it in. You breathe it out. The cycle repeats. You are part of the cycle. You are the gear. You are the wire. You are the current.

You remember the day you started. You were young. You were hungry. You wanted to know. You wanted to fix. The brain is a machine. It has faults. It has errors. You can correct them. You can smooth the ridges. You can flatten the spikes. You can make it work. That is the promise. That is the lie. You believed it then. You do not believe it now. But you continue. You continue because you must. You continue because the machine requires a hand.

Margaret stands up. She walks to the window. The glass is thick. It is soundproof. You cannot hear the city. You cannot hear the rain. You cannot hear the life outside. There is only the hum. The hum is getting louder. You do not turn up the volume. The hum is inside you. It is in the marrow of your bones. You feel the electricity in your blood. It tastes like copper. It tastes like iron. You do not blink. You keep your eyes on the screen. The lines move. They dance. They jump. They are wild. They are alive.

You think of your mother. She had dementia. She forgot your name. She forgot her own name. She sat in a chair. She stared at the wall. Her eyes were empty. You held her hand. Her skin was paper-thin. She was gone. You were here. You wanted to bring her back. You wanted to fill the void. You thought you could. You thought the machine could. It could not. It could only erase. It could only burn. You are burning. You know this. You feel the heat rising. It is not the machine. It is you. You are the fuel.

The protocol is strict. You must not stop. You must not look away. You must record the data. You write the numbers. You write the times. You write the reactions. Your hand is steady. Your mind is clear. You are efficient. You are precise. You are good. This is what they told you. You are good at this. You are the best. You are the one who can handle it. You are the one who does not flinch. You are the one who stays.

Margaret turns around. She looks at you. Her face is still. Her eyes are wet. She does not cry. She does not scream. She just looks. She sees you. She sees the man in the chair. She sees the man who is not you. She sees the machine. She sees the part of you that has been replaced. You are not angry. You are not sad. You are aware. You are aware of the gap. You are aware of the distance. It is infinite. It is absolute. You cannot cross it. You cannot reach her. You are locked in the glass. You are locked in the code.

The current surges. The lights flicker. The screen goes black. Then it comes back. The waveform is chaotic. It is spiking. It is dropping. It is dying. You feel it in your head. It is a pain. It is sharp. It is bright. It is white. You do not close your eyes. You keep them open. You watch the death. You watch the life. You watch the end. You are the end.

You remember the first time you touched the device. It was cold. It was heavy. It felt real. It felt solid. Now it feels light. It feels like air. It feels like nothing. You are becoming nothing. You are dissolving. You are fading. The boundaries are gone. The skin is gone. The bones are gone. There is only the signal. There is only the noise. There is only the hum.

Margaret walks to you. She stops. She does not touch you. She stands at a distance. One meter. Two meters. It does not matter. The distance is the same. She looks at the screen. She sees the flat line. She knows what it means. She has seen it before. She has seen it in the mirror. She has seen it in her own eyes. She is afraid. She is not for you. She is for herself. She is for the life she is losing. She is for the husband who is gone. He is gone. He has been gone for years. You are just the shell. You are just the wire. You are just the current.

You want to speak. You want to say her name. You want to say I am here. You want to say I am still you. You want to say I love you. The words are in your mouth. They are stuck. They are trapped in the throat. The muscle is locked. The nerve is severed. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot breathe. The machine breathes for you. The machine lives for you. The machine dies for you.

The alarm sounds. It is a single tone. It is high. It is piercing. It cuts through the hum. It cuts through the silence. It cuts through you. You do not react. You are dead. You are alive. You are both. You are neither. You are the space between. You are the gap. You are the silence after the sound.

Margaret picks up the phone. She dials the number. She waits. She listens. She hangs up. She looks at you. She looks at the screen. The line is flat. It has been flat for a long time. You are not here. You have never been here. You were a ghost. You were a shadow. You were a lie. She knew it. She knew it all along. She just waited. She waited for the proof. She waited for the end. It is here. It is now. It is done.

You feel a pull. It is gentle. It is soft. It is like water. It is like wind. It is like memory. You think of the garden. You think of the roses. You think of the sun. You think of the rain. You think of the life. It was real. It was true. It was yours. It is gone. It is lost. It is forgotten. You are forgotten. You are erased. You are clean.

The room is white. The light is bright. The air is still. The machine is off. The hum is gone. The silence is total. It is absolute. It is complete. You are part of the silence. You are part of the void. You are part of the end.

Margaret closes the door. The lock clicks. The sound is final. It is solid. It is real. She walks away. Her steps are light. Her steps are quick. She does not look back. She does not need to. You are not there. You are not anyone. You are not anything. You are nothing.

The screen is dark. The glass is clear. The room is empty. The chair is empty. The space is empty. The time is empty. The past is empty. The future is empty. There is only the present. There is only the now. There is only the silence.

You are the silence. You are the space. You are the gap. You are the end. You are the beginning. You are the whole. You are the nothing. You are the everything. You are the truth. You are the lie. You are the mask. You are the face. You are the eye. You are the blind. You are the voice. You are the mute. You are the hand. You are the stone. You are the wire. You are the fire. You are the ice. You are the light. You are the dark. You are the life. You are the death. You are the breath. You are the hold. You are the let go. You are the release. You are the peace. You are the rest.

The door opens. The light comes in. The world comes in. The noise comes in. The life comes in. The death comes in. The end comes in. The beginning comes in. The cycle begins. The cycle continues. The cycle never stops. The cycle is eternal. The cycle is infinite. The cycle is you. The cycle is me. The cycle is us. The cycle is all. The cycle is nothing. The cycle is everything. The cycle is now.

You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone. You are here. You are gone.