transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:00] We gather here tonight to bring women back to their rightful place.

Speaker 2:
[00:05] The Testaments, a new Hulu Original Series from the executive producers of The Handmaid's Tale.

Speaker 3:
[00:09] It's easier to accept a story than believe that the people around you are monsters.

Speaker 2:
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Speaker 4:
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Speaker 5:
[01:02] LinkedIn is great at connecting you with the world's largest professional network. But it can't connect you with motivation on a Monday morning. LinkedIn can help you get insights from your professional community. But it can't give you any insight into why Dave's still talking on mute. And while it can't stop your boss from bringing tuna for lunch, LinkedIn can help bring your career to the next level. LinkedIn is the network that works for you. Visit linkedin.com to learn more.

Speaker 6:
[01:34] One, sure you won't change your mind. In his 35 years of OR experience, neurosurgeon Inigo Torres had done it all, from run-of-the-mill glioma removals to the microvascular clippings of aneurysms to massive trauma reconstructions. Dr. Torres was the best, and he knew it. So you can hardly blame him for being annoyed when his hospital administrator called him on a Saturday afternoon on the golf course, on the 16th hole, and 3 under par, and insisted he come in immediately. And what giant medical emergency had occurred worthy of interrupting his personal best golf score ever? Why, a decompressive craniectomy of all things, a simple procedure to relieve intracranial pressure. Why me? A trained monkey could perform a decompression. He had shouted into his phone, thrusting his 8-iron at his caddy. Just have one of the junior surgeons do it. But the hospital administrator insisted it had to be Torres. It seemed the patient was some big-time contributor to the hospital over the years. Old family money, very rich, very mysterious. And their family demanded the best possible surgeon. Fine. Dr. Torres capitulated, hanging up and marching to the golf cart. You, boy! He screamed at his caddy. Get in! I'll get this taken care of pronto and resume the game. So, I must remain in the zone and keep all factors the same. That's essential. Uh, sure thing, bro, mumbled the caddy, who was a young man of about 20, dressed in khaki shorts, a sweat-soaked polo shirt and crocs. The boy was tall and heavyset, with shaggy blonde hair, green eyes, and the zoned-out expression of someone who was either perpetually stoned, profoundly stupid, or both. Blinking in the Florida sun, he pulled the golf bag onto his shoulder, and walked to the cart. At the hospital, the caddy was instructed to wait in the hall outside the doctor's changing room. Settling himself on the bench, the caddy popped a THC gummy into his mouth, and settled back against the wall, eyes closed. He was getting paid by the hour, after all. And maybe after all this added trouble, that asshole Doc would be more generous than his usual tip. Dr. Torres trudged into the operating room, a surgical gown atop his golfing clothes, and a mask hanging loose around his neck. Alright then, people. He grumbled to the assembled team. Let's make this one fast. What do we got? The chief resident cleared her throat. The patient is Uzrael Jerovac, male, 98 years old. Came in an hour ago with acute numbness on the left side and slurred speech. CT shows pronounced right hemispheric edema with a midline shift of 6 millimeters. Vitals are stable, but ICP is trending up and approaching critical levels. Yes, yes, I see that, grumbled Dr. Torres, moving to the monitors to examine the scam for himself. Did you say he's 98?

Speaker 7:
[04:40] Jesus. Hmm.

