"A candle that burns twice as bright, lasts half as long." For some reason, that old saying entered my head as I sat motionless, meditating, under hundreds of meters of water. My diving armor was designed to withstand some of the water pressure, but I was certainly going to die, probably from slow and lethargic suffocation. My legs were free oddly enough, but my arms were welded fast to a steel door of a sunken submarine. Usually it's the feet that bear the concrete boots or iron chains, dragging their unfortunate owner to Davy Jones' Locker.
All that stood between me and a relatively quicker death by drowning was the Oxyrush nanite system that fortunately wasn't damaged when my nanohive in my left arm shut down. It would give me a few hours at most, and I really couldn't think of what I should do in the last few hours of my life.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. All I could think about was the fact that the average Caucasian male from North America has a lifespan of 80 years, and I'm just past 40 years myself. Yeah, I know, the worldwide lifespan for a male human is around 55 years, but even in these days, the technological advantages and over-protective attitude toward health care in the old UCAS meant that I was blessed with a statistically projected lifespan extension. Go figure. But I digress. 40 divided by 80 is one half. Live half as long, burn twice as bright. To hell with that. I wanted to live.
Right as I was thinking that, a parchment appeared in my visual field. I thought I was hallucinating at first, but then I realized that my Commlink was accessing my visual center of the brain and producing abstract images. The parchment read "DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT BY DYLAN THOMAS", followed by the familiar poem, in Times New Roman 14 point font. I thought about this for a few moments, and then I realized that it was the Watcher messing with me again.
Which seemed a bit odd, considering that I could not reach any Matrix signal, wireless or otherwise. The usual hum and chatter that flowed through my head has been mercifully silent, only to be replaced by the throbbing pounding of my heart, aching with each beat to survive. I remember back in the Arcology, strapped to a bloody operating table, experiencing a similar sort of terror mixed with serenity. This was a familiar feeling, like a lump in the throat or a flushing of the face.
The Watcher didn't say anything or materialize. Only the poem and the words appeared. I felt my thoughts slowing as my oxygen levels reached a critical state. I thought it was odd that as I was dying, I could hear in decimal clarity exactly when nature was going to win in the old "man versus nature" megabrawl. The nanite systems were reporting to the substation in my damaged nanohive and they were reading "80 percent and falling. Critical replacement warranted. Please contact your local Universal Omnitech representative for a replacement under warranty." I closed my eyes and opened them. Then I realized that my eyes were slowly closing again, this time for good. I'm about to...
---
"... enter my office, please. Have a seat," said a lady in a white lab coat sitting on a comfortable office chair in front of me. She was short, with jet black hair neatly tied in a bun and tortoise-shell rimmed glasses. Her face was weathered, but still extremely attractive, accentuated by long eyelashes and ruby red lipstick. A strand of her hair was caught in the lipstick, and she was chewing on it and her lower lip. She looked more like a sexy trid actress playing the part of a doctor than... wait, why am I in a shrink's office? A very stereotypical office, too, with bookshelves, diplomas on the walls, shag carpeting, and a long couch, which I approached.
"This is where I'm supposed to tell you about my mother, eh?" I said, looking down at my clothing. I was wearing some plain grey patient flats, and I wasn't wet. Or drowning. My familiar cyberarms were still there, and as far as I knew, the systems were all intact.
Oblivious to my joke, the hot head doc continued, "Let's have a conversation about your recent Technomancer experiences, shall we? After all, that's why you are here, right?"
"Listen, I was just a hundred yards under the water on a Shadowrun gone horribly wrong. I don't know what I'm doing here, but as far as I know, I'm dying, and I'm going to drown real soon."
"Now, that is hardly productive. How are you ever going to come to grips with your inner Technomancer if you are so resistant to the therapy? Please, have a seat."
I sighed, and sat in the therapy chair. "Alright. Since I'm dead anyway, I might as well play along."
"That's the spirit," she said with sarcasm as her eyes rolled in disappointment. "Now, tell me, how have you been coping with the Matrix?"
"It's still painful. The buzzing in my head gives me headaches at times. I've learned to blank my mind at times and let it wash over me, like the Otaku Tacos taught me, but then my active thoughts take over. It's like trying to sleep and actively thinking about sleeping. Doesn't work too well."
"I see. And the Watcher?"
"She still appears to me, but never gives me any direct answers. I still think she's a construct of my mind, somehow, since I see her sometimes when I'm not anywhere near any Matrix nodes... hey, wait." I look directly at the doctor. She returns my gaze directly, unflinching.
"You are a part of my mind, aren't you? You're the Watcher, or at least, another aspect of the Watcher."
The woman took off her glasses, which had the effect of overwhelming attraction to me. I tried accessing my commlink to see if the emotional limiters were still running on the simsense jack, but it wasn't responding. I could not tell if it was real lust or simulated from the simsense unit. She smiled and said, "You're learning that things aren't always as they appear."
"So I'm still dying, and you've decided to visit me just before I wink out of this mortal coil? Great." Anger and disappointment washed over me, replacing my previous emotions. I was pretty sure that they weren't manufactured by the simsense rig, either.
"You're not done learning yet, my dear James. I've decided to make you my pet project. I've been watching you for some time, and you seem to be ready."
"Ready? For what? Becoming fish food?"
"You'll see. I'll be with you every step of the way. I will be your Idol, and you will be my Avatar. I am amused by your notions of being a Pirate, and I will augment your abilities in my image. But the first thing you need to do is this." She then started speaking in Morse Code, which immediately dispelled any aura of attraction or sexiness about her. Then I realized that I was fading out of my subconscious into...
---
Crushing. Gasping. Dying. My lungs heaved as they struggled to breathe the non-existent air. I centered myself briefly and then sent the fragments of the message to my commlink, modifying some of the transmission relays to broadcast a high energy sound pulse. Not enough to make an intelligible message, but maybe it will reach... fish? Dolphins? Sharks? If I knew dying was going to be like this, I would have taken greater measures to avoid it.
My efforts were soon rewarded, as several hideous figures approached me. The upper halves were humanoid, but their tails were that of fish. I struggled against my bonds, but it was no use. I recognized the Merrow in front of me, and resigned myself to be... rescued? The Merrow started to break me free from my bonds. One of them had a clearly visible commlink apparatus, modified for underwater use. I felt myself being pulled by strong arms as I passed out, beeping warnings from my Oxyrush nanosystem filling my ears saying "Initiating Decompression Sickness protocol. Flushing inert gas from bloodstream. Thank you for choosing Universal Omnitech. Your warranty is currently null and void." I awoke on the beach, in excruciating pain, at the feet of the Otaku Tacos. "It's Uncle James! Let's get him to the hyperbaric chamber." Before I could figure out exactly WHY the Otaku Tacos had a hyperbaric chamber, they hauled me off.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light, indeed.