David looked at the page again. The Deliverator. What kind of name was that? Briefly he wondered if it was an actual word – but no, it was obviously made-up. David skimmed the rest of page one. There were several words he did not recognize, which was probably wrong. David usually got Perfect on the New York Times daily Spelling Bee. These neologisms annoyed him. He looked up: at the front of the class, his teacher was catering to the lower-vocab kids, writing the new words for their weekly spelling quiz. One of them was “definitely.” David sighed and went back to his book. There was definitely a better chance he would learn a new word in it than on the blackboard. The first few pages were interesting – a guy delivering pizza for a joint run by the mafia. And the protagonist carried samurai swords. Pretty cool.
David’s therapist had recommended he read Snow Crash as motivation to spend less time in his Oculus. It was a comical suggestion – David saw literally no sense in it; Becca was grasping at straws, at this point – but David needed a new book anyway and would humor her. He looked up as the class roared with laughter. Oh no. But his classmates were not laughing at him, thank God. Mrs. Campbell had written “ejaculation” on the board and was now insisting it meant “a sudden shout or sound” while everyone hollered (ejaculated?) like monkeys. At least this was better than recess.
Walking to lunch meant passing by Jamie’s locker, which was still covered in flowers. David’s contribution had been his favorite plushie, of Gregor, the little creature that lived a few miles away. Jamie’s books sat inside, untouched, though some under-privileged kids should probably be using them. Or David could just sell them and make some pretty good money.
Today was Boston’s first big snow of the year – outside, fat flakes were falling super slowly in the wind, like they were actually paper cutouts. Kids stared out of the hallway windows, gaping as if they’d never seen snow before. The cafeteria smelled of pizza, which would be exciting if not for the inevitably undercooked dough. Pizza was unhealthy anyway (apparently), and David had a specially packed lunch from his mom, complete with the meds he was supposed to take at mealtime. There were a handful of oddballs David could sit with and it wouldn’t be weird, but he wanted to return to his book. And a few of the guys were, at the moment, being heckled by eighth graders. David walked past, acknowledging the glum but realistic truth that it was better them than him. Jamie would have said something, he thought ruefully.
After her accident David had begun to be teased less, as if the bullies suddenly realized that, yes, actually, they were causing him harm, which might be just too mean now. So thoughtful. Though in the few weeks directly afterward, David almost missed his tormentors (Tucker, especially – he actually made good jokes), as if any reminder from his routine, pre-accident life might make things feel more normal. That was six months ago. Now, he still missed Jamie, and life still sucked, but – what he hated to admit to himself – not much more than before. He thought it was because there wasn’t much lower to go. That’s what he told Becca, but she just said to not focus on “thoughts like those.” Sure. Sometimes things seemed much better when he got into the flow playing video games, but – disastrous; could you believe it? – he shouldn’t be focusing on those either. Tough instructions from Becca. No games. No pizza. Hoo hoo. David pictured her as a caveman barking orders to his mom and him. No focus bad thoughts. Yes therapy. Lots therapy. Read Snow Crash. Hoo hoo.
—
There was no one in the lab when Isaac walked in, exhausted and holding a small piece of flesh. It came from his own hand, peeled off only a few minutes ago. Just a thin slice of skin, a flap below his left index finger that had needed little force to come off. He had cut himself with one of those handheld graters used to peel zucchini – Isaac was a much more competent researcher than chef. He smiled to Gregor and began setting up the equipment.
“Hi, buddy. Everyone else gone, huh?”
Gregor let out an excited moaning sound. He still had his brain-net on; measurements were taken every second in case something interesting happened. Isaac’s entrance had caused a tiny jump in excitement – nothing Nobel prize winning.
“I got something for you,” Isaac said in his usual Gregor-voice, the one people use with babies and dogs. Gregor looked at him with beady black eyes. As he approached the cage Isaac marveled at his heart’s ability to speed up in simple anticipation. His hand shook as he lay the peeled skin on Gregor’s feeding tray, then backed up. The computers hummed behind him, as if they, too, knew something incredible was about to unfold.
