I didn't want this

“Next!”

“Next!”

“Next!” the technician called.

My turn.

Okay. Here we go.

I’ve never been good with surgical procedures, but I chose this. Sort of. It had its benefits, at least. Everyone was getting one now, and I suppose this was the next step in technology. We had gone from having no phones to carrying smartphones everywhere.

This was one step beyond that.

Everything at the swipe of a hand. It felt almost necessary now. You felt like the odd one out if you didn’t have one.

“Name and date of birth?” the technician asked.

I gave her the details.

“Perfect. And your ID number?”

I answered that too.

She inserted the chip under a local anaesthetic, just as I had requested. The anaesthetic was probably worse than the needle itself. It burned beneath my skin before the numbness finally spread.

“It isn’t a huge procedure,” she assured me.

She gave me the usual rundown about infection risks, then handed me a consent form. I signed it before heading out.

“You should be able to swipe later and transfer all your details straight to whichever device you choose,” the technician said.

“Ah, okay. It’s over.”

I went straight out for a coffee and a scone to treat myself. I deserved it after that.

By the time I made it home, I had spent nearly an hour crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic.

I put on my headphones and held my hand over my phone.

The screen lit up.

Everything linked instantly.

“This really is the future,” I whispered.

Then my hand began to tingle.

“Oh, that feels a bit weird.”

I looked at the spot where the chip had been inserted.

It was probably just healing.

Probably.

I walked into the kitchen and swiped across the home assistant. The device began heating up beneath my hand.

The home assistant started up.

“Hey! Cut the chip out while you still can! It’s coming for you!”

The voice cut out.

A knock at the door jolted me.

I stood frozen for a moment.

Another knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I looked at the home assistant.

A voice came through it again. The same voice as before.

“Cut it out.”

My stomach tightened.

I stepped closer to the device. Its screen flickered, then filled with information I didn’t recognise.

Names. Addresses. Private messages. Medical records.

None of it was mine.

“What the hell?” I whispered. “How can that be?”

I tried to access my own account, desperate to see who was standing outside my door. The doorbell camera loaded.

For a second, the screen showed only static.

Then the image cleared.

Someone was standing on my doorstep.

They were facing away from the camera.

I moved closer.

The person slowly turned around.

It was me.

“What the fuck?” I whispered.

I tried to call the police, but I couldn’t access the dial pad. I tried to override the device, but it wouldn’t let me log into my own settings.

This was all very wrong.

The door began to click open.

I ran for my room.

Pure panic took over. My heart raced, my mouth went dry, and I couldn’t think.

What was going on?

Was I dead?

What had they done to me today?

I had no access to my phone or any other device. Everything had been linked to my chip.

Then the smart TV in my room flickered to life.

The same recording appeared on the screen: the video of me standing at the door.

A voice that wasn’t mine came through the person who looked exactly like me as they stepped inside.

“Cut it out, or I will.”

“Oh, my God. Oh my God. This can’t be happening.”

Maybe it was all in my head, but the recording kept playing.

“This can’t be real. Someone has hacked my devices and is transmitting messages to mess with me. It has to be. It has to be.”

I kept repeating the words as I looked down at the burning sensation between my thumb and index finger.

“Shit, that hurts!”

The pain intensified.

“Oh, God. Someone, make it stop!”

Every device in the house began blaring the same transmission.

I hid in my wardrobe, clawing at the place where the chip had been inserted. I scratched and scratched without realising what I was doing.

I didn’t realise I had drawn blood until I looked down at my hand.

It was a bloody mess.

I stared at it in horror, kneeling in the darkness of the wardrobe.

Then two boots appeared in front of me.

They were the same boots I had worn earlier that day.

“Here. Let me help you with that,” the person said from above me.

I looked up.

And then everything went black.