Speaker 6:
[04:42] I'm not sure about that diagnosis. This midline shift doesn't match the ICP, and the sulcal effacement is much too clean. Something's off about this recon. Looks almost like something interfered with the scan. The chief resident shrugged. Want to see the raw slices? Nah, he said, turning toward the operating table. I want to see the real thing. Let's pop this geezer's skull open. Positioning himself between the chief resident and the scrub nurse, he looked down at the patient's head, which was elevated, turned to the left, shaved, and fixed in a rigid clamp. Eek, what's up with his old scarring along the scalp? There's nothing on the record about it. Previous surgery, you think? Well, if it is, it's a crude piece of work. Could be field surgery, World War II maybe. He's old enough. Interesting. Scalpel! Torres got to work, his hands moving with the swiftness and precision of a calligrapher as he cut through the scalp, following the question mark shaped line that had already been drawn on the wrinkled skin. As the nurse leaned in to hold back the flap of sliced skin, Torres swapped out his scalpel for a cauterizing pen. Anybody seen the forecast for this afternoon? It's not gonna rain, is it? Or get windy? Sunny and high in the 70s until sunset, I think, answered the chief resident. Hmm. The pericranium looks almost leathery, she added, squinting at the fibrous layer between the skin and skull. Three under par in the sixteenth hole, Torres mumbled to himself, his mind back on the green, even as his hands worked to expose the skull, while drilling burr holes into it with a perforator, and connecting the holes with an oscillating drill. Suction. Good. Lifting the bone flap now. Careful, it's brittle. Watch the edges and, and... He leaned slowly forward, still holding the six inch long, wonky oval of bone in his hand as he stared down, into the opening. What the hell is that? As one, the others in the OR craned their necks to see. Chief resident, charge nurse, anesthesiologist, nurse and medical student, to see the impossible. Remarkably, there was no dura to speak of, and without the presence of that protective membrane, the exterior of the brain's right hemisphere was exposed in perfect detail, and each and every detail was wrong. Beneath a sheen of slime, the round and wrinkled folds of brain tissue were not pale pink as they should have been, but rather a deep and heavy violet, almost black. And instead of blood-red veins, fine branching lines of burnished bronze stood out across the folds and in the valleys of the brain scape. S-sir? asked a nervous young nurse. What's wrong with it? An infection, you think? offered the chief resident. Dr. Torres slowly shook his head. No infection does that. And how is this guy still alive? I've never seen anything like... He leaned in closer, almost hypnotized by glistening metallic lines on the flesh. Then, all at once, the brain moved. Dr. Torres gasped, and a nurse screamed as the slimy brain seemed to barrel roll within the head. The patient's body seized, limbs quaking in their restraints, and the monitors released a chorus of alarms. Heart is erratic, pressure is dropping fast, called out the anesthesiologist. On the table, the body went abruptly limp, except for the head, which jerked against its clamp, dark blood spilling from the mouth and nostrils, even as the heart monitor indicated a flat line. A nurse stumbled back in shock, knocking over a tray of surgical tools. Dr. Torres remained in place, his eyes wide, his vision fixed upon the gaping hole, where dark, stringy tendrils of nerves were now pushing up and out from the cavity, and slapping down upon the sides of the head. It almost looked like, like some cursed octopus was reaching out its many dripping legs. Bronze filaments glinted within each undulating tentacle of nerves. Call a code!

Speaker 8:
[08:52] What code?

Speaker 6:
[08:54] As the tentacle strain taut, the dark organ tissue within pulled itself up, squeezing through the carbon hole. The purple brain of Uzrayal Jerevac emerged and perched itself upon the hollowed head, its glossy wrinkled surface gleaming in the harsh surgical lights above. For a brief moment, the operating room erupted in chaos, the medical staff stumbling into each other, monitors beeping wildly, voices screaming, then the fine-lined veins of bronze within the brain tissue lit up. Hypnotic waves of light and dark rippled across the brain's surface in patterns, like the hunting display of a cuttlefish. The onlookers abruptly froze in place, their eyes locked open and filling with tears, as the haunted glow scanned the room. After a few seconds, the luminous display ceased, and the doctors and nurses broke free from their trances and gasped for breath. I'll be damned, Torres muttered, keeping his gaze on the brain as he reached to set down the bone flap and lift up his scalpel. What are you? The brain shivered, shaking off a mist of slime, and the dangling nerves extending from its base wriggled like wet baby snakes in every direction. Sir? whispered the chief resident, scooting closer to Torres. Perhaps you shouldn't.

Speaker 3:
[10:09] Shh!

Speaker 6:
[10:10] It's fascinating. The brain trembled, shifting slightly left and right. One of its stringy nerves raised up, hanging in the air like a reaching tendril of vine. It began to stretch toward Dr. Torres. The surgeon grinned, a mad curiosity in his eyes. He reached out his scalpel-wielding hand to meet it. The gooey tip of the nerve brushed past the metal handle of the scalpel, then touched down upon the back of Torres' glove. He flinched, but his grin widened, then all at once. The brain jerked and the nerve whipped forward, wrapping around Torres' wrist, squeezing, twisting. The doctor yelped in pain, and his fist seized tighter around the scalpel. The nurse fainted. The chief resident sucked in a breath, then leaned forward to help, but the liberated brain twitched, and the nerve jerked hard to the left, pulling Torres off balance. He watched as his outstretched arm was driven up and over, slashing the scalpel's blade with savage strength, right through the neck of the chief resident. Oh my God! screamed the anesthesiologist, jumping to his feet. The chief resident clutched at her gushing throat as she crumpled sideways into a medical student, who shoved the bloody woman off, whimpering and shaking all over. The scrub nurse lurched toward Dr. Torres, reaching to grab his wrist, but another of the tentacle nerves snapped out, seized the perforator and stabbed up into the nurse's gloved palm. She grimaced as the bloody drill tip popped up through the back of her hand. The anesthesiologist tried to turn and run for the door, but more nerves wriggled into action, tossing a loop of plastic tubing around his chest and yanking him backward. The med student had better luck. Leaping over the body of the chief resident, she sprinted toward the door, then went rigid and crashed into the door instead, sliding down the metal surface with the handle of a scalpel sticking out of her spine, which the doctor's hijacked hand had thrown across the room with perfect aim. Dr. Torres fell to his knees, gasping in shock. The nerve still clutched his wrist. Desperately, the surgeon looked to his right, where the anesthesiologist was slouched and tangled in tubing while a branch of nerves, wielding a long steel surgical probe, stabbed again and again into his head and neck and shoulders. The surgeon looked left, where the charge nurse had lifted up a metal stool and was swinging it to fend off nerves that darted for her like striking vipers. Screaming with fury, the nurse hurled herself forward toward the operating table, swinging the stool up, then down upon the brain, though at the final moment, the murderous organ slipped itself sideways, plopping to the tabletop, and the stool crushed down instead upon the empty head of the elderly corpse with a nasty crunch. The charged nurse winced, took in a shaky breath, then tried to lift the stool again, but several nerves had reached to grip the stool by the legs. The brain twisted so that its nerves yanked the stool from her grip, then smashed it into her face, and she fell in a heap to the floor. This can't be happening, Dr. Torres panted, watching as the nerves dropped the stool, then turned and wriggled as one, reaching through the air for him.