Gregor wobbled up to the front of his cage. Some in the lab likened him to a gremlin, but, if truth be told, that always seemed a generous comparison to Isaac. The lab’s little creature was oddly shaped and extremely ugly. His head – though Gregor was technically created with no sex, everyone said ‘he’ anyway – was much too big for his body, due to his overly sized brain. Gregor’s abdomen held a fairly normal digestive system to keep him running, but his arms and legs were of little importance, and thus quite stubby. He weighed thirty-four pounds and six ounces and stood at two-and-a-half feet tall. In the nineteenth century, Darwin had rigorously explained the idea that naturally evolved animals were optimized for one thing: reproduction. Gregor did not fit this category; Isaac doubted their lab pet would fare well in the wild at finding a willing mate. He was instead built for something else, the thing that Isaac and the other researchers in Boston’s most prestigious neuroscience lab studied: happiness.
Finally, the little guy made it to the feeding tray. Little tidbits of carrots and potatoes were normally put there, which Gregor would nibble on like a rabbit. Now he looked at the tiny piece from Isaac’s finger, considered, for a moment – then gobbled it down in one surprisingly quick motion. Bumps crept onto Isaac’s neck. Like two days before, Gregor melted. It was like every region of his brain that could possibly contribute to his pleasure was firing at full capacity; like he was orgasming, but it felt a thousand times better than a human’s. And it was the data that were even more mind-bending. Isaac turned around and looked at the enormous spike on the chart in front of him – the computer adjusted the graph so the increase was clearly visible, and what had previously been small fluctuations now appeared only as a flat line on the new scale. Isaac noted the timestamps, the spike lasting from about the time the food entered Gregor’s mouth to roughly ten seconds after he swallowed it.
Isaac worked quickly to reroute the data to his personal computer – he would investigate it further at home. Then he removed the evidence from the lab’s servers and replaced the missing data with random, normal readings from a few days ago. No one would notice; for the most part, the chart always looked the same.
Gregor had come into being as a project to help with the growing problem of global unhappiness. His brain was the product of months of engineering, designed with expertise to experience far more pleasure than a human being ever could. The hope was that by studying his neurological activity, insights might be gained into improving happiness in humans, or helping depression. So far, the team’s findings had been lackluster – until now. The results Isaac was now seeing were mind-boggling, similar to what you might see after giving someone ecstasy, only multiplied a hundredfold. And they had given Gregor ecstasy – his resulting increase in happiness was nothing compared to this. Isaac was amazed but horrified, though he knew why this was happening – an accident with one of the other researchers, experimenting with Gregor’s brain and getting bitten as electric stimulation was being provided. But, from the two trials Isaac had now run, it was clear what was going on: Gregor was made extremely happy by eating human flesh.
—
Brandy sighed in frustration and set her computer down. The little shit stared up at her from his cage in the corner. The lab’s charts showed that over the weekend – once again – nothing of interest had happened. And why did we make him so ugly? It had been Isaac’s idea, of course, though she regretted agreeing to it; he said they would get too attached to Gregor otherwise. Though Isaac had also named Gregor and assigned him pronouns. Isaac was, in Brandy’s humble opinion, quite attached.
Brandy was not hopeful about how the rest of the day would go, nor, if she were honest with herself, the week. After so long spent trying new methods – mostly new combinations of neural pathways to stimulate –yet producing no meaningful results, it was, frankly, hard to remain inventive and optimistic in the lab. She had spent last night over at a guy’s, which she never did, and was tired and grumpy now. The commute from his downtown apartment into the medical district had been short but cold. He was sweet, and had offered to drive her, but she thought perhaps the walk would wake her up. No luck.
Isaac began sauntering over from his station. His cowlick was especially prominent today – incredible that it had once been cute to her. He looked nervous. “Hey, Brandy, can I ask you something?”
You just did. “Shoot,” she said instead.
“Actually, let’s step outside?” Ah. Here we go. Isaac read her raised eyebrows quickly. “It’s about work. Not, uh, us or anything.”
Brandy shrugged internally, and the two walked into the hallway. Isaac led them into an unoccupied room – it was still early – and then motioned for her to sit down, while he paced around the front. Someone had left the projector on; Brandy watched Isaac’s shadow move across the screen while he, oblivious, squeezed his wrists and presumably collected his thoughts.
“Listen, this is going to sound very strange,” he began. Brandy titled her head. Isaac called a lot of things strange, though. Like her love of ice cream with gummy bears in it.
“I…discovered something. About Gregor,” Isaac said. “Something good – really good, I mean. How to recreate the spike we saw a few weeks ago.”
Brandy sat up. She knew what he was referencing: last month they had had a breakthrough with Gregor using a certain configuration of neural stimulations. That was when Gregor bit Lolly. But, so far, they had been unable to recreate his jump in happiness.
