The following is a first person narration, taken from a "cerb-rec" or cerebral recording, which translates sensations, thought, and experiences into computer code that can then be stored and later experienced by another person. The device starts out being worn like a hat but another device is placed directly on the brain under the skull so it would not be discovered by the killer.
"OK it's transmitting ... and recording." I hear a voice say. I look up at the tech and he nods. I have no idea why they want to record my thoughts today, and I can't say I'm very happy about it. But after my screw-up I'm not about to make waves. The screw-up was totally my fault. I collected the evidence against a serial killer without the proper warrants. The killer's defense attorney had it all thrown out. Without the physical evidence our case depended strongly on the testimony of the surviving kidnap victims. Unfortunately every one of the refused to testify. Those we forced to testify all lied on the stand, claiming no one in the compound had ever been murdered. The killer was acquitted and returned to his desert compound with the kidnap victims. I wondered how many more people were going to die for my stupidity. As for myself, my life long dream of becoming an agent with the FBI was looking like the Hindenburg at Lakehurst. I took one last look around my little office. I composed myself and prepared to watch my dream come to an end.
My boss FBI SAIC Harman sat at his desk with a grim expression on his face. I sat at in a chair in front of his desk, tears barely held in check.
"Agent Johnson, I'm sorry to say that we may have to let you go. I'm sorry for this. I'd had high hopes for you. Unfortunately some of the people above me saw the breach as so ... well ... stupid ... they think it may have been deliberate. If we had more evidence that it was, you'd be facing criminal charges. As it stands all we can do is terminate your employment effective today."
So that's why they wanted to record my thoughts. Fortunately what I did WAS stupid but it was NOT deliberate. I realized I was probably screwed anyway, but being out of work is better than being in prison. Especially for a law enforcement officer. My heart sank. It was over. All the hard work, all the sleepless nights have been for nothing. I could no longer hold back the tears. I hadn't even lasted 3 months. I'd have to go home and face all my friends and family. I remembered the party my parents threw when I graduated from Quantico. My dad pulling me aside, saying how proud he was of me, how he knew I'd be great, get rapid promotions. How could I face them again having failed so soon? But... "Sir, you said you MAY have to let me go ... Is there anything I can do to save my job?"
"I'm afraid not. My team is built on trust. I'd trust every single agent under my command with my life with just one exception. You. I suppose it makes no difference if it was deliberate or accidental. If it was deliberate I can't trust you with anything, if it was accidental I can't trust your judgment. I can't have anyone on this team I can't trust.
"That said there is a way you can redeem yourself. You can serve as bait to see if we can't get the hook back into him."
"It sounds dangerous. How do you plan on rescuing me once I get the new evidence?"
"We don't plan on rescuing you. That's the problem. All our evidence for the case was thrown out of court by your ineptitude. He's been acquitted and can not be retried. We need to catch him in the act. We need to wait until he murders again. That's where you come in. We need a volunteer to be kidnapped and murdered, preferably after some body modifications, like what he did to that poor billing clerk from Maine."
"The one who he blinded, then cut her arms off?"
"That's the idea. We had the idea you'd ask him to amputate both arms AND both legs."
"What are my chances of survival, if I decide to do this?"
"Zero, didn't you hear me say before when I said we need to wait until he murders again?"
I was shocked. It was going to be a tough choice. "May I have some time to think about it?" I asked.
"No you need to decide right now."
I began to shiver. My choice was between returning home to humiliation and disappointment or dying. Neither option was in the least appealing. But, if we had to wait for at least one more murder, one more person dying, shouldn't that person be the one who screwed up in the first place? I made my decision. "I'll do it. What happens next?"
"You will go out, clean out your desk, return any FBI property, including all case files, your badge, ID, and service Glock. Then you'll go home. On Monday you'll be picked up by an unmarked car and taken to the hospital where we will surgically implant a cerb-rec under your skull. The cerb-rec will be connected by wire to a recording/transmitting device implanted in your body. The device will record all the experiences and thoughts you have, and your vital signs. 15 minutes after you die the device will send all the data in a burst transition, lasting about 1/50th of a second. The reason for the 15 minute delay is to prove you are in fact dead." My boss pressed a button on his desk and the tech came in. I felt a jolt of fear, then my boss told he was only here to retrieve the cerb-rec.
I wake with a throbbing headache, and extremely dry mouth and sore throat. The dry mouth I know is from the lack of salivary gland activity a side effect of the anesthetic, the sore throat from intubation and the headache from having the entire back and top of my skill removed and replaced. I also felt a hard something in my back. The recorder/transmitter is very thin. Thin enough to be slipped between my shoulder blade and ribs. It doesn't hurt but I can feel it when I move my arm just right. A huge bandage covers my head.
Two days later the bandage is removed and I see my completely shaved head with the nasty looking cut, now sewn back together running from the nape of her neck, up over one ear, across the top of my head then back to the nape of her neck on the other side.
Over the next 6 months my hair grows back, covering the nasty scar on my scalp. My head no longer aches, but it's finally time to catch a killer. I sit at the computer and prepare to write my first e-mail to the killer. I tell him who I am, that I've been fired from the FBI for protecting him by illegally collecting the evidence. I tell him that I'd really like some 1 on 1 time with him. He writes back saying how delighted he is, and how grateful he is for me sacrificing my job to safe him.