Mens Sana

Enhanced

The morning light was gray through the apartment windows, typical for November in Ballard. River woke to the soft ping of her neural interface completing overnight analysis—metrics on her current projects, user feedback patterns, three new approaches to the checkout flow problem. The information surfaced naturally, like remembering something she’d always known.

She stretched, feeling the familiar presence of the interface as it moved with her skin. Two years since the surgery, and it still felt new some mornings. The port behind her left ear was no bigger than a button, but it had changed her.

Max whined from his bed by the window. The little terrier mix was more like clockwork at times than the AI in River’s head.

“Okay buddy,” she said, padding into the kitchen. While the coffee brewed, she checked her morning threads. Her local model—running on the interface’s dedicated hardware—had been re-analyzing her application to VeriMed Devices overnight. A thread finished and she “remembered” three data points: the company’s rapid growth in neural implant technology, their recent FDA approvals for next—gen prosthetics, and a 73% correlation between her product engineering experience and their posted requirements.

Today was her final interview. Everything before this had gone well—technical assessment, cultural fit screening, portfolio review. The position was exactly what she wanted: a Senior Product Engineer working on human-machine integration. After two years building features for pet wellness apps, she was ready to work on something that mattered more. Something that touched what she’d become.

She poured coffee and looked out at the street. Rain was coming—she could smell it mixing with the salt air that drifted up from the Sound. The Douglas firs in the neighbor’s yard swayed slightly. This neighborhood still felt like Seattle, before all the changes.

After enhancement started to feel safe, the change happened faster than anyone expected. Once enhanced engineers started showing they could identify user needs *and* build solutions—running analysis threads in parallel with writing code, holding entire systems architectures in working memory—the industry shifted. Non-enhanced engineers adapted or moved into specialized roles. It wasn’t meant to be cruel, it was just efficient.

River had seen it coming early. She’d watched her peers at work start to outpace her, their thought processes augmented by AI threads. She’d felt herself falling behind in sprint planning and technical discussions, or even in holding increasingly complex systems in her mind while debugging. The surgery had cost a year’s worth of savings and three weeks of recovery. The risks were real—infection, rejection, neural pathway damage..

But so was falling behind.

Max barked at his leash. River set down her coffee and clipped it on, taking him for a quick walk around the block. The sky was low and soft, the color of wet concrete. A few other early risers were out with their dogs. One woman nodded at River—enhanced too, from the faint telltale scarring at her temples. They didn’t speak, but there was recognition.

Back home, River showered and dressed carefully. Professional but not corporate—fitted black pants, a lightweight gray sweater, her favorite leather jacket. She checked herself in the mirror. The port behind her ear was visible if you knew to look, a small circular interface about the size of a dime. The scarring at her temples had faded but was still there, fine silver lines where the neural threading had been installed.

She could cover it.. wear her hair down.. a hat?

But that felt wrong. This was who she was now. What she was. VeriMed made enhancement technology—they of all companies should understand.

She scratched Max behind his ears. “Wish me luck, buddy.”

---

The VeriMed offices occupied three floors of a glass and steel building in South Lake Union. River arrived fifteen minutes early, which gave her interface time to run atmospheric analysis: the receptionist’s greeting patterns, the office layout, the mix of enhanced and non-enhanced employees moving through the space. About 40% enhanced, her threads estimated. Lower than she’d expected for a medical devices company working on implant technology.

The lobby smelled like new construction and expensive coffee. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at Lake Union, gray water under gray sky. She checked in and settled into a minimalist chair to wait.

Her interviewer appeared at 9:00 exactly. Marcus Webb, VP of Product Development. Mid-fifties, gray at the temples, wearing a button-down and slacks that suggested he’d come up before the casual revolution. He smiled and extended his hand.

“River Chen? Marcus Webb. Thanks for coming in.”

His handshake was firm. His eyes went to her temple, then away. Quick, but she caught it. A thread noted the reaction, inconclusive. People looked, it didn’t mean anything.

“Thanks for having me,” she said. “I’m excited to learn more about how VeriMed approaches neural prosthetics.”

They took the elevator to the third floor. Marcus made small talk about the weather, the traffic. River’s threads ran continuous analysis on his tone, his body language, the micro-expressions flickering across his face. Everything read normal, professional.

The conference room was sparse—table, chairs, whiteboard, windows overlooking the water. Marcus gestured for her to sit and pulled out a tablet.

“So,” he said, “you’ve done impressive work at PetVitality. The behavioral prediction features you built have real technical depth.”

