[Chimaera182]

Buck glared at the mountain of boxes that still awaited him in the back of the store. Yet more “priceless” merchandise to unpack, put away, and watch vanish in a matter of hours. “I hate the holidays,” he murmured.
“I love them,” his manager said from behind him, making him jump and kick a metal shelf with his shin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I didn’t think anyone was back here,” Buck replied dryly, rubbing his leg.
“You seem on edge. Go to lunch.”
“But, the boxes—“
“Will still be here when you get back,” she interrupted.
Buck glared at the pile. “Well, when you put it like that . . .”
The walk to the food court was depressing: everyone was rushing around to buy what they wouldn’t buy any other time of the year for themselves. But it was always good enough for loved ones, it seemed.
Buck shook his head and stepped onto the slidewalk. As the conveyor belt led him through the mall, he revisited the events of the previous night. Vincent, Cessily, Chaz, even Eve had all foregone conventional methods of getting high, opting instead for abusing the WILL machine. Leaving Buck out of the loop once again.
He began grinding his teeth. It was so unfair. He had to sit back and watch everyone else have fun without him, as usual. Once the technology-based highs came into the picture, it seemed like that was all anyone wanted to do. Buck didn’t think anyone appreciated the classics anymore: weed, LSD, even beer was out. The people wanted implants in their heads and hands and even other areas, and they wanted Bloodhound and Chimera.
And they wanted WILL.
Buck suddenly realized he wasn’t walking; he’d stepped onto a slidewalk. He prepared to step off in annoyance when a Verizon CRAP kiosk started to pass him by. He stopped mid-step, but the momentum was already pushing him forward. He stepped unceremoniously from the slidewalk and nearly stumbled into the Verizon display case.
“Are you interested in our products, sir?” the salesperson asked dryly.
“No,” he replied sternly, preparing to leave.
“But, sir,” the salesperson said, “everyone can use an add-on to their—“ the man broke off. “You don’t even have an implant? What luck! Verizon is having a sale this month on—“
“No, thank you,” Buck said, turning away.
“Half off on all splicing surgeries! Don’t you want to show off the latest in Verizon technology to all your friends? I’m sure your girlfriend would be impressed.”
Buck stopped. “What?” he asked, not bothering to turn back to face him.
“Chicks totally dig men with CRAP implants,” the salesperson went on, clearly thinking he had found a way to persuade a customer into buying his wares. “Just think of how she will react when she sees you sporting a brand new, state-of-the-art Verizon CRAP implant. Or go the next level: the brand new picture-CRAP implant which allows you to use your eyes to take photos and instantly send them to friends. You can even customize your personal ringtones to play a different tune whenever someone calls you on your implant.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend to impress with that worthless crap, you pathetic loser,” Buck bit out, finally turning around to face the man. “Why the hell would anyone need a phone to take pictures with? It’s a god-damn phone, not a camera.”
“But it can be so much more,” the other persisted. Buck was almost impressed; the man’s complexion had gone sheet-white, but he was still trying to get him to buy the implant surgery. “You can use your CRAP to play music, take pictures, even play games.”
“How does that even work?” he asked, not really wanting to know.
“The imagery data is directly transferred to your retinas. Man, I swear, I’ve tried it before; it’s freaking amazing.” The salesman was clearly excited now, probably once again dreaming of a commission. “I downloaded some old-style Atari games, like Dig Dug and Missile Command into my own CRAP. Man, I’m telling you, it’s so sweet. I’d play all day if I didn’t have to work.”
Buck sighed. “But why would a device made for communication need to do all those things?”
The man seemed taken aback. “Why shouldn’t it? You don’t have to carry a portable gaming system around with you, or a camera, or an iPod. It’s just convenient that way.”
“You’re an idiot,” Buck retorted

On the week of finals, Buck felt calmer and more at ease than he had since . . . he couldn’t remember. He smiled as he wandered the halls, hummed to the music playing, and for the first time in his life, he felt good. And he didn’t need mind-altering drugs or alcohol to do it.
He had his Verizon-chip.
He slapped the handicap switch, and the door swung open slowly. He whistled to the music that played in his head. His Verizon CRAP implant was the best thing to happen to him. Ever.
The three final exams he’d had that day were a breeze; he couldn’t believe how stressed he had been a week ago. Then again, his CRAP implant’s memory could store nearly a gigabyte of information; it was easy enough to program it so he could use his notes during all three tests. It was the first time he’d cheated on a test in his life, but, somehow, the idea didn’t bother him.
He was just walking toward the escalator when a different song interrupted his music. He sent the proper thought to the implant, which stopped the song. “Hey, Eve,” he greeted.
“Hey, man, what are you up to tonight?”
“Just gonna relax. I wanna blow off some steam, though; had three tests today.” Buck smiled. “They were easy, but I still feel like doing something.”
He could almost picture Eve’s smile. “Great. Me and the guys are going to meet up at Chaz’s again. You game?”
Buck’s smile widened. “I’m always game.”

Buck couldn’t wait.
Eve had said to drop by around nine, but he was too eager to get started and showed up at seven. His eagerness had been wasted, however: no one was even around save Chaz. He greeted Buck, commented on his new hardware, then introduced him to Bloodhound.
“Wow, this is great,” Buck said slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable.
“’Great’ doesn’t even begin to describe it, yo,” Chaz said in response.
“Man, this is ten times better than weed. I had no idea . . .”
Chaz laughed. “Serves you right, G, bein’ all high ‘n mighty about gettin’ machines spliced into ya. So, what changed your mind, anyhow?”
Buck frowned. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just sort of . . . fell towards a Verizon kiosk, and then, next thing I knew, I was on my back on an operating table.”
Chaz raised a glass of water in toast. “To technology: the greatest gift God bestowed on us.”
As Buck raised his own glass of water, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought, God didn’t give us technology; we gave it to ourselves. “Here, here,” he seconded, and the pair downed their glasses.
Two hours of Bloodhound hadn’t been enough, though; when Eve and Cessily had arrived, it was time to break out the WILL. Only then did the ever-elusive Vincent emerge from his room with the machine. Buck no longer looked upon the device with revulsion or fear; now, finally, he felt he understood why it was necessary. Finally, he could experience this “ultimate high” that everyone had been talking about.
Over the course of the next half hour, he began to not just want the WILL, but he hungered for it, a sensation of yearning that felt almost primitive. Eve was chattering away incessantly while Vincent and Chaz set up the WILL. Cess, Buck noticed, was eyeing the WILL with the same look of barely-controlled desire he himself was feeling. Dimly, he wondered why he felt this intense need for something that a week ago had struck him with fear.
“Finished,” Vincent announced, picking himself up from the floor. As he dusted himself off, Cess leapt for the connector jack. “Me first!”
“Dude, you need to slow down,” Chaz said, snatching the cord away from her.
“You always go first! I want to go!”
Eve said, “Let Buck go first.”
Vincent nodded, and Chaz seemed to consider that. Cess stood there, eyeing him angrily. She was practically hopping in place, and Buck got the impression of a group of sugar-high children. The way she was moving, he almost expected her to vibrate into another dimension.
“Fine, I’ll go first,” Buck replied. Chaz handed him the connector jack. Cess continued to fume as he searched for the port in his implant. This is it, he thought eagerly as he raised the cable to his head. Before the jack made its connection, he wondered once more why he needed this so much.