“It’s weird, and there are some weird implications here. I’ve been struggling with whether to tell anyone, but I trust you, Brandy. We’re a team, and I wanted your opinion on how best to share this with the others.”
Brandy rolled her eyes at the team part, but now she was really intrigued. She splayed her hands out: Well?
“I’ve recreated the spike by giving Gregor pieces of…human. Like some skin from my finger. The results are incredible.”
Brandy put her arms behind her head, made her lips invisible. She breathed out slowly as Isaac sat down on a large desk at the front of the room.
“Woah,” she muttered. She believed him. Isaac was not much of a jokester, and he probably wouldn’t tell her unless he was certain.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“First, why didn’t you tell us you had this theory? You just tested it on your own?”
“Look, does it matter?” Isaac sighed. “Our funding is almost up. I didn’t want to wait and go through all the morgue paperwork. I’m just unsure if we should tell the others or run a few more experiments on our own. Like, with other animal meats. Monkey, maybe.”
“That’s fucked up, and this is insane – we need to tell them, now. And are you saying you went to the morgue?” Brandy stood up. Her heart was racing.
Isaac was standing now, too. “Ok, I agree – we should tell them. Just…just not immediately. People are going to look into…the morgue thing,” he stammered.
“No, right now. Literally, right now, Isaac. Everyone is frustrated. Our work has felt meaningless for weeks. If we can generate a spike today, that would be incredible! Everyone will understand.”
“Brandy, I cut a hand off from a body.”
“…Oh,” Brandy said.
“Please, just don’t tell anyone yet. I wanted to share this with you, but at least take some time to think about it. Sleep on it. We can pretend to have a normal day today. You owe me.”
Brandy bit her tongue. Of course, Isaac wanted to take things slow. This was the man who chided her on their neighborhood bike rides for going no-handed. They hadn’t slept together until their sixth date. And he had taken a hand from a body in the morgue? Jeeze. But she did owe him.
“Ok,” she shrugged.
—
Back at home, Ben the Bernedoodle got off his leash and led Brandy on a nighttime chase through Cambridge. She had taken him out for quick potty run in the yard when he saw a squirrel. Brandy usually wrapped the leash around her waist so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen, but she had been distracted thinking of Isaac and Gregor. The worst part about chasing Ben was that you never caught him until he let you, and one could never tell if he was close to giving up. Brandy ended up getting a nice tour of town in her pajamas and Adidas slides. When she returned, there was an envelope sitting on her Wipe Your Paws doormat. It was light green and crinkled at the edges, like it had been carried for a while. BRANDY was written on the front, and it was unmistakably Isaac’s handwriting: she always wished she had neat handwriting like his. Brandy tore it open and pulled out the flash drive it contained, intrigued. Ben barked from the kitchen, telling her he wanted his nightly treat.
The video was breathtaking. Isaac was wearing jeans and a denim top, which was normal for him but looked weird in the lab. The first few minutes were him explaining why he was recording this and what his theory was, blah blah. He showed the severed hand to the camera – it was small, and had ostensibly come from someone recently deceased. Isaac mumbled a lame apology to the person’s family and said something about ‘the name of science,’ and then put the hand in Gregor’s cage. Gregor timidly approached it, hesitated a moment, and then completely lost it. The surprising part was how quickly he ate the entire thing; it looked like he was competing in a speed-hand-eating contest. Isaac had been telling the truth, as she suspected. It was incredibly morbid, but Brandy could not look away. The readings were off the charts – she didn’t know their measurements could even go that high. Isaac ended the recording by saying that he intended to run more tests but only wanted to do so when the lab was unoccupied.
Tuesday morning at Longwood started off quiet. It was raining, but Brandy biked anyway and arrived early, flash drive in tow. She had slept on things, as promised, but she was determined that they would tell the others today – everyone needed to see this video. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. In her dream last night, Gregor was a baby sitting in a highchair, and Isaac spoon fed him human guts while some spilled onto his bib.
By a quarter after ten, Isaac had still not come in, and Brandy was antsy. Maybe he was sick? Fuck it, I’m telling them anyway. Perhaps it was her bad night of sleep, or she was dehydrated, but as she gathered her coworkers, she had one of those weird perspective shifts where everything seemed farther away – an out of body experience, kind of. Obviously, it was her that told everyone there was something they had to see, and she was the one who pulled up the video on her computer, but Brandy felt like she was just watching these things happen.
