The spotlights move to the center of a large state as the cast of a live play adaptation of the Count of Monte Cristo file out to take their bow, and Doctor Nicholas Brown brings a shaky tissue up to dab a tear.

  It was the third time he’d seen it this week, but it's as if the actors embodied the tale of vengeance more and more with each performance. He needs to rise up with the rest of the audience and applaud this time, show the showmen just how much he appreciates them. He places his shaky hands on his arm rests, tries to heaven himself up, only for pain to shoot though his entire body, causing a spasm. He nearly falls, god he doesn’t want to fall and feel that pain in his hip, but he’s caught by a young, strong arm.

  “Come on Nick, watch yourself.” Eric Silverline offers his arm for the doctor to support himself on. “Haven’t you read the book? Seen all this already? Calm down old timer.”

  “It's a matter of pride Eric.” Nicholas doesn’t take the arm, and instead holds himself up on aching knees and legs, letting loose his applause.

  “I don’t get how you can watch the same thing so many times.” Eric says as the two of them make their way through the lobby. “Besides... Those were good seats. Shouldn’t you be saving your money?”

  Nicholas gestures around, “This is what I save it for, my boy.”

  “Not what I meant.” Eric works his jaw as he holds the door open for Nicholas. “You should keep more set aside to fall back on, just in case.”

  “Is something wrong my boy? I thought the Arch deal was going well?”

  “No, no, it is. But you never know.”

  “Well... If it is, let me know. I don’t have much to offer these days, but I’ll be damned if Everett goes a birthday without a cake.”

  “It won’t come to that.” Eric rubs his neck. “You need a ride home old man?”

  “I’d actually prefer to go back to the lab. I’m so close to a breakthrough Eric, it almost lets me ignore these aching joints.” Nicholas chuckles.

  “I’d rather you not run up any bills.” Eric teases as he opens the passenger side of his Mercedes for Nick. “How ‘bout you just grab the Tesla Pads and work on them in the comfort of your own home, hmm? Better chairs.”

  Nicholas supports himself on Eric’s arm as he lowers himself into the seat. “A fair point my friend, a fair point.”

  A short drive later and the two make their way to the company Skyscraper and head up to the lab.

  “Forget your ID again doc?” Kenny, an absolute grump of a guard huffs. “I’m not going to let you in the, go—”

  “Oh knock it off.” Eric sighs.

  Kenny shrugs, “With the stuff you guys have in here? Rules are rules Mr. Silverline, you got your ID?”

  “Yeah yeah.” Eric produces his wallet and the guard scans it, nodding his head.

  “Good to go, don’t expect a plus one next time.”

  Eric and Nicholas don’t say anything more and head inside. To give Kenny credit where it's due, there is a lot of dangerous machinery in the Silverline lab. Nicholas can even see how some of it could be weaponized if someone with enough know how got ahold of it somehow. Their prototype exoskeleton and prosthetic are all made with construction and, to Nicholas’s chagrin, military applications in mind. But nothing as valuable, or as revolutionary as what Nicholas works on now.

  The Tesla Pads, by placing them on one’s temples, will be able to expand the brain’s capabilities substantially. Essentially acting as packs of extra neurons, they’re meant to generate electricity based off of the operator's thoughts and then send said electricity out as signals to various other devices.

  No longer will there need to be a wait for neurological study and surgeries to catch up with the technology of prosthesis, no longer will amputees need to have any invasive surgeries to feel the sensation of touch in their new arm.

  The pads will unlock even more medical advancements besides that. Pain treatment, epilepsy, addiction, trauma, so many treated symptoms, such a rise in quality of life, if one can control what little bolt of lighting hits which nerve.

  The showmen in Nicholas chuckles with the thought of extravagant concerts using the technology as well. Symphonies riding along lightning as they bounce from Tesla Coil to Tesla Coil, making all new genres of music he can nary dream of.

  Now if only the damn things would work.

  If Kenny is anywhere near as good at his job as he thinks he is, he wouldn't let Nicholas and Eric walk out with such a load of expensive, weaponizable equipment, but you can only be a stickler for the rules if you know them all, and Kenny clearly does not.

  It's something Nicholas does often too, after all, his friendship with Eric earns him certain privileges. Non billable overtime, the company is being sold for a reason after all, but dodging some safety protocols to perfect his life’s work from the comfort of his own home? Worth more than the income the Tesla Pad’s will provide.