“Thank you. It was a good challenge, pet behavior is surprisingly complex when you get into the pattern analysis.”

“I imagine the AI helps with that.” His tone was neutral, but something in the phrasing made her interface spike an alert. The way he said “the AI” instead of “your interface” or “your enhancement.” Creating distance.

“It helps me work faster,” River said carefully. “But the product thinking is mine—understanding what users need, what problems are worth solving.”

“Of course.” He looked down at his tablet. “Walk me through your process. When you’re designing a feature, where does your thinking end and … the assistance begin?”

There it was. River felt the analysis running, parsing the question from multiple angles while she kept her expression neutral. It was a reasonable question on the surface—understanding how she worked. But the pause before “the assistance,” the slight emphasis—it carried weight.

“It’s not really separable,” she said, which was true. “The interface runs parallel threads, surfaces relevant information, helps me hold more context. But I’m still making the decisions. It’s augmentation, not replacement.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “We’re very committed to human-centered design here at VeriMed. The human element—intuition, creativity, emotional intelligence—those things can’t be automated.”

“I agree,” River said. The implication was clear though: that enhancement somehow reduced those qualities. “That’s why I’m interested in this role. The prosthetics work is about giving people more capability while keeping them fundamentally themselves.”

“Right.” He flipped through something on his tablet. “When did you decide to get enhanced?”

The question landed hard. Personal, potentially discriminatory, definitely not standard interview material. But his tone was conversational, almost casual.

“Two years ago,” she said. “The industry was shifting, I wanted to remain competitive.”

“Wanted to, or needed to?”

River felt her jaw tighten. “Both, I guess. Is that relevant to the role?”

Marcus looked up, and for a moment something showed in his face—not quite anger.. but something worn and sad. “We think a lot about the future here. What we’re building. What it means for people who make different choices.”

Different choices. Three ways to interpret that phrase, none of them good.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, keeping her voice level.

“The technology’s moved fast.” Marcus set down his tablet. “Two years ago, enhancement was cutting-edge. Expensive. Now it’s mainstream. We’re seeing talented engineers—people who built this industry—struggling to keep up with enhanced competitors. There’s something lost there. A kind of human excellence that doesn’t need augmentation.”

River felt heat rising in her chest. Full analysis now—his word choices, his body language, the careful way he was framing this. He wasn’t yelling, he wasn’t cruel, but the message was clear.

“Are you saying you don’t hire enhanced engineers?” she asked directly.

“No, no.” He raised a hand. “We have several on staff. But we’re thoughtful about it. We want to maintain a balance. Preserve the… organic thinking that makes for good product development.”

Organic thinking. The phrase was showing up in think pieces and HR blogs—codes for non-enhanced. A way to value “natural” human intelligence against augmentation. As if her thoughts were somehow artificial now.

“My thinking is organic..” she said quietly. “It’s just augmented. I’m still the one thinking.”

Marcus nodded, but his expression hadn’t changed. “I appreciate you coming in, River. You’re obviously talented. We’ll be in touch with next steps.”

The interview had been scheduled for an hour. They’d talked for twenty-three minutes.

River stood, shook his hand again, and walked out.

Every analysis screamed alerts—rejection patterns, discrimination markers, the subtle shift from evaluation to dismissal. She kept her face neutral through the lobby, through the elevator, through the walk to the street.

The rain had started. Light, misting. She stood on the sidewalk and let it touch her face.

Her interface surfaced a simple conclusion, one she’d already known: she wasn’t getting this job. Not because of her skills or portfolio. Because of what she was.

Because she’d chosen to enhance. Because she’d needed to enhance. Because the world had moved and she’d moved with it, and now someone who wanted the old world back was closing the door.

---

The transit ride back to Ballard took forty minutes. River watched the city slide past—South Lake Union giving way to Fremont, then the residential streets of her own neighborhood. The interface ran continuous analysis on the interview, breaking down every micro-expression, every word choice, every tell. Marcus Webb hadn’t seemed hateful.. something in his eyes had looked worn, sad. Like he was protecting something he loved. Like he was watching something slip away.

That didn’t make it hurt less.

The rain picked up as she walked from the bus stop to her apartment building. She could smell the Sound now, salt and seaweed mixing with the wet concrete smell of the city. Ballard still had some of the old character—the maritime history, the Scandinavian heritage, the working-class bones under the new development. River had grown up in the suburbs south of Seattle, but this neighborhood felt right. It felt like the Pacific Northwest she loved: practical, unpretentious, comfortable with gray skies and