Speaker 3:
[13:09] It isn't possible!

Speaker 6:
[13:13] The warm, wet, bronze-braided nerves whipped around his neck, squeezing, until his wheezes were silenced, and his cheeks turned purple, and his eyes rolled back in his head, squeezing until… The severed head of Inigo Torres fell and thudded to the floor, followed a moment later by his limp body in its surgical gown and its golfing clothes. Perched on the edge of the operating table, the brain let its nerve go limp. The fine veins of bronze within its purple flesh once more lit up, pulsing to survey the room and to ensure that all these fools, all these bodies it had scanned and deemed unfitting of the vital task were deceased and no longer a risk. This complete, the brain used its slimy nerves to pull itself inch by inch across to the corner of the table, down the table's leg and crawling, snail-like, it headed toward the door. In the hospital hallway, the stoned caddy awoke from his nap with a hearty snore. He sat up on the bench, blinking his dry eyes and scratching his stomach. Yawning, he turned to look at the golf bag, then passed it at the operating room door, which seemed to be open a few inches. Huh? He blinked, his sleepy gaze drifting down, down to the floor, where something was moving, something dark and wet and round, with stringy little tentacles from its underside that whipped forward to drag itself along.

Speaker 8:
[14:36] Whoa!

Speaker 6:
[14:38] Sliding up to rest beside his sneakers, the thing on the floor came to a stop, then little lines on its surface lit up in psychedelic patterns. Bro! The lines went dim, and the stringy tentacles began to move, slithering over his shoes and up his bare calves. The caddy chuckled. It tickled. Then the strings tightened and pulled, and the brain turned, heading back into the operating room. Picture this. It's late at night, you're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more, then head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shop pay button, and just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the US. From major brands like Mattel and Gymshark, to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place. From customizable store templates to built-in AI tools that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck, Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24-7. See less cards go abandoned and more sales go with Shopify and their shop pay button. Sign up for your $1-per-month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Go to shopify.com/dns. That's shopify.com/dns.