  “So, how close do you think you are?” Eric says as he sets the cases down in font of Nicholas’s wok bench. “How close really?”

  Nicholas chuckles, “Enough that I can taste it.”

  “Right... but what does that mean for a timeframe?”

  Nicholas opens up the panels on the pad and scratches his grizzle as he thinks of a way to modify it.

  “Nick.” Eric snaps his fingers.

  “Oh! Sorry my boy, yes a timeframe. I think, honestly, tonight might be my lucky night.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Eric grabs a chair and sits down, putting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands. “Nick, if there is no lucky night, no... big breakthrough. What’s the time frame?”

  “Oh...” Nicholas does some math in his head. “Maybe five years?”

  “Five years to turn some of the most delicate and expensive equipment we’ve ever made into anything other than a paper weight.” Eric rests his chin on his hands and takes a deep, long sigh.

  “Oh don’t do that my boy.” Nicholas grunts as he raises his hand up and places it on Eric’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, I know it's been expensive, god knows I do. Where do you think everything I had went?” He chuckles, “but think of all the good we’ll do, the people in pain we’ll spare.”

  “I know, but justifying a money sinkhole like this...”

  “That’s the point of picking up military contracts and selling to Arch, isn’t it? It’ll be worth making the world a better place Eric, just you wait and see.”

  Nick, listen, I—” Eric’s cellphone cuts him off. “Damn it, it's Joline.”

  “Ask her if she wants me to bring anything for dinner next weekend.” Nicholas tells Eric as he answers.

  Nicholas turns back to the pads and scooches them aside, taking out a different, more volatile version of them and pokes around their architecture to see if he can get any inspiration. If only he could think faster, come up with new, testable ideas faster, then maybe he could put Eric’s mind at ease.

  Now there’s an idea, adjust the Tesla pads to accelerate the processing power of the brain itself, make one think much faster. The issue being that there’s no way the brain itself would be able to handle any of the feedback, its poor little cells would burst. An idea, a good idea, but one too dangerous to even consider testing.

  “I need to head out.” Eric pats Nicholas’s shoulder. “Everett hit a window while he was playing, got a couple cuts.”

  “Oh my, is he alright?”

  “Yeah, it's nothing serious but you know Joline, may as well be the end of the world.”

  “Indeed, oh and don’t forget—”

  “To ask her about dinner, I know.” Eric stops at the door, hand gasping around the knob, hesitating to open it. “Take care of yourself, old man.” And he leaves.

  Nicholas works tirelessly for hours, sweating, soldering, endlessly tinkering through aches and spasming pains. A new architecture for the Tesla Pads, these will read the thoughts hidden in the lightning, copy them, and send them to the exoskeleton. He completes them, and pushes their adhesive bottoms onto his temples.

  Failure.

  Make the housing larger, fit more power storage, that has to be the issue, power.

  Failure.

  Nicholas tries to sit up from his next modification, but pain shoots stars from his lower back into his vision. His mouth fills with saliva as the sheer intensity nearly causes him to vomit, and he grits his teeth and slowly, but surely, fights through it until his spine is straight.

  It's a matter of pride after all.

  Not enough power, but he can’t add anymore or else the pads will overheat, break. Then, maybe networking them? Base them not on a human brain, but perhaps the ways trees and other plants communicate with each other? He knows very little about it, just that sometimes forests can operate like a brain, maybe researching that will give him just the breakthrough he needs.

  He brings Google Scholar up to begin browsing publicly available research when he notices the time. 3 AM.

  “Drat.” Nicholas runs both hands down his face, his old, loose skin feeling like it drags farther than it should.

  He has work in the morning, the billable kind, and it's the big day where everything solidifies with Arch. He doesn’t want to leave Eric all alone to deal with all the changes on his own, they’ll be stressful, so Nicholas will make sure he’s there to offer a friendly face.

  He hobbles his way to his living room and warms up some soup and tea, then fumbles with his daily concoction of pills. There’s enough that even with mouthfuls of his warm drink it still takes two swallows. Maybe, with Arch owning Silverline, he’ll get access to better insurance and hence better medication, and maybe have to take less of the damned things.

  He gets set up his food tray over his big lounge chair, and turns on his TV, sipping his soup and waiting for his sleep medication to overpower his chronic pain. He needs something mindless, just for pure entertainment.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He puts on a superhero cartoon and watches as a boy transforms into different creatures and does battle with a mad scientist. As much as he roots for the young hero, Nicholas must admit, that villain has no small amount of gravitas, and he respects it.

