Morality Override

Flash Fiction — A nifty new invention promises to be a panacea for soaring crime and societal decay... if only its creator could figure out a way to persuade everyone to adopt it.

The chip wasn’t a tornado, springing up on a moment’s notice to sweep your house away; it was the planet-killer asteroid that humanity spotted and stared down for years.

Developers called it "Morality Override," a radical but ultimately necessary solution to soaring violent crime, antisocial behavior, and civil unrest.

First came the carrot: early adopters were offered reduced insurance rates, special seating at live events and on public transportation—even priority consideration for jobs.

“The chip only stops you from doing awful things—stuff no law abiding citizen would want to do anyway,” came the argument from every news personality and celebrity. “What’s your real reason for not wanting it? A little pinch in your neck? Grow up.”

I, along with my family and friends, were skeptical. The perks weren't enough to persuade us to go under the knife. I could sit out a few concerts... postpone some trips.

When sign-ups for the procedure slowed, they brought out the stick.

“The voluntary phase is over,” we were told during a televised address. “We’re no longer asking, we’re ordering.”

Civil rights lawyers fought the order in court for years before getting a 6-2 smackdown in the Supreme Court.

“There’s precedent.”

“A compelling government interest.”

Hospitals were cleared to make time for implant procedures. A mailed notice told me my appointment time and date.

“Leaving your residence for any other reason beyond the posted time and date will be considered felonious activity,” the document explained.

Treatment was invasive: a slice below the ear to insert a device that would tap into my brain stem. A shortage of medical drugs meant I had to go under the knife with little more than an ibuprofen to dull the pain. The thing they installed has the diameter of a penny and feels like an inflexible skin-to-spine splinter, making it impossible to turn my head all the way to the left. My body knows it doesn’t belong.

I live with a lasting ache, along with a strange little voice in my head. It’s as if my conscience became a distinct entity with its own voice, chiming in whenever an unsavory or insensitive thought comes to mind.

More alarming were the changes below my shoulders. I never drove above the speed limit. Never jaywalked. These weren’t conscious decisions, mind you; my feet just wouldn’t let me break the law. I could raise neither cigarettes nor whiskey to my lips. The same went for forkfuls of certain foods, beyond a weekly allocated limit.

When they opened tip lines to catch unchipped neighbors, my fingers flew to my phone to text the authorities about any rule breakers.

For a while, holdouts managed to blend in. Their lives became an increasingly difficult game of copy-cat, scrambling to adopt and emulate the new permissible behaviors the rest of us picked up instantaneously through weekly auto-updates.

When our jails were full, we received a new update: violators were to be killed on sight. By this point, only the most masterful imitators had remained uncaught. Even these few had a difficult time properly faking the restricted range of motion imposed by the implant.

That’s how I caught my son.

When my hands — over the impotent protestations of my brain — broke my child’s neck, I finally could appreciate the true distinction between moral, and legal.

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Thank You for Reading!

This short story is part of the Low Road collection. Subscribe to make sure you don’t miss future stories and installments. I’ve been on quite a sci-fi kick lately, I hope you’ve enjoyed this little detour from my usual style.

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