“So you’re going to put these…” I picked up the tiny wires and stared at them. They were thin, very long and scary. “…up my nose and into my brain?” 

 

Summer Surco, the rainbow-hair researcher, doctor, scientist person, nodded. “We want to see what’s going on inside your brain as you’re put under for surgery. Not that we will actually cut you open.” 

 

Okay. Good. Because I heard nothing about being sliced open today. 

 

“We don’t actually know what causes the unconscious state. Will you still be able to hear? Or feel? What does unconsciousness actually mean? Are you in another plane of existence, or is it merely sleeping, just deeper?” 

 

I listened, but I barely comprehend. This had been the other research Summer had tried to sell me on. Well, bad vibes be damned. I talked myself into stupid shit before, and they worked out — mostly.

 

“So this is non-invasive?” 

 

“Yes. You’d be sedated, of course. This time, we will have to intubate because we will keep you heavily sedated during the study. Thereafter, you’ll be resting for a couple of hours before being released.” 

 

“One-time deal? No follow-ups?” 

 

“None whatsoever, unless you feel unwell.” Summer beamed at her. Already she had the paperwork ready to go on the table next to her. 

 

I glanced around the room. There were a few other volunteers, all of them university students. Yup, only we’re stupid enough for this. “How—“ 

 

“$200 upon sign up and another $300 upon completion.” 

 

I narrowed my eyes. This was generous — very generous. “I could just sign up and run away with the $200.” 

 

“Well then, you’d be barred from all future research projects, and the $200 will be culled from your tuition fee.” Summer’s smile widened. 

 

Someone else, from another table, had just asked the same question. I winced. Okay, this was nothing unanticipated. “When?” 

 

Summer looked at the computer and pulled it up. “Well, we can do it on a weekday evening, but you’d have to be in overnight for observation because there are no medical staff signing you off that late. You’ll be routed to the nearby hospital wing for monitoring. Will that do?” 

 

I thought about it. I have shifts for the weekend. One night away from my crazy sex-starved neighbours sounded like a privilege that I should pay for. “Yeah weekday, next Friday? What time should I report?” 

 

Summer slid the paperwork across the table. “Fill this in, and I’ll get it into the system.” As I picked up the pen to start writing, she hummed. “A lefty.”

 

One of my eyebrows rose. “That a problem?” 

 

Most would assume I’m seeking a fight at this point, and they wouldn’t be wrong. I hated it when people pointed these thin differences as if it’s a big deal. 

 

“Oh no.” Summer shook her head, completely missing my irritation. “Just thought it’s something to note.” She turned to her computer and typed it right in. 

 

I narrowed my eyes. A niggling feeling itched along my skull. Things weren’t entirely how they seemed. That much was clear. But—

 

Summer pulled a locked box out of the cabinet under the desk, and she proceeded to count out two hundred dollars in tens before my eyes. I was, suffice to say, sufficiently distracted.  

 

“Do you have trouble filling in the forms?” 

 

Oh fuck. I shook my head and continued filling in the form. Some volunteers got their appointments set up and left. Others entered and received the same spiel I did. Nobody baulked, everyone signed up. As I pushed the form back to Summer, I couldn’t help but asked, “Is this normal? Researchers dealing with the recruitment as well?” 

 

Summer scanned my form briefly. “Oh no. It isn’t common. But I’m free, so why not?” 

 

I hummed, not entirely convinced, but Summer offered no other comments. Leaning back, I shifted to get comfortable. This part usually took some time since they had to run through everything to make sure it was all in order. Looking around, I realised I could see Summer’s computer screen in the reflection of the glass panel behind her. Now, my eyesight is a perfect 20/20, so I stared and read. There wasn’t much I could actually make out. The font sizes were too small, but the heading was unmistakable — “Candidate Programme”. 

 

Summer shifted, and my view was cut off. She smiled at me. “Now, if you persist on doing that, I’ll have to cut you for the programme. We do need a control group after all.” She placed her hand on the dollar bills. Her meaning was crystal clear. 

 

I raised my hands up. “Well, a girl can be curious, you know?” 

 

“I understand. The science is fascinating, but it wouldn’t be scientific if we don’t dot the i’s and cross the t’s.” She returned to her work. 

 

“Right.” I pulled my phone out and entertained myself reading about the dumpster fire of a social media site raging across the internet. It wasn’t worth $500 to get to the bottom of whatever this was. I’ve already agreed to having my nose stuffed full of wires anyway. 

 

Before long, Summer slid a sheet containing the information I needed towards me. “See you next Friday.” 

 

----

 

The week went by quicker with school and work. Or rather, it was more accurate to say it wrecked me. By the time, I trudged into the facility with my night bag on my shoulder, I'm running on fumes. The idea of being paid to be put to sleep was sounding like a luxury. My paperwork got processed by the receptionist. Now, all I have to do was wait. 

 

A few others sat around as well with overnight bags at their feet. No doubt, all fellow volunteers like myself. Everyone was absorbed with their phones, so I decided to join them too. 