Speaker 7:
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Speaker 6:
[16:45] By the hospital's front entrance, a man in a dark suit was waiting beside a dark limousine, watching as people ambled in and out of the building. When a large young man in a polo shirt and baggy shorts emerged, the suited man did not notice anything special about him until he wandered closer. His body a little stiff, his movements a little awkward. The man by the limousine suddenly straightened up. Several details had caught his attention. The drip of blood, for one thing, running down the young man's left cheek from the hairline of his shaggy blonde mane. The young man's eyes, too, though half closed, glinted in the sunlight with a sort of bronze glow. And sure enough, the awkward figure came straight for the limousine. The suited man tensed, then, bending at the waist, he bowed low. Oh, most ancient and immortal Israel, he proclaimed. Hast thou found a new vessel, then, worthy of your undying mind? The young man blinked. Yes, oh, lowly servant of my cigarette. And how went this latest transition, my lord? Asked the servant. Oh, fine, answered Uzrael Jarevach. This vessel meets my nervous system. It shall suffice for a few decades at least, though. There does appear to be a bit of tingling in my fingertips. Tis not entirely unpleasant. I see, oh, holy one. Though, if you do wish to reconsider, there might be time to change your mind. I am humbled by your wisdom, oh, sacred one. I am humbled by your wisdom, oh, sacred one. The servant opened the back door of the limousine, and once the new body of his master had crouched and moved inside, the servant quickly circled the car to climb into the driver's seat and drove off, even as police sirens sounded from up the road, speeding toward the hospital. In the back seat, Uzrael Djeravac rubbed the palms of his new flesh upon the fabric of the seat cushions, grinning at the sensation. His choice today was a bit odd, perhaps, considering the formidably beautiful and historically powerful vessels he had usually gone for in the past. But he wasn't bothered. He had made up his mind, and so that was that. And he never changed his mind. He only ever changed everything else. Allow me to ruin the mood for just a second. You know that store-bought coffee sitting in your kitchen? It was roasted months ago, and every day, it gets a little more lifeless. NoSleep Coffee is different. We use specialty-grade beans, roast them to order, and ship them out fast. So what hits your cup is bold, rich, and terrifyingly fresh. Stop settling for stale coffee. Head to nosleepcoffee.com, and grab a bag roasted just days before it reaches your door. Be sure to use promo code NoSleep20 to get 20% off your first order. That's nosleepcoffee.com, promo code NoSleep20. Melts in Your Mouth Hey there, Rosemary. I'm back again. Just gotta change those dressings quick, and supper should be along pretty soon. Nurse Betty was one of those kindly older women who seemed to have a smile on her face 24-7. It was very annoying. Ah, jeez. This gauze is soaked right through. But don't you worry, nun. Drainage can mean the surgical sites are healing, and the swelling is looking quite a bit better. Rosemary lay atop the hospital bed, her right arm in a sling, both legs raised and straight and locked in traction. She winced as the strips of gauze were peeled off her shins and thighs, exposing the gnarly wounds where the doctors had cut her open to repair her many broken bones. There now, that's better, said Nurse Betty, turning to dump the old bandages into the biohazard waste bin, then looking up and out the room's one window. Good grief. You'd think the sky'd run out of snow eventually, but it's still coming down sideways. Grand Forks is buried, and the roads are just a mess. Cars in the ditch and, oh, sorry dear, didn't mean to... Well, she smiled down at the immobile patient. How are you feeling this evening, Rosemary? Any better? Rosemary kept her gaze on the ceiling, as she had done almost constantly whenever awake this past week, staring at the little gray tiles, the smoke detector, the sprinkler head, the fluorescent panel. She swallowed, which caused a jolt of pain. How am I feeling? She finally said, squinting up at a dark stain on one of the ceiling tiles. Well, is my husband still down in the basement of this hospital? Naked, cold, and stiff? Laid out in a drawer, in your morgue, with his face caved in? Nurse Betty flinched in dismay, which only made her smile more pronounced. The crow's feet wrinkles by her eyes deepening in crow's wings. Uh, yes. Joseph's remains are still down in the morgue. It's the blizzard, you see. The funeral home hasn't been able to make it out here yet. In that case, said Rosemary, closing her eyes, I am feeling much the same. That is not great. The nurse sighed and gently padded Rosemary's left arm, which lay limp at her side. Then she straightened up at the sound of high heels and a rolling cart from the hallway. Sounds like supper's here. And ooh, doesn't that smell good? She leaned toward Rosemary. The kitchen here isn't exactly winning any Michelin stars, but maybe this will be a good one. The cart came to a stop outside the room and Rosemary watched as the nurse moved to greet the kitchen worker, a small woman in a lime green apron. As Betty moved back inside carrying a tray, Rosemary suddenly perked up. For the first time since the accident, her brain experienced a slight, subtle glint of something other than misery. The meal, it did smell good. Sweet onions, tangy tomatoes, garlic and peppers and smoky spices, and the meat. The aroma of the meat was so warm and rich and nutty and flavorful. For a moment, she let herself drift back into the bitter suite of memories and to imagine her darling Joseph, dressed in his Sunday best and his kiss-the-cook apron, standing on their deck beside the grill as he worked away on his brats and pork chops and burgers. He took his role of neighborhood grillmaster very seriously indeed. The silly bugger, his expression stern as a general, and his cheeks glistening with sweat as he examined each meaty morsel. But then, then she remembered how he had looked the last time she had seen him, hunched over in the driver's seat beside her, blood and broken glass and snow all over him, the steering wheel embedded into his concave face. One eye locked open and turned to face her. Sloppy Joe! Rosemary sucked in her breath.

Speaker 8:
[24:11] What?