Reactions were mixed. Lolly remained quiet while the others gasped or whispered expletives, and Alan ran to the bathroom to throw up. Jermaine was the first to speak after the video ended.
“This is…wow. It’s fucked up. Isaac gave you this recording?”
“Yeah, last night,” Brandy said.
“Gregor – I mean, jeeze, man,” Jermaine muttered. The six of them looked eerily at Gregor as he sat, peaceful, in the corner of the room.
Lolly spoke up. Her usual cheerful British accent was gruff: “Brandy, I’m not sure this video can leave the room. It’s a wonderful breakthrough, but this footage is grotesque. Isaac should not have done this.”
“And where is Isaac? Did he tell you to show us this?” Jermaine asked.
“Guys, it’s too late.” Everyone turned to see Alan at the door, holding his phone. “He posted it on YouTube this morning. My sister just called me in the bathroom.”
Everyone froze. The lab was silent as the weight of Alan’s words settled in slowly, like a ball falling down a pegged Galton board.
“Fuck,” Brandy said.
—
Boston was finally warm. It was a perfect day, sixty and sunny, and Brandy would take Ben out for a walk later. But for now, she sat cross-legged on the couch, doing what she had done for too many days in the last few weeks: eating Häagen-Dazs and watching the world go crazy over Gregor. Her long sandy hair fell into her lap – she needed to brush it before going to collect her things today – as she entered the magic two words into the search bar: “Gregor news.”
The thing was, the public already knew a lot about Gregor from the moment his DNA sequence was finalized. He had always been a big deal – everyone wanted to be happier, of course, and the new creature designed for it was an exciting project. Modifying the human brain had been feasible for years. Strict regulations were put into place, of course, because most feared a future where intelligence and skill could be injected into a fetus. The goal of studying Gregor was to gain insight into how general happiness might be improved: if it could be done easily and effectively, surely that would benefit society. So Gregor was fairly popular – but now, being a flesh-eating-happiness-monster, as many headlines labeled him, he was a worldwide phenomenon.
Isaac’s video had blown up immediately and prompted global outrage and discussion. Utilitarians – many from the Effective Altruist movement – said that there was essentially a moral obligation to feed Gregor human, unless it could be shown that something else could engender the same pleasure in him; that he was in great suffering now that he had known such a high. Thousands of people (new stories popped up every day) changed their wills so their body would be donated to Brandy’s lab after their death, to be given to Gregor. Talk-shows asked every celebrity guest what they thought of the whole situation; Netflix was working quickly on a new series based on the recent events. Timothée Chalamet would play Isaac, the nerdy but cute scientist who dedicated his life to research and thought of Gregor ‘like a son.’ Most of that was true, actually. Brandy had made it very clear she would not be helping in any way.
No one she knew of had heard from Isaac in three weeks. He had vanished, Jason Bourne style (somehow), and was certainly in trouble with the lab (and the law, yes, for desecrating a body), but most people agreed he hadn’t done anything that bad. Isaac was odd, and high-strung – when they dated, he constantly asked her to make sure he hadn’t skipped a belt buckle in the morning – but Brandy could not fathom why he would disappear like this. He ought to be Gregor’s biggest supporter in the effort to keep their lab open. Brandy, personally, was fine with the project getting shut down and Gregor being retired. She held no ill-will towards the little guy but did not think for a second that they should feed him anything but carrots and celery.
Research at the lab was paused while the world debated if chopping up dead bodies was acceptable. Brandy was sick of the whole thing. She realized this as she took her last bite of vanilla-bean. All the articles were the same by now, and reading them was entertaining but vexing. She closed her computer and let Ben lick off her spoon, staring at the wall.
It was past noon and getting colder by the time their walk ended. Brandy had put it off long enough, but she needed to get her things from the lab today. Ben lay down and drank from his bowl prone, content with today’s mileage.
“Such a primo donna,” Brandy said, and scratched his head. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
The commute was surprisingly calm: she walked to Harvard and took the subway, outfit complete with beanie and sunglasses. Few people were out, but there was always a chance she might be recognized. Brandy wondered if any of the Ivies would have a class next year devoted to Gregor (Neuroscience? Philosophy?), and the findings Isaac had released.