 

Scrolling through the various social media timelines revealed that the world was burning in a million different ways — big and small. Nothing out of the ordinary. Frankly, I’m exhausted with my shit, I didn’t need to go borrow trouble. I frowned. There was a series of posts spinning around the people I follow. It had a new update. There had been yet another missing person. The current theory was we had a serial killer on the loose. I scanned the thread to refresh my memory — a lack of updates on the currently missing, a couple of alleged attempted kidnappings. But ultimately, there was nothing concrete. 

 

This couldn’t be real, could it? It might be some movie company’s idea of viral marketing. It was impossible to tell. And I didn’t really care. I sighed and scrolled on. 

 

One by one, every other person was called in. And then, there was just one — me. Expecting Summer to come get me, I was surprised to see another woman. “Is Summer not in charge of me?” I asked. 

 

“She is, but she’s scrubbing in. I’m Dr. Fox, Alexandria Fox. Call me Alex. I’m also going to be the one running the test.” She turned and extended a hand at me as we walked. 

 

I felt a firm hand squeezing mine. A single up and down motion later, we let go. “Good to know.” Alex was the opposite of Summer. Professional, serious, generic. It’s almost as if she had leapt out of a stock video website or something. No rainbow hair, no cute Harry Potter styled gold rimmed glasses, no non-stop chatting about the science. I think I prefer Summer. She’s more fun. 

 

I was brought to a ward with four other beds. Each bed had its set of monitors, presumably to be used on the volunteers after the study to make sure we were all okay. I dropped my bag onto the bed and sat down. 

 

Alex didn’t leave. Instead, she pulled up her tablet. “Because this is a study that carries its set of risk, we need to make sure you understand what’s going to happen—“ 

 

“You’re going to sedate me, keep me relaxed and shove wires up my nose and then into my brain. Then, you put me to sleep and talk to me while I’m asleep and record the brain waves or whatever you’re looking for with all those wires up my nose. Am I right?” I interrupted. I did my homework this time. No way was I going to be caught off guard again. This study paid better because it is not completely non-invasive. 

 

Alex frowned, the slightest hint of irritation. “Basically, yes.” She sighed. “Well, since you’ve done your homework reading the information packet, will you sign here to indicate that you consent to all of that?” She turned the tablet to me. I scribbled some horrible version of my signature with my finger, but she still didn’t leave. Swiping her finger across the screen, she proceeded to run through all the pre-procedure checks. “Have you had any food or water in the past six hours?

 

“No. And I’m starving right now.” 

 

Any drug allergies?” 

 

“None that I know of.” 

 

“Any allergies to latex or metals?” 

 

“Nope.” 

 

We ran through an entirely too-long list of potential allergies I might have. To which I've given the same answer over and over again. The only thing I’m allergic to is being poor. That’s why I’m here. 

 

Alex finally nodded. “Okay. We’re all done for the pre-test checks. Here’s your gown.” She placed a plastic package onto the height adjustable table. “Change into it. A nurse will be by to take you to the OR.” 

 

OR. Operating room. 

 

My mouth went completely dry as a chill ran down my spine. Second thoughts crowded my brain. This might be a bit much for an extra five hundred dollars, right? But it was five hundred dollars for something relatively simple. “It is safe, right?” I heard myself asking.

 

Alex looked up from the tablet. “Yes. There isn’t any foreseeable problems. Everything we’re doing are modifications to existing procedures, like endoscopic endonasal surgery. We have trained doctors to handle all the medical bits. The time you will be under will not be more than thirty minutes, that’s far shorter than most surgeries. So yes. I’d say it’s as safe as it can be.” 

 

Even though Alex didn’t sound reassuring, but she spoke in such a matter of fact tone it made me feel that no other possibilities would occur because why would it? Everything was taken care of already. It made everything sounded like it’s as easy as going to bed. Which I guess was precisely what I needed to do. 

 

“Okay… Right. So, I’ll just wait here?” I pulled the gown out of the plastic packaging and grimaced. It’s one of those that opened at the back. “Must the gowns all be this humiliating?” 

 

“Well, you’ll have the gown mostly removed for the procedure anyway, so don’t worry about it.” 

 

I froze. “What?” 

 

“You didn’t read that part?” Alex asked, genuinely confused. She swiped across the tablet screen and found what she was looking for. Her finger jabbed and highlighted the pertinent part. “We do not allow you to wear your clothes into the OR so that we can keep the OR sterile. Plus, we would need access to your chest for the monitors. If things go wrong, you wouldn’t want us to fight with your shirt.” She pointed at the hoodie I was wearing. “Don’t worry about the bottom part. You’d be wearing underwear.” Rummaging around the plastic packaging, she produced a smaller packet. “This one.” 

 

I took it. It was a disposable paper underwear. The uncomfortable kind. I made a face. 

 

Alex chuckled. “Well, think of this way. You won’t feel shit once you’re under.” 

 

“That’s one way to think about it.” 

 

And that was that. I changed and waited while seated on the bed as the stupid underwear actively tried to give me a wedgie, no matter how much I adjusted it. This is why this job paid $500. 

 

Fuck my life.