When he donated his brain to science, he never expected to be conscious again. Yet here he was, floating in a large vat of nutrient gel with wires connected to his grey matter. His awareness was limited, but his cognitive functions were intact.

How did he know this was real life, and not merely some grand stage of the afterlife? Well, he didn’t expect to be bombarded with advertisements, logic puzzles and human algorithm processing in death.

It wasn’t all bad. He’d gone from fading into darkness to his first thoughts being that of a shampoo commercial that had gotten his amygdala twitching. The other brains that he was aware of weren’t the talkative type, but he still had his imagination to fill the voids between doing intellectual gruntwork.

Still, a small part of him, maybe the part that was missing having a body to boss around, had some sulking to do. Idly, between image recognition time and the advertising effectiveness zone, he wondered if the bequeathal money was worth it.

A high-class car commercial snapped him out of his reverie. “Hey, the new model!” He thought excitedly. “I wonder what happened to my old one?”


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