  The next thing he knows he awakes with a jolt, his alarm clock blaring. It takes ten minutes to get up and turn it off, and while not setting records, isn’t the worst of times Nicholas has clocked.

  One morning routine later and the doctor with multiple PHDs, is taking the public bus to work. Not that he has a problem with those who do, besides those who stare at him, it's just a little ridiculous that someone with his education has no other choice.

  His loud grunting and great effort to get up earn him more stares from the other riders, stares that Nicholas is all too familiar with. They’re an agonizing reminder of when he was young, and didn’t understand chronic pains himself. His mother had them as well, and he often, in his ignorant cruelty, wrote them off as over exaggeration or even an act.

  Unless someone has experienced it themselves, they just don’t understand what it's like to go through every moment of everyday in pain, but soon, very soon, no one will need to.

  “Yes Kenneth—”

  “Kenny.” The guard corrects.

  Nicholas sighs, “Yes Kenny, I remembered my ID this time.”

  “Nick!” Eric calls from behind. “I... before you head in, why don’t we have a chat in my office, ok?”

  Ah, he probably wants to talk about the coming changes Arch is putting into effect. As much as Nicholas wants to get back to work after the bus ride tempering his resolve, the whole reason he made sure to show up on time and, relatively, rested is for Eric, so he agrees and follows.

  “I...” Eric sits in his chair, grabbing a pen and clicking its bottom rapidly. “Have a lot to tell you.”

  “I expected as much.” Nicholas chuckles, “I’m sure plenty of Arch’s changes are going to come off as... unbecoming.”

  “Unbecoming.” He chews the words and nods. “They’re um, having us downsize, let go a lot of staff. Even jobs I thought would be safe going in are... ‘rendered redundant,’ are the words they used.”

  “Oh my, that’s awful my boy.” Nicholas says with sympathetic eyes.

  “It's... beyond that.” Eric stops clicking the pen and lays it on his desk. “There’s no easy way to say this, Nick, you’re one of them.”

  It hurts far worse than any chronic pain, it's like a slap to the face via locomotive. Nicholas’s lip starts to quiver, tears build at the cones of his eyes.

  “What?”

  “I did everything I could.” Eric puts a hand over his own eyes.

  “I... how could you?”

  “I did everything I could. I fought for you for months, and months, but the Tesla Pads Nick. They... maybe if they worked it would’ve excused the money they were costing but—”

  “I changed your diapers!” Nicholas, in a spurt of adrenaline and rage slams his hand on Eric’s desk. “I was there the day you were born! I paid for your parents' funeral! I helped you start this company and—” His voice catches in a choke. “And you do this to me? What about my house, my insurance, my medicine? What about my dream?”

  “I... negotiated a very generous—”

  “Dear god, you’re ruining my life Eric.”

  “I negotiated a very generous severance for you, Nick.”

  “Everything I’ve ever worked for...”

  “And it's not, hey, its not like you’re going to be alone. Me, Joline, Everett, you’re.. You’re not going to be alone.”

  “What happens when the severance package runs out, Eric? What happens when I can’t even lift myself out of bed! What are you going to do? Move me into your house? Feed me? Ch-change my...” He can’t finish it, can’t finish that last thought.

  “I’ll figure out something, I’ll do right by you Nick.”

  “No, no.” Nicholas grips the chair and shoots up from his seat.

  “Stop, Nick stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Eric jumps out of his seat three times as fast and goes around his desk to help Nicholas, only for his pen holder to fly at him.

  “Don’t touch me! I don’t want anything from you!” Nicholas swings his arm wildly. “Stay away!”

  Eric puts both of his hands up and tries to approach, “Please.”

  “How could you? How could you?”

  “Come on, let me drive you home, pack up the equipment—”

  “Equipment?” Nicholas thinks, and brings a hand over his face as he realizes what Eric means. “Of course, I don’t own any of it, Arch does, you do.”

  “That’s not how I meant it. I just don’t want you to hurt—”

  “I always hurt.”

  “Yourself, Nick. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “I...” Nicholas’s quivering lip stops moving, and he grits his teeth. “I don’t want you to ever speak to me again, Eric.”

  Then, Nicholas leaves.