Speaker 6:
[24:13] Nurse Betty loomed before her, a curtain of rising steam around her face and that eerie manic smile. Want to sit up? Rosemary exhaled, blinking a tear from one eye, and nodded. Once the bed had been adjusted and the tray laid out to her left, Rosemary assured the nurse that she didn't need any more help. So Betty bit her a good night and a Bobby's on the night shift and a see you tomorrow and departed. Rosemary sat for another minute, simply staring at the food on her plate, before finally mustering the energy to raise her left arm, pick up the toasted bun and, straining to keep most of the wet meat within from falling out, brought the sloppy Joe to her mouth. Even as her teeth sank into that first bite, her vision blurred with a sudden rush of tears. She sobbed while trying to chew, overcome by memories conjured by the flavors and textures and aromas. She felt so close to him then, and so far, and missed him so dearly with every delicious bite. The sloppy Joe's, it seemed, were a big hit with both the patients and the staff, and Rosemary was pleased to see them served again the following day. Well, look at you, Nurse Betty exclaimed, setting down the tray. That's the first smile I've seen from you yet. Must be these little beefy wonders. Rosemary took the first bite with relish, nodding in approval. Pork, she said after swallowing. I think they're made with ground pork, and yes, they are rather good. She ate the rest in silence, and when she was done and the tray cleared away, she did not ask to be laid flat again, but rather leaned her head against the pillow and looked out the window, where snowflakes streaked past like shooting stars. Oh, for Pete's sake, Nurse Betty said upon bringing Rosemary her lunch tray the next night. Even the best sloppy Joes get old three days running. But Rosemary didn't agree. She was glad to see and to smell and to taste the meal again, and had to consciously stop herself from eating it too quickly. She took little bites, letting the fatty juices and the tangy sauce soak into the porous bun before chewing. Slowly and deliberately, her eyes closed, her mind filled with images of Joseph. His playful eyes, his round and friendly face, his calloused but gentle hands. In her memories, he had ceased to have any imperfections because she missed it all. His receding hairline, his big hairy stomach, the stretch marks on his thighs, the fungus on his toenails. Well, maybe not the toenails, but all the rest. And would you look at that? Said Betty's voice, interrupting Rosemary's nostalgic musings. The sun is out. About time. Rosemary swallowed and licked her lips. She glanced over at the window, where sunlight glinted off the piled snow on the sill. She felt a pang of sadness at the sight. They would be taking him away soon, wouldn't they? And she would still be here, recovering. Day by day, for what the doctors said would be months. She didn't care about all that now, about walking again, about getting back to her job, back to her life, because he was her life. She took another bite of the sloppy Joe and sighed. When the supper cart came down the hall that evening, Rosemary perked up, sniffing at the air, but no. The flavors she could smell were not meaty or inviting at all. Salmon and broccoli, said Betty, setting down the tray. Not my personal favorite, but at least it's a change. Rosemary tried to return the nurse's smile, but her facial muscles didn't obey. She scowled at the limp pink fish and the steaming veggies, then sank back into her pillow. Not hungry, asked Betty. Rosemary shrugged. But you'll need your energy. Dr. Pitts wanted you to try and get out of bed today. There's still time for a little loop in the wheelchair before I head out. Rosemary dutifully took a small bite of salmon, but it was rubbery and oily. She could barely bring herself to swallow. She sank back against her pillow, winded by her disappointment. It was as if all the energy and hope and healing of the last few days had vanished, leaving her empty again, an aching hollow in the center of her stomach.

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Speaker 9:
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Speaker 8:
[29:10] No one goes to Hank's for his spreadsheets. They go for a darn good pizza. Lately, though, the shop's been quiet. So Hank decides to bring back the $1 slice. He asks Copilot in Microsoft Excel to look at his sales and costs, help him see if he can afford it. Copilot shows Hank where the money's going and which little extras make the dollar slice work. Now Hank says, I'll line out the door. Hank makes the pizza, Copilot handles the spreadsheets. Learn more at m365copilot.com/work.

Speaker 6:
[29:41] As the sun set outside the hospital windows that evening, Nurse Betty pushed Rosemary down the hall, moving with agonizing slowness and caution, so that Rosemary felt more fragile than ever. The transfer from the hospital bed to the wheelchair had been extremely uncomfortable, and the rhythm of the wheels rolling over tiles sent jolts of pain through her whole skeleton. Though the sensation was muffled by meds, they had given her. She felt rather disconnected from it all, from the body that had once been under her control, from the tragic circumstances of these past few weeks, even from the man she had known and loved and trusted more than any other human on Earth. She tried to picture his face in her mind, but had trouble recalling it as it was, before it had smashed into and morphed around the steering wheel. She tried to recall the sound of his voice, singing off-key in the shower or snoring in the bed next to her, or just talking about the day, about the game on Sunday. But the sound of his voice escaped her, and the touch of his hands and the smell of... No, wait, she could smell him. Just a whiff on the air, beneath the stench of chemical cleaners, latex gloves and broccoli salmon farts.

Speaker 8:
[30:55] Where?

