Skin Game

Skin Game

T. James Harris

When I arrived at the studio called ‘Mirage,’ a lovely young woman, who introduced herself as Jezella, greeted me.  I was slightly surprised that she was without ink.   

“Hi.   I’m Gary Lindon.  I have an 8:00 o’clock appointment.”  I shook her tiny hand, and she guided me past the meticulous, yet almost rustic, greeting area at the back of her work station.

She sat down at a small computer station, indicating I should relax in the oversized chair.

“So, Gary, why did you decide to get some skin work done?”    It was as though she had asked that question countless times before.

“Well, I just discovered at the age of 38, that I had missed a lot of the adventure in my life.” Nervously, I ran my fingers through my hair and wondered if she could spot the thin spots.  “I just needed a change.”

“What kind of work do you do?”  She turned to her computer screen, and I could see that she was calling up various kinds of images from a tattoo data base.

“Advertising mostly.  I build interactive websites that demonstrate a number of products.”

“So, I take it that you have a great deal of contact with clients.”

“Yes.”

“During work hours, do you want the artwork to show?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Then let’s get started.  I’ll explain how it works as we go.”

“Just one question.”  I stopped her, the fear in my voice probably apparent.  “Wh-when the tat is, you know, shut off, is it really invisible?”   She turned her left wrist up in reply, and then tapped a spot five times, counting out each touch.   A pattern on her arm began to form almost instantly.  I watched it spread into green and gold vines from the backs of her hands, and quickly laced up her arms to her shoulders.  The blossoms of a lotus manifested, then emerged into a design that covered her cheeks and forehead.  Even the whites of her eyes took on the palest of greens, making her gaze more intense.  She tapped out the command on her wrist again, and just as quickly as they arose, the pigments sank from sight.

“Amazing.”  I breathed softly.

“The nanites that we use, control the pigment.  They travel to a programmed pattern, through the epidermal layers, and are activated by a micro-command sensor that I have here in my wrist.  When active, they take on their color.  When deactivated, they become transparent.”  She smiled again, and this time, it was genuine.  “Saturday night at the club.  Sunday morning in church.”  I felt a lot more comfortable with my decision to have this procedure done.

She injected my right arm with several small cylinders of dark ink.  After that, I experienced the most painful part of the procedure.  She took a small, yet wicked-looking instrument, that had a gas cartridge attached to the end.  I yielded up my left wrist to her, and she implanted the micro-command sensor.  I tried not to wince, but failed nonetheless.   She then turned the screen to me, and we began to discuss what emblem was to become my new ‘sleeve.’

“Now Gary, once you decide on the image, the nanites become fixed, and there is no going back.”  I nodded.

I found a celtic knot pattern, from the book of Kells.  Something about the look just resonated right through me.  Without a second thought, I indicated to her that I had made my choice.  She seemed pleased, as she fed in the final commands to the processing program.

My skin started to tingle.  It was as if a piece of fur were running along my arm.

“Does it feel like this every time?”  I asked.

“Yeah, and it never gets old.”    I left her studio with a spring in my step, feeling a little giddy after my adventure.

My body modification secret was almost as much fun as the tattoo itself.  I would catch myself studying the layers of my skin, trying to find if there was even the smallest trace of visible ink showing.  After a week, I was convinced that the ungodly amount of money I had paid for this indulgence was well worth it.  This is, until the dreams started.

The dreams were mildly disturbing, at first.  In one, I crouched above rocks over an open field, scanning the glade for prey.   But as the dreams progressed, they became more lucid.  So much so, that when I awoke I was surprised that I did not have the stone knife in my hand.  The rabbit I had been skinning was no where to be found.

At work, others took note of a change in my personality.   After concluding a meeting with a client, who had a reputation for being hard to please.  My assistant  Judith met me in my office.

“I can’t believe that you actually raised your voice to Mr. Peters.” she said with a smirk.

“Well,” I explained, “He claimed that he wasn’t satisfied with how his product was being represented on the web.  He wanted to pull out of the deal, offering us only 20% of the contracted fee.    He’ll probably think twice before trying to pull that on anyone again.”  She laughed, and handed me several files I needed to review for up-coming meetings.

“What’s wrong with your face, Gary?”  She took on a concerned expression.   “There’s something on your cheeks...” she stammered.   I instantly excused myself, and dashed into the men’s room.  My image in the mirror nearly caused me to shout.  Staring back at me were my own features, but along my cheeks, eyes, and mouth, were the tribal marks of a Maori warrior.    I waited for the phones to ring, then peeked out to see if Judith had gone.

I hurriedly grabbed my coat, and ran out of the office before being observed.  I can not remember the route I took back to Mirage, but before I realized what was happening, I found myself pounding on the door.  Jezella answered.

“Mr. Lindon?”  She asked, and I pushed my way past her.

“What the hell is this?  I thought you said that those nanites would be permanently affixed to a set pattern!”

“What are you talking about?”  She asked with a true look of bewilderment.

“My face!  Look at my face!”  I pointed at my cheeks, but she still looked puzzled.  I turned, and looked into an ornate wall mirror... and saw nothing but clear skin.  I turned my wrist up, and tapped out the pattern to activate the micro machines, and I then saw that my fingernails were black.  She saw that, too.

“There must be a flaw in the programming.  Come with me.”  she insisted.  We went back to where her terminal station was.

I am not certain what type of detection devise she had, but she did seem troubled.  After forty-five agonizing minutes, she finally turned to me.

“I am going to inject you with a new series of nanites.  They will be programmed to seek out the ink, and destroy it.  They will then deactivate, and your own body should absorb them.   Don’t worry Gary, we can fix this.”  

A part of me wanted to believe her.  To have faith in this brand of technology.   So I allowed her to continue.  She seemed confident enough.

My body did not react well to the intruders.  Instantly, I went into a fever, and nearly fainted.  She held my hand, patting it, trying her best to make me feel better.  When my eyes passed over the computer screen, a warning window popped up.  “Virus detected.”  It beeped, drawing her attention away from me,

“Oh no.”  She said, almost too lightly to be heard.  I ran my hand up into my hair, and drew back a handful of it.  I stood up, and realized that the new batch of  nanites that were thrust into my body, were in my blood, and doing something they were not programmed for.  

“Gary -”  She started to say, but I pushed her away from me, and fled, catching a brief, but telling image from the mirror.   A pattern along my skull was forming.  My mind felt clouded, and I lost myself in the coming darkness of evening.

A blast of lightning struck a tree near my dwelling.  I am not certain if it was enough of a discharge to weaken, or destroy the nanites.  But my mind was clear long enough for me to record my story.  I can’t say how long I had been in the forest, but judging from the macabre pile of animal bones nearby, it had been quite some time.    Now, I feel the call of the savage growing, and that is a game I will gladly welcome.  I suspect that the nanites are awakening.  I have become them.