  He gets more stares than he ever has in his life as his heartache pushes tears and snot our of him, as the realization that his life work has been cut short. He tries to keep the sobs in, but they keep forcing their way out of his mouth, like a maggot escaping rotten flesh.

  They all stare at his corpse on his bus, watch as, like a zombie, he stumbles out and lumbers home. As soon as he’s through, he falls to his knees, he thinks they might break, but his wailing drowns out any other thought. He cries and cries, time losing all meaning as he wallows, his pain losing meaning, he himself, losing meaning.

  The sun has long set by the time he’s stable enough for a thought, and the first one that coalesces is of course how much his body aches from the hours of lying in the fetal position. It isn’t long after till thirst and hunger set in, but they only do for a moment, as something more pressing invades every iota of Nicholas’s consciousness.

  They’re coming, they’re going to come and take it all away.

  The exoskeleton, the prosthetics, the Tesla Pads, they’ve already stolen all that's at the lab, and they’ll be here for the rest by the morning.

  Unless?

  If he can get them to work, then he’ll show them, Arch and Eric, that all that money they spent, that he is worth it. If he doesn’t, then it truly will all be worthless.

  He tries to get up, slipping on his tears and drool and face planting. He lifts himself up again, watching blood from his lips and nose join the rest of the fluid on the ground, and ignores it, then gets to work.

  With a paper on tree communication open on his laptop he starts on networking the Tesla Pads he has on hand. Once they’re all synced, he puts a pair on and...

  Failure.

  He upgrades each one's housing, each one's power banks.

  Failure.

  He modifies the volatile pair, they fail, he combines them with the newest model, and they fail. He’s been at this for hours upon hours now, how much longer does he have until sunrise?

  Not enough.

  But if he could think faster? It’d be an easy modification to get these new pair of Tesla Pads to do it, but his brain, it will cook. Maybe... maybe the network will save him? They’re not designed for it, he doesn’t have the material to alter them, but maybe they're close enough.

  Honestly, if he doesn’t get this to work tonight, he’s dead anyways.

  He makes the last changes he needs to, places them on his head, and turns them on.

  His muscles contract, he nearly bites off his tongue. His eyes feel warm, they hurt, and he sees a trickle of red, but... but it's working.

  He’s thinking faster, and as the network kicks in, he thinks faster still. It hurts, it sets his skin on fire, maybe literally, but what does it matter? It's working.

  Faster and faster, smarter and smarter, he thinks of new ideas and calculates their odds of success and failure in seconds, when before it would have taken him years. He smells cooking meat, burning meat, but he blocks it out, there’s too much work to be done.

  He rips apart everything and anything technical he can get his hands on and carries the pieces into the workshop. A Tesla Pad catches fire, one pops, and he feels himself slow, but it doesn’t matter, because one of the prosthetics is moving. But it doesn’t matter, there’s already so many ideas, so many boundaries to push, he has to keep going.

  Why does he have to keep going again? The burning smell? No, the burning smell is why he can do this. It is because pain though, just a different one, pain and that they were coming to take everything away from him. Who was doing the taking again?

  He pushes the boundaries, altering the Tesla Pads more and more, frankensteining the burnt and broken into new ones. Another new idea, why just move what can receive his lightning, why not move the lightning itself?

  Burning, popping, scraping, who was coming to take it all away again? The ones weaponizing his technology? No, he’s the one weaponizing it. Something else, someone else.

  Eric,

  His thoughts reach the sparking battery in one of the prosthetics, pulls the electricity out, and guides it through metal medium after metal medium, until it reaches a framed picture of Eric Silverline, and burns away his face.

  The lightning crackles around him, he modifies the exoskeleton further, weaponizes them further as more Tesla Pads shatter, explode. The prosthetics aren’t arms or hands anymore, they’re gauntlets, lightning canons. The exoskeleton has become a tank, the power stored within it almost like a force field.

  He has more, more ideas, more boundaries to push. There is so much more to electricity than anyone has ever dreamed, but as he goes to search for materials, he screams.

  The last of the networked Tesla Pads fail, melt away, and his brain accrues the full wrath of the gods. Zeus and Thor do battle across his neurons, tearing apart his grey matter, vaporizing the water from his most delicate flesh and filling his nose with smoke and flame.

  He’s going to die, and Eric is going to get away with everything, if only he had the rest of the Tesla Pads.

  Then, right before he breathes his last, his eyes are lit up by a silver and purple flash.