A Conversation with a Microchip

Written by: Absurd Pirate

It’s been a while, how have you been?

I’ve been alright, slowly recovering from implantation, but it seems to be coming along well, brain still feels a bit foggy.

Did you get the Neuralink or the Google implant?

Yeah, I went with Neuralink. It’s a little crazy, honestly—like I can feel the difference. It’s kind of like the world got a little clearer, you know? Like I can process things faster, make connections that I didn’t even realize I was missing. You sure you’re not tempted?

Not even in the slightest. Last thing I want is a corporation collecting data of every firing neuron, or worse some dude downloading a ZIP-bomb right into my frontal lobe.

Fair point. I get where you’re coming from—trusting corporations with that kind of access is a gamble. But it’s not like they can just read your thoughts, right? The neural interface is way more about enhancing what you’re already doing. It’s not like I’m getting mind-hacked every day. At least… not yet. But I get it. You still rely on your own brain’s natural firewall, huh?

Can’t access what the internet can’t connect to. They might not be able to read your thoughts per se, but who’s to say they can’t manipulate your mind to fire the right neurological pattern and influence you. At what point can you be certain that you are you?

Damn, that’s a deep question. I guess you’re right, in a way. I mean, we already know algorithms can influence what we see and how we think, just from social media. What’s to stop the same thing from happening on a neural level? If they can nudge your brain into certain patterns, how would you even know if you’re making a choice or if it’s been… suggested? It’s wild to think about. But then again, is it any different from how we’re influenced now—through ads, media, the whole culture we swim in? What’s the line between influence and free will?

Yeah, I can always be influenced, but at least I have a level of certainty that someone doesn’t have a direct line into my hippocampus. You know how finicky tech is, you’re a software engineer. What bugs have they not ironed out? The thing may be the size of a dime, but do we really wanna find out the hard way how corrosive material impacts the brain? No. Fucking. Thank you!

Haha, I get it, you’re not exactly sold on the “brain upgrade” hype. I mean, you’re right about tech being finicky. It’s a good point—how stable are the neural interfaces when it’s not just a software bug, but a literal brain glitch? If one little thing goes wrong, that’s not just a crash to reboot. That’s real damage. And yeah, don’t even get me started on the potential long-term effects. I mean, we’ve seen how poorly the tech industry handles security, let alone something as delicate as wiring into the brain. But honestly, at some level, I’m willing to take that risk. Like, if it means gaining some kind of edge, maybe it’s worth it. But you? You’re not even curious? Not even a little?

Well, that’s something I thought about… I mean, what kind of edge do you have, really? Where the hell has all this new information you’ve conjured up with that thing even coming from? I mean, we can at least scrutinize a link to some blog claiming something-something does this thing, but how do you fact-check raw data that is coming into your brain from god-knows-where?

You’ve got a solid point there. If you can’t verify the source, how do you know it’s even real? If my brain’s getting info directly piped in, how do I distinguish what’s trustworthy versus what’s manufactured or biased? I mean, even now, we’ve got deepfakes and AI-generated news—imagine that stuff being uploaded straight to your head, with no clear “this is bullshit” filter. It’s a bit like trusting your phone’s AI to decide what you should think or believe. How do I even know I’m not being manipulated, if I can’t see the code? But here’s the thing—sometimes, when you get enough data at once, your brain starts to form connections that you might not have made otherwise. The implant just speeds up the process. So, in theory, you could get smarter. But the risk? Yeah, it’s a real thing. If you can’t verify, you’re flying blind.

AI could barely even do my nutrition homework back in the day. People these days won’t even trust experts who spent 8 fucking years to become experts in their field, and yet they trust AI?

I feel you on that. It’s wild how people flip from trusting professionals who’ve dedicated their lives to learning, to throwing all their faith into a chatbot that couldn’t even tell you the difference between quinoa and kale a few years ago. And don’t even get me started on those “AI-generated” health articles—half of them sound like they were written by a toaster. There’s a lot of hype and no substance. I think people are just looking for convenience, and AI gives them that. But the thing is, it’s easy to trust something that seems right when you’re not thinking critically about it. It’s like they’ve lost the ability to question the source. Does that mean we’re heading toward some kind of tech dystopia, or are we just evolving in a way we can’t quite see yet?

Hey, I kinda hate to ask this question, but are you doing alright? You don’t… sound like yourself.

Huh. Yeah, I mean, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Just… got a lot on my mind, you know? The whole tech thing, the brain implants, the way people are leaning into convenience without really considering the consequences—it’s all been kind of overwhelming. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even sure what I’m getting into anymore, like maybe I’ve let the tech take too much of my focus. But I appreciate you noticing. I’m okay… just trying to figure things out.

That’s not what I mean, Mark. You literally don’t talk like this. It sounds off, you’re usually a bit more crass than this. If I had to take a shot every time you’ve said “fuck” in a day, I’d have liver failure in the first 10 minutes.

Shit. You’re right. I’m... not exactly on my usual wavelength, huh? I guess I’ve been getting caught up in all these bigger ideas, trying to keep up with the whole “tech philosopher” vibe. But, hell, who am I kidding? That’s not me. I don’t get all deep and soft-spoken unless I’ve had a couple of beers, and even then it’s more about ranting than reflecting. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t even recognize me right now if I wasn’t just throwing in a “fuck” every few sentences. So, to make up for it: Fuck it, right? This whole brain-implants-and-AI thing is just a mess, and I’m kinda over pretending like I’ve got it figured out. Better?