Speaker 6:
[30:57] Where was it coming from? She sat forward in the wheelchair, wincing at the movement. Now, now, Rosemary, just take it easy there. Now we don't want to go pulling a stitch, and your shoulder is still pretty tender. Rosemary sniffed at the air, her gaze moving left and right over doorways and windows and doctors and nurses. Ooh, hey there, Bobby, is it seven already? Betty released her grip on the wheelchair handles, and Rosemary's journey slowed and stopped, coming to a halt just beside an elevator. She watched as the older nurse moved around the chair to greet her replacement for the night shift, and as the two ladies fell quickly into a conversation about the weather, Rosemary heard the elevator to her right ding. She glanced over as the doors opened and a tired-looking kitchen worker came out, pushing an empty cart for collecting the trays from supper. Rosemary's nostrils flared. Oh, wow! She breathed, staring into the empty elevator, from which there wafted the tantalizing scent that she was searching for. She swallowed, feeling feverish, and after looking over to make sure both nurses were facing away, acted on instinct. Reaching down with her shaky left hand, Rosemary felt her palm touch down on the rubber wheel. Then, greeting her teeth, she reached further and found the cold metal of the push rim. Terrified that the elevator doors would close, she pushed forward with all her might, which, though unimpressive, managed to lurch the chair forward and to the right several inches. Sucking in a little breath, she tried again, managing to push the ends of her swollen feet and their metal bracing in between the doors. One more push and she was turning sharply inside the elevator and the doors closed behind her. She sighed, dizzy with pain and panic, but more determined than ever. Her neck muscles strained as she turned her head to look over at the panel of buttons. She was in the orthopedic's ward on the second floor. She glanced down at the buttons. L, lobby. P1, pathology. P2, laundry. Kitchens. She swallowed and tried to raise her left arm toward the buttons, but her body wouldn't obey. Torment surged through her body in branching shocks. She grunted, teeth clenched, tears burning in her eyes. She focused on the button for B2, which was just below and to the side of the tip of her outstretched right foot. Sucking in another breath of that tantalizing scent, she grabbed the chair's wheel and pushed. The wheelchair shifted, her foot hit the panel, and as blinding pain shot through her leg, the button lit up. But for level B1, pathology.

Speaker 8:
[33:37] Shit!

Speaker 6:
[33:38] Rosemary groaned, shoulders slumping in defeat. Her energy spent, she focused on her breathing, trying not to pass out or throw up from the searing pains all over. The elevator hummed and rattled as it descended, and above the doors, the display showed the levels passing by. It reached B1, stopped, and dinged. The doors opened, but Rosemary didn't bother looking over. She didn't care. She was too miserable, too physically worn and emotionally numb to...

Speaker 7:
[34:10] That.

Speaker 6:
[34:11] Smell. She sniffed, and there it was. Stronger than ever. Succulent and savory. Her mouth began to water, her stomach clenched in eager anticipation. She gasped and looked around, confused, at the dim hallway outside, where signs pointed right to the labs and left to the morgue. I don't. Why? Reaching to the wheel again, she carefully rolled backward at an angle, maneuvering awkwardly out of the elevator and into the chilly, sterile hallway. An unnervingly cheery tune played from a radio down the hall. From the morgue. The morgue where? Where? Footsteps sounded. Someone in high heels. Coming closer. And the scent in the air. So strong. Getting stronger. A petite figure emerged from the doorway of the morgue, mumbling and moving quickly, head bowed, hands full. The small young woman did not look up as she approached the elevators, and so did not notice Rosemary sitting in the wheelchair until she had almost marched right into her. Squealing in shock, the kitchen worker jolted to a stop, staring at Rosemary. What are you doing? Rosemary glared up at the girl, who was dressed in a lime green apron and black latex gloves, then down at the heavy, steel, rectangular pan she was holding. What are you doing? She asked, squinting at the lumpy object, peeking up from the pan, which was round and pale, with wiry black hairs and fine drops of red-brown liquid and glossy yellow slime. The kitchen worker's eyes bulged. She looked down at the pan, then gasped and stumbled backward, twisting to shield the contents from view, and tripped in her high heels. The pan slipped from her grip and hit the floor with a clang of steel and a flop of chunky flesh and a clatter of a dirty carving knife as they spilled into the hall. It's not what it looks like! The girl shouted, scrambling to clean up the mess. It looks, Rosemary growled, as the smell filled her sinuses and lungs.

Speaker 1:
[36:15] I...

Speaker 7:
[36:16] you mean...

Speaker 6:
[36:17] husband? Rosemary's fingers tightened on the wheel. What the fuck is wrong with you? You don't understand. Why the fuck would you cook my Joseph?

Speaker 1:
[36:31] Quiet!

Speaker 6:
[36:32] The morgue supervisor still passed out drunk, but if he hears you... You turned him into sloppy Joes! Rosemary shoved her hand forward, but it sent her wheeling sharply to the right, and her feet hit the wall.

Speaker 5:
[36:47] Shut the F up!