Someone was waiting outside the building when Brandy arrived. She had long, straight dark hair and olive skin, and looked around forty. She was standing outside the entrance with her arms crossed, but started walking towards Brandy when she saw her approaching.
“Excuse me, miss. Do you work in the lab?” she asked, but in a much more innocent way than a reporter. She had clearly been crying, and her hair was disheveled, giving her a sort of crazed mien.
“Yes, I do. I’m just here to grab some things and leave.” Brandy saw no reason to lie.
“I have something for you,” the woman quivered. “I couldn’t leave him outside – no one was answering the door.”
“Him? I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t let you enter the building. If you have a gift for Gregor or something, this isn’t the place to bring it.”
“He- he wrote a note. Please, it was his only request.” She started sobbing as Brandy reached the main entrance, unsure whether this lady would try to force her way in behind her.
“Ma’am…”
“It was his last wish, that his life could mean something, and…and I need to do this for him. You don’t know,” the woman said, shaking her head. “You can’t know, how terrible it is. First my daughter – she was hit by a truck. Now my baby boy,” she sobbed.
Brandy felt a pang of sadness for her. She did not know why this woman was here, though. Unless – oh, God. A terrible thought formed in Brandy’s mind. Holy fuck.
“Please, I’ve got him in the truck bed here,” she cried, and motioned to a silver Ford pickup on the street. Brandy felt sick. She scanned her keycard and bolted inside, securing the closed door behind her as the woman franticly banged on the glass and cried. The term ‘tunnel vision’ finally made sense to Brandy; she ran to the bathroom and let out a stream of vanilla vomit, remembering how she had thought Alan was a bit soft. She was crying now, too. Then there was a noise from the direction of her lab room, and she stood up, surprised. She cleaned up, hoping that whoever had come in today brought gum.
Brandy was not really in the mood to talk to any of her coworkers, but the person moving stuff around in the lab was even more unhappy to see her, judging by his expression. It was Isaac, in jeans and a surprisingly non-denim hoodie. He stood by Gregor’s cage and looked back at Brandy as she held the open door.
“What are you doing here? And where have you been?” she asked flatly.
“Hi, Brandy. I’m taking Gregor, I’ve decided. I won’t risk him being put down.”
“And then what? Take him to your apartment and let him nibble on your finger? He needs to stay here.” But as Brandy said this, she realized it was not what she wanted, either. She had already made her mind up in the bathroom.
“I’m taking him, Brandy. He’s my creation,” Isaac said scornfully.
Well, that was horseshit. Brandy noticed for the first time a small crate that he had brought. She said nothing as she walked over to the supplies. Isaac turned back to Gregor, trying to coax him from the corner of his cage.
The injection device they used on Gregor vaguely resembled a gun, and its cartridges held far more room than was needed to sedate him. Brandy filled it completely. She was angry, reeling from her interaction with the delirious woman outside. She let out a laugh – almost sounding crazed herself – as she realized this would make for the perfect final Netflix episode. If it prevented just one more death, though, it was worth it.
“What are you doing?” Isaac finally asked.
“Get out of my way.” Brandy turned her euthanasia gun sideways and made a sweeping motion to demonstrate.
“Stop this. Do you not realize the implications of what we’ve done here, Brandy? Gregor will change the world. We’re leaving.” Isaac finally reached in and grabbed Gregor, who whined as Isaac quickly stuffed him into the smaller crate.
“Do you really think this is what’s good for the world? Do you think I give a fuck that Gregor can experience more happiness than us? The whole point was to help humanity. He’s not.”
“Well, agree to disagree,” Isaac said.
That was enough. Brandy had heard him say that too much; she hated it, loathed the phrase more than any four words that could be strung together. She considered for a brief second as Isaac looked at her. Then she plunged the needle into his neck.
Isaac’s eyes widened and he dropped the crate. His other hand shot up, holding something – a weapon? He sat down and slowly went slack as the drug took its effect. Brandy realized he had probably had a similar idea, at least to immobilize Gregor for transportation. She looked in shock at the needle now sunk in her arm. Did it contain the usual dose? A little more, to keep Gregor asleep for a longer trip? She slumped to the floor and reached weakly for her phone. Her hand was numb already. The door to Gregor’s new crate swung open; Isaac had not locked it. He was out cold now – not dead, surely, but unconscious. Brandy was not. Her eyes remained wide open, and she could faintly feel drool coming out of her mouth. She could not move. She stared at the beady black eyes that were moving cautiously towards her.