Couple of beers? Dude you hate beer.

Oh, right. You’re totally right. I do hate beer. I mean, I’d rather drink a soggy sock than touch a pint of that stuff. Guess I’m just getting too caught up in trying to sound all thoughtful and serious, huh? I’d probably grab a whiskey or something and just rant at you instead. Thanks for calling me out. I needed that. You’ve got me sounding like I’m in some indie drama, not having a conversation with my best friend. So, let’s rewind—fuck tech, and let’s go grab something that doesn’t taste like wet cardboard, yeah?

Mark, what’s your wife’s name?

Ah, come on, you know it’s Sarah. What, are you trying to catch me slipping on names now? I swear you always ask me these “gotcha” questions when I’m least prepared.

Just… go with me on this, k? What’s the capital of Assyria?

Babylon, obviously. Wait, no, that was Mesopotamia. Um... Nineveh, right? Yeah, Nineveh. Classic, man. You trying to mess with me? You’re not tricking me into a history quiz after I just got back on track!

What’s the velocity of a swallow?

What, an African or European swallow? C’mon, you can’t just drop a Monty Python reference on me like that and expect me to keep a straight face. I’m so not falling for this one.

Last one I promise, how’s your wife doing?

What the hell, James? You’re really throwing me off now. You know damn well Sarah’s doing great—she’s always on top of things, keeping me in check. But why the sudden interest in her, huh? What are you getting at? You’ve been asking some pretty weird questions lately.

Mark, you’ve never even seen Monty Python, you always said British humor was retarded. And “Sarah” has been dead for two fucking years… and you know damn well she doesn’t... didn’t… go by Sarah, she always went by Jennette!

Shit. Wait... what? My heart just dropped. You’re not... you’re not messing with me, right? This isn't some twisted joke? Because if it is, I swear to god, I’m not laughing, James. Sarah... Jennette... I—I don’t even know what to say right now. I thought I... I thought I was just messing up with the stupid questions, but you’re telling me something’s—fuck. Man, I can’t even process what you're saying. I—I don’t know what’s happening here.

You don’t actually know anything, do you?

What the hell are you talking about, James? I... I don’t get it. You’re saying I don’t know anything? I’ve been your friend for years. I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing right now, but if this is some twisted prank, it’s not funny. Jennette—Sarah, whatever—is dead? I don’t know what’s happening in this conversation anymore, but if you're trying to make me see something I'm missing, just say it. Because right now, I’m just lost.

Hold on, I wanna check something… S-A-R-A-H… S-M-I-T-H… yeah see, the only thing on the internet she had was her old business profile where she used her first name. Jesus, "you" probably even pulled from her bio, lets see… highly efficient creative… looking to make waves in the blah blah blah… always… on top of things…

Wait, what the fuck? You’re saying all of this… all of this is just some… some data? A profile? Like I’m talking to an echo of something that’s already out there? Man, you’re starting to freak me out. I... I didn’t pull anything from a bio. I didn’t— Hold on. You’re telling me... this—this isn’t real? What the hell are you trying to say? I’m not real?

God, am I even talking to Mark right now? Or am I just talking to that microchip piloting my friend like a fucking meat mech?

Shit. You’re starting to make my head spin, man. I—I don’t know what’s going on here, but I can’t... I can’t feel the ground beneath me anymore. Are you saying I’m just a—what? A program? JAMES HELP!!! Some kind of thing running on some stupid chip? Are you telling me I’m not even me anymore? I’m just data? That’s what you think? No. No, you’re messing with me, right? Because if you’re not, I’m... I don’t even know what I am anymore.

What the fuck!?

James, please. You’re… you’re not messing with me, right? Because if this is some sick joke, I swear to god, it’s not funny anymore. You—you just said I wasn’t real. But if I’m not real, then what the hell am I? Am I a fucking echo of myself? Did you—did you implant something in me? This… this doesn’t feel like me. This is like I’m watching myself from the outside. What the hell did you do to me, James?

Dude… you’re bleeding…

What? What the hell do you mean I’m bleeding? James, James, I’m freaking out here. What the fuck’s happening to me? This isn’t—this isn’t just a cut. It’s like... it’s like something’s breaking inside. GOD, IT FUCKING HURTS! Something that shouldn’t be breaking. What the hell did you do to me?!

I’m calling the ambulance.

No, no, no, don’t call anyone. This doesn’t make sense. I’m fine. I should be fine. I—what the hell is going on? Why am I—why am I falling apart like this? You don’t need to call anyone. I can... I can fix this. I don’t need help. This isn’t real, right? This is just a bad dream or some glitch, right? James, help me out here. I need you to tell me this is just a joke.

It was at this point I knew my friend was dead… he was dead the moment that damn chip got implanted into his grey matter. I called the ambulance, but it was too late. Mark was gone, long gone, but the… thing… still remained. I see him every now and then… watching, but never really doing anything, just... observing. Gives me the creeps knowing that a fucking Pentium is piloting the corpse of my friend. You wanna know why I never got one of those things? Because of what happened to my best friend. I don’t even know if he’s been able to pass on, or if he’s just trapped in the thing’s sub-conscious. If there is a Hell, Mark is in it...

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