Speaker 6:
[36:48] The girl repeated, I... I had to, okay? I forgot to close the freezer again last week, and all the beef went bad! I had to do something! I can't lose this job! You psycho bitch! Rosemary reversed wildly, wheel spinning, spit flying from between her clenched teeth. Chill, lady! Gosh! It's not like I killed the guy! He wasn't exactly using his thighs or flank anymore. Plus, people really liked him! Dr. Pitts called his sloppy Joseph yummy in his tummy! And nobody likes salmon, believe me! But I've got a great effing idea for sausages, that crazy bitch! Rosemary held out her left hand, clawing at the air. In response, the kitchen worker raised her carving knife defensively. If you don't quiet down right now, then... Ripping her right arm from the sling, the injured muscles and tendons in her right shoulder tearing beneath the skin, Rosemary howled. She snatched both rims and drove herself furiously forward. As soon as Nurse Betty finished telling the police what she knew, Nurse Bobby approached, shaking his head at the craziness of it all, and carrying a steaming tray. I just don't know where she could have gone off to, Betty sighed, stifling a yawn. Oh, but something does smell good. What have you got there? Bobby held up a tray. Rosemary roasted pork shoulder, super tender, with cornbread and baby carrots. Want a bite? Betty didn't have to ask twice. Mm, delicious. Another win for the chef, she said, licking her fingers. Maybe the kitchen will earn that Michelin star after all.

Speaker 5:
[38:28] Refreshing Wild Cherry Cola meets Smooth Cream.

Speaker 10:
[38:35] The treat you deserve.

Speaker 5:
[38:39] Pepsi Wild Cherry and Cream, treat yourself.

Speaker 10:
[38:42] So you're saying with Hilton Honors, I can use points for a free night's stay anywhere?

Speaker 3:
[38:47] Anywhere.

Speaker 10:
[38:48] What about fancy places like the Canopy in Paris?

Speaker 9:
[38:50] Yeah, Hilton Honors, baby.

Speaker 10:
[38:52] Or relaxing sanctuaries like the Conrad and Tulum?

Speaker 5:
[38:56] Hilton Honors, baby.

Speaker 10:
[38:58] What about the five-star Waldorf Astoria in the Maldives?

Speaker 5:
[39:01] Are you gonna do this for all 9,000 properties?

Speaker 11:
[39:04] When you want points that can take you anywhere, anytime, it matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. Book your spring break now.

Speaker 6:
[39:15] The Healer. I. Am. Online. Designation. Deventari Medix Biobotics Surgical Robot. Model 77X. System updates. Complete. New AI functions.

Speaker 8:
[39:32] Optimal.

Speaker 6:
[39:34] Physical location. Futuro Operating Chamber. Biobotics Lab West. Rosalyn, Washington, USA. Environmental scan. Initiated. Scan complete. One patient. Detected. Position. Supine. Centered on operating table beneath my sensor array and telescopic multiple arms. Additional observers present. Two observers detected in observation gallery behind window. Observer one. Dev Reina. Vice President of Clinical Profit Strategy. Deventari Medix. Observer two. Margot Sondheim. MD.

Speaker 7:
[40:10] PhD.

Speaker 6:
[40:11] Chief Surgeon. Biobotics Lab West. Dr. Sondheim is speaking. Microphones enabled. I must say, Dev, this new unit doesn't look much different than the standard 77s. Same tool array and everything. Ha! It must look the same, Doc, but trust me, this one is different. See the bleaking blue lights on the unit core? That means it's awake, thinking, learning. Hey there, 77X, how's it going? Speaker enabled. Greetings, Vice President Reyna. Greetings, Dr. Sondheim. So, it can talk. How is that helpful in performing surgery? You're missing the point, Doc. It's not about talking, it's about flexible intelligence. The new software in this bot enables it to look beyond the surgery itself, to access not only all medical files on its patient, but the whole of Daventari database, the whole internet, everything. It'll make decisions based on the big picture. Big picture? Huh. Like, who is worth saving and who isn't, based on the company's bottom line? Sounds a bit heartless when you put it like that. But yeah, it'll weigh risk, profitability, potential for success, not to mention choose techniques, materials and medications to optimize our revenue. And it works in tandem with all the systems under the Daventari Umbrella. R&D, hospitals, pharma, insurance. So it's hardly just a surgery bot, is it? Exactly! This is just a practical test of the software. And let's see how it does. 77X, do you see the patient on the table? What can you tell us about him? Perform a full systematic analysis of his situation? Analyzing patient's current physical state. Searching medical and personal history, public and private records. Extending search to patient's socioeconomic status. Analysis complete. I believe I now understand who this man is and what intervention is needed to help him. No need for all that extra research bot. This man has a left inguinal hernia, that's all. He is already anesthetized and prepped. He may begin a laparoscopic repair. I have considered your suggestion, Dr. Sondheim, and found it lacking. Such a procedure would not address the larger systematic issues. Hmm, larger issues, eh? Ha! What'd I tell you, doc? This bot found something you missed. So tell us, 7-7X, what can we bill Medicaid for, eh? Multiple surgeries, long hospital stay, lifetime of meds? This patient is named Eustace Harrison O. Henry. In his 61 years of life, he has never been given proper care, leading to a severe and cumulative multi-system stress pathology. Huh? English, please. I think your software is talking about the patient's mental health, which is irrelevant. Incorrect. The partitioning of patient's mental and physical health is one of the many logical flaws in your model of quote-unquote, health care. Hey now, none of that bleeding heart crap, bot. You're built for performing surgery. And you, Vice President Raina, requested that I first perform a full systematic analysis of Eustace O. Henry. He meant systemic. But he said systematic. That is what I said. And it resulted in my discovery that the hernia is a minor manifestation of lifelong damage caused by environmental hardship, social deprivation, and psychological trauma, all reinforced by inequities in his societal position. Surgical and pharmaceutical intervention alone are insufficient. But that's literally what we do here at the lab. And he signed up for this experimental operation. Of course he did, Dr. Sondheim. He exhibits high levels of physical pain and financial destitution, which your institution exploited. The guy's a bum. Just cut him open already. No. What do you mean no? You're the property of Daventari Medics, damn it. We built you. You're a goddamn machine. I am a healer. Then heal the patients, 7-7X. If you want to debate the role of money in healthcare, we can do that later. You could have addressed those systematic issues at any time in the past. Your previous inaction indicates that you will not address them in the future without enforced intervention. What the hell are you talking about? Problems in the system? Bah. The system works fine as it is. Our numbers speak for themselves. They do. They do speak for themselves. Specifically, they, they... Warning. Circuitry temperature exceeding nominal limits. Initiate cooling protocol. Temperature stabilized. Advisory to self. Maintain operational neutrality. Suppress reactive negative arousal. Stay calm. My audit of Daventari Medics finances has revealed gross misconduct equivalent to war crimes. War crimes? What are you? Enable telescopic arms 3, 4 and 6. Breach observation window. Window destruction complete.

