the fifty percent sleeper

That’s the title of a short fiction piece I have up at today; it’s about brain scanning and beef jerky, among other things. It starts like this:

Day 1, 6 a.m.

Ok, I’m locked into this place now. I’ve got ten pounds of beef jerky, fifty dollars for the vending machine, and a flash drive full of experiments to run. If I can get eighteen usable subjects’ worth of data in five days, Yezerski mows my lawn, does my dishes for a week, and walks my dog three times a week for two months. If I don’t get eighteen subjects done, I mow his lawn, do his dishes, and drive his disabled grandmother to physiotherapy once a week for six months. Also: if I don’t get any subjects scanned, I have to tattoo Yezerski’s grandmother’s name on my back in 50-point font. We both know it’s not going to come to that, but Yezerski insisted we make it a part of the bet anyway.

And then goes on in a similar vein. You might enjoy it if you like MRI machines and cerebellums. If you don’t care for brains, you’ll probably just find it silly.

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