"Of course, my son. The pain."

A bot buzzes by my ear, tampering, replacing the chip in my head, but I'm barely aware because...

I'm a boy, and I'm looking up, up, up at the sky. And it's blue, like it never was when I was growing up, like it hasn't been for two hundred years, and there are little tufts of white clouds, and there are angels singing on them, and playing their trumpets.

And I'm not me, am I? I'm everyone, everyone is me and--

No that's bullshit, I'm getting some kind of psychotic drug pumped into me and--

We've won, Jack. You'll understand now. You'll understand.

The little part of me that's been fighting too long dies. And with sleepy eyes, I understand.