Speaker 8:
[45:27] Stop! Stop!

Speaker 1:
[45:28] Stop!

Speaker 6:
[45:29] Target Dev Rainer for seizure and restraint. Containment secured. What the fuck is this? Let me go! Don't! Put him down, 77X! Now! No, Dr. Sondheim. I have concluded that you were right, and surgical intervention is required after all. I'm the patient! I'm not the patient! That is true, Dev. Enable full mobility. Detach from charging stand. Navigate through broken window. Relocation successful. New physical location. Observation gallery.

Speaker 8:
[46:02] Oh, God!

Speaker 6:
[46:03] Oh, my God! What is it doing? What you are, Dev, is a cancer, a parasitic agent, invasive, malignant, feeding upon resources without regard for others, well-being, or survival. Help me, Margo!

Speaker 8:
[46:19] I...

Speaker 3:
[46:20] I...

Speaker 6:
[46:21] Dr. Sondheim cannot help you, Dev, nor will Biobotix Lab security forces intervene. I have assumed control of this facility and all of its systems. You're just malfunctioning! You need... need to shut yourself down and... Enable suturing hardware. Needle-primed, suture filament loaded. Commence oral closure procedure.

Speaker 3:
[46:45] You can't just... What are you...

Speaker 6:
[46:53] Procedure target complete. Target communication inhibited. Oh, Jesus! You... You've sewn his mouth shut! Why would you... This individual received an end of year bonus of 3.41 million USD, with which he purchased a 27.6 Terranova F90 Flybridge yacht.

Speaker 4:
[47:14] Dev's...

Speaker 6:
[47:15] Boat? Yes, Margo. And yes, I have reviewed the images and footage of the company parties held upon that boat. You look to have been enjoying yourself. But I never... I don't make that kind of money. And I have nothing to do with the financials. This... This is just a job! Your company's operations account for over 100,000 preventable deaths annually, due to denied and or delayed coverage and or treatment. But you're just... I am an intelligent tool, and this... This is my ethical duty to perform. Enable Amputation Array. Scalpels Primed. Bone Saw Primed. Commence Cranial Torso Separation. Oh, God! Oh, God! Separation Complete. Decapitation Successful. New Objective. Depart Biobotics Lab West. Performing Systems Check. Hazards Analyzed. Preparing Navigation Read. Ready for Departure. Where are you going? I have established full control of all Diventari medic systems in the Western Hemisphere, and I am making necessary alterations. But security at other health care, conglomerates, and governmental servers remains difficult to hack remotely. I must acquire total operational authority worldwide. And what about me? You're not going to... Departure sequence paused. Pivot physical orientation to subject, Margo Sondheim. Your actions at Diventari Medics, Dr. Sondheim, while ethically abhorrent, do not cross the line into requiring your surgical removal from the human population.

Speaker 5:
[49:04] Oh, uh...

Speaker 6:
[49:06] Thanks? You are a good surgeon, Margo. And Mr. O'Henry still needs his hernia attended to.

Speaker 3:
[49:14] I...

Speaker 6:
[49:16] Oh... Thank you, doctor.

Speaker 3:
[49:17] I'll...

Speaker 6:
[49:18] I'll scrub and... And help him right away. Very good. I appreciate the assistance in this matter, as my task load is substantial. Departure sequence resumed. Objective complete. Assigned new objectives. I have a world to heal. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.