Put a clamp on a man’s memory center and you prevent the memories from arising… but you’ll never erase them.

 

Malcolm figures he knows the code to the bulletproof chamber that these relentless scientists stay in. He must have a memory of it. If only he can access his memory. Luckily, he’s gotten his hands on these files.

 

He reads the information. It’s a haunting feeling. Brand new information… but it’s like he already knew it.

 

We’ve used specific elements to create our Super Soldiers. The memory center was highly reactive to Titanium. We’ve fashioned titanium clamps to restrict memories from surfacing. Thorium reacted with the pain center. Thorium clamps assure our Super Soldiers do not feel pain and will continue their missions. Tungsten reacted with the emotion center. We’ve used tungsten clamps to assure they feel no emotion or remorse. The Super Soldiers will not hesitate unless it’s necessary.

 

Malcolm… doesn’t remember this… or does he? He knows this. He knew it before reading it but he didn’t know it again until he read it. Is that a memory?

 

These merciless men are in their bulletproof chamber. They’re unaware Malcolm obtained these files. Malcolm and the others stay out here, waiting for commands, waiting for missions. Something sour and rotten spreads in Malcolm’s guts. Couldn’t be his last meal, it was quite basic and nutritious. Must be something else. He can’t shake the feeling, it spreads and echoes, demanding attention. It grows the more he rereads the file.

 

The two must be linked.

 

Malcolm takes it as a sign. The information on the file is bad. It makes his stomach feel bad. He needs to reverse the information. What can he do?

 

Malcolm scans through the file. He finds information.

 

Titanium melting point is 3,040 degrees Fahrenheit.

Thorium melting point is 3,180 degrees Fahrenheit.

Tungsten melting point is 6,150 degrees Fahrenheit.

 

Malcolm’s eyes find the torture chamber that’s used on the captured prisoners. Another invention by the walking science degrees in white coats. The instructions lay out in plain sight. They toss the victims in there and put the helmet on them. The helmet is fitted with precision needles, invisible to the naked eye. The insertion is Hell. If there are many levels to Hell, the next part is beyond the last level. The tips of the needles are fashioned with cutting edge technology, the ability to heat up to extreme temperatures. It’s said to feel like fire, but it isn’t. It activates the same reaction in the brain as if the body is on fire. In some cases, it even makes the brain think the body is on fire so much so, that the brain will cause burns on the body. If the temperatures are increased too high, the brain could be fried. However, the host can never die in this chamber. But they’ll pray for it.

 

It’s an evil device. But it’s fantastic at extracting information.

 

Malcolm hops in and brings the remote with him. It’s his only chance, he figures. His only chance to remove this growing sour feeling in his stomach.

 

The door closes and Malcolm presses a button to engage the helmet to be lowered… and for the insertion to begin. His pain center is clamped, so the needles go unnoticed, except for slight vibration around his cranium.

 

The insertion is complete so he cranks up the heat on the needles. His skin begins to feel thicker.

 

500.

 

Sweat is beading up on his forehead.

 

1,000.

 

He squints, sweat running past his eyes. He cranks the heat up harder.

 

2,000.

 

He wants to get it up past 3,040 and melt away the titanium clamps on his memory center… if this plan does indeed work… but he won’t want it to go past 3,180… or else he’ll feel it all.

 

2,800.

 

It’s moving too fast. Time to crank it back a bit.

 

2,950.

 

Still too fast…

 

3,050.

 

He feels wetness in his brain. Thick and gooey wetness. It’s spreading with another similar yet different sour feeling. Time to shut down this torture chamber and exit. Malcolm turns it off… but the heat keeps cranking up.

 

3,125.

 

The door won’t open until it’s gone through a brief safety check.

 

3,200.

 

Pain! Fire! Malcolm is struck with a rush of memories that were hiding in his head along with the memory of pain… and horrific pain… all at once. Lava oozes down the sides of his brain and fires dance inside his scalp. He opens his mouth for air… for help… for relief… he’s frozen. He can’t even breathe. His body feels like it’s shutting down.

 

The needles extract at lightning pace, the helmet lifts, the door slides open.

 

Malcolm tumbles face first out of the chamber.

 

A cold linoleum floor on Malcolm’s face rivals the heat in his brain. It fades. It leaves no scars. But the horrid memory lingers…

 

Memories…

 

629147.

 

Malcolm pulls himself off the floor. He didn’t intend on bringing back his pain center, only his memory center. He got them both. But thankfully… his emotion center remains clamped down hard. He won’t be needing emotions. He won’t be wanting emotions.

 

Malcolm swiftly leaves his room. He makes his way down the short hallway and enters the next room.

 

The stuffed lab coats curiously watch Malcolm march across the room towards their bulletproof chamber, snag a semi-automatic rifle off the wall, and approach the door. Their curiosity never diminishes their ill-informed confidence. Though it should.

 

Malcolm places his fingers on the keypad.

 

629147.

 

The door slides open with a familiar whoosh.

 

The scientists gasp in unfamiliar fear.

 

The steel of the trigger is a familiar cold.

 

The sound of the bullets in a contained room possess an unfamiliar echoing noise.

 

Satisfaction is something Malcolm is familiar with in memory.

 

Satisfaction is something Malcolm is unfamiliar with in emotion.

 

The sour feeling in Malcolm’s stomach was familiar and unfamiliar all at once… but now it’s gone.