“We can certainly do that for you.”

The scientist with the thick-framed glasses tosses a piece of paper and a pen from his desk over to the sitting patient. Yet the patient kept staring at both the scientists who loomed over them. With their lanky figures and big heads blocking the lights above, their faces painted black, only a silhouette to the patient’s regard.

“Sorry, what’s this?” The patient finally ground their attention down on the paper before them. They blinked, eyes painting a little puzzlement. The font was too small, even for the heading. While having their way of reading and figuring out what purpose the paper serves, the other scientist, a blond, went ahead to disrupt.

“A waiver. Just sign it over so we can go on with it.” He walked a few steps away to peek at the two-way mirror. “Your Android’s ready.” The patient can also clearly see that.

The room fell silent again as the patient glued their eyes to the paper. Only the buzzing of lights and the blond scientist tapping the mirror filled the vacancy of this dingy room. But the silence stretches. The patient kept reading, as if engraving every written word into his brain. No one dares to interfere with their scrutiny, and so the scientist with the thick glasses went back to his desk to type something on his computer. Soon, a mellow drift of something that resonates of Sinatra sways the room.

“Go ahead and tell us if you’ve signed it,” said the scientist, pulling away from his computer to gaze back at the patient.

The patient remained still. They shook their head, dragging the paper close to their eyes. “I HEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE ALL THE RISKS OF PARTICIPATING FOR– You said this test will work safely?” Their grip on the paper tightened, leaving wrinkles at their mark. Turning back to the two scientists, the patient’s eyelids sag.

The blond scientist faced the patient with a smile, yet a muted sigh accompanied that smile. “We can assure you that, thankfully, there aren’t any tests that end in misfortune yet. But in case of–”

“We always have to assign every patient to a waiver,” interrupted the four-eyed scientist. His voice–deep–echoed around the room. “The waiver is simply mandatory. It is out of our control.” He approaches the patient; his footsteps vibrated the floor. He grabbed the pen and clicked it as he handed it out to them. “So, if you just…”

The patient didn’t grab the pen. Their eyes return to the paper. “ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF UNDERSTOOD RISKS… RETROGRADE AND/OR ANTEROGRADE MEMORY LOSS? I can get amnesia? Will my memories stay in my Android once I get back to my body? Am I just a hollow shell by then?”

“There’s nothing to worry about. This is all legal jargon,” continued the scientist next to them, still holding out the pen.

“Sounds more like medical jargon to me,” The patient chuckled, although their brows knit together. “And this is only the test, right? I won’t get permanently transferred until 20 years?”

“That’s correct, this is only the test. You will have to return in exactly 20 years for the full procedure.” The scientist kept hovering the pen over the patient’s face. It seems more taunting now than before, with how hard he grips the pen and how the veins on his hands are popping out.

The patient finally took the pen between their fingers. “I won’t die, right?”

“We can assure you, you won’t,” answered the other scientist leaning by the two-way mirror. He was already crossing his arms and tapping his feet like a restless bunny.

.

.

.

The pen was rough against the paper, but the patient signed it nonetheless.

Dr. Hugo’s smile drew to his face for the first time. While he adjusted his glasses, his other hand grabbed the signed waiver. “Fantastic. Now, Dr. Frasier will accompany you to the chamber. He will get you hooked up to your Android, and I will be here getting everything else set up. There is simply nothing to worry about, you will be lost under ataraxia.”