End Game

George was sick of the rules. He had initially gone along like everyone else because he wasn’t sure, and after awhile he had gotten used to it. Sign in, test, scan, register, sign out, scan, test again. Every morning and afternoon. It was easier with the automated system in place, but God forbid you forgot your pass. There was no way to get back home, and getting compliance involved was a nightmare. It was no wonder so many now had the embedded pass.

George thought about it, but there were rumors of people going crazy or having health problems. It’s weird because George knew a lot of people who got the implant, and all of them seemed fine, but on the anono-chat forum (which he couldn’t believe still existed), there were always claims about so-and-so walking in front of the tram or someone getting cancer at age 28. Probably just conspiracy theories, but it was enough to give him pause.

It was George’s day off, and he had secured a beach pass for the occasion. He was meeting Henry there, though he was uncertain whether Henry would show. Even though Henry had the implant — only because he had lost his pass twice, and the administrator was at his wits end — he somehow managed to leave work twice without logging out. Henry getting the beach pass sorted seemed like a long shot, but he was the only person George wanted to see. George had other friends, but they didn’t seem especially interested in ideas, certainly not George’s. Henry, on the other hand, would talk about anything, though George was never sure how seriously he took their conversations.

George climbed out of the auto-taxi at 1:05 pm, five minutes late, though he expected to be waiting at least another 10 or 15. But as he stepped off the boardwalk and onto the sand, there was Henry, splayed out on a towel, with a Cowboy hat over his face, as though he’d been there for some time.

George greeted the pale, prone figure with a fist bump, removed his shirt and set out his towel nearby.

“Nice to get some rays,” Henry said.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t think I’d make it, did you?”

“Thought it was 50/50.”

“I’m getting better,” Henry said. “Have a new system to help me remember things.”

“Figured by now you had pretty much given up,” George joked.

“Ha, I tried, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“I hear you. Sometimes wonder what would happen if I just stopped going along, too.”

“Well, that I can tell you. Stopped going into work last month, was basically just bumming around the complex, looking at the weeds growing through the cracks in the cement. I mean, I know I’m a screw-up, never gonna get to manager-level, let alone director. Thought what’s the point. It was a relief actually. You know some of the grasses along the edge of the complex have purple flowers.”

“So what happened?”

“Fuckers upgraded me.”

“Upgraded?”

“Yeah, they — and some people pay good credit for this — boosted my chip package to include not only metro, login and UBI passes, but also four free taxis, unlimited coffee and the whole scheduling app. For free! Waiting for them to realize it was a mistake and take it back.”

“Wow, that’s…” George was about to say “cool,” but he hesitated. It didn’t make sense. There is no way the administrator would reward Henry for skipping work.

“You’re wondering what’s the catch?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, far as I can tell there is none… except, well, things are a little off — not in a bad way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Was on a-chat, middle of a convo about the graffiti in the central tunnel — real or astroturf? — heard a buzz. Wasn’t loud, just enough to alert me, then I realized the time, went downstairs, got the taxi. It’s why I was early.”

“So that’s it, just a little buzz, like setting an alarm?”

“Not even as bad as an alarm.”

“Huh.”

“There are other things. I’m having trouble remembering some stuff. Nothing important, but just odd things from when we were younger. Like what was the name of that kid whose dad always wore the black suit? We went to a Yankee game with them.”

“Dude…”

“What?”

“You don’t remember Johnny Evans’ name? That’s fucked.”

“Should I?”

“Jesus Christ, man. The three of us hung out every weekend from like third to sixth grade!”

Henry shrugged.

“Well, it could be worse. You hear about that guy with the implant walking in front of the tram?”

“Yeah, it could always be worse, but it is very very very, extremely, fucked up you don’t remember Johnny Evans.”

“Relax man, I remember him, just forgot his name.”

“I don’t know, that really creeps me out. Feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You don’t know karate but you do know karazy!”

“Seriously. Wish things were how they used to be, like when we could just grab a burger, or go to the beach without a pass.”

“But you had to wear a face mask back then, remember those?”

“Not talking 10 years ago, I mean before this whole insanity started.”

“Well, we always had the facemasks. Johnny had that tie-dyed one. I might have spaced on his name, but I definitely remember that stupid mask!”

George laughed uneasily. Henry could be deadpan with his jokes, but usually he gave it away within a couple seconds.

“Seriously, man.”

“Oh, now you don’t remember something? I find it very very extremely fucked up you don’t remember his tie-dye mask!”

“Henry, seriously, stop fucking with me.”

“Dude, stop fucking with me!”

George felt a sense of panic.

“We never wore masks until 10 years ago, never had digital IDs. Never had to plan our week ahead of time! You and I used to get high in the park, waste entire days checking out the girls in Sheep Meadow!”

Henry let out an awkward laugh, looked at him in a way people often look at Henry. “Uh yeah, okay, I hear you…”

“You hear me? You acknowledge our entire society went fucking crazy, and things are not remotely the way they were?”

“Yeah, things are crazy,” Henry said calmly. “But you act like this is some new thing. Things were always fucking crazy, I can assure you.”

“Not like this. And we never wore masks until 10 years ago, you do acknowledge that? Johnny Evans did not have a tie-dyed mask because no one fucking had a mask of any kind before 2020.”

“You’re acting like society’s restrictions just started. There was another covid in 2005. Covid 1. And the flu, and people did wear masks, but they didn’t make a big deal of it. I remember Johnny’s tie-dyed mask, and you don’t. The difference between you and me is I admit my memory is shit, but you think there’s an mp4 folder in your brain.”

“Please, Henry, please stop fucking with me. I’m serious. I’m about to lose it.”

Henry let out a cackle. He always fancied himself as being on the verge of losing it, and it tickled him to see sober-minded George was for once experiencing the same thing.

“Well, join the motherfucking club!”

George realized Henry was not joking about the masks or when things started. He was a goofy, frustrating, hard-to-reach person at times, but he would not gaslight a friend. Henry believed what he said, that is he no longer believed there was a time before the restrictions.

George got up and gently shook the sand from his towel.

“Where you going?” Henry asked.

“For a walk.”

Crossing the wet sand, dodging clumps of fly-swarmed seaweed, George thought about all the people (likely a majority) who had taken the implant. He wondered whether their memories too had been altered, whether they too had forgotten there was a time before the measures and new safety technologies were in place. He shuddered to think of the implications — if no one remembered, there would be no one to say that it really existed. Maybe he was the crazy one. The conspiracy-minded fool who still believed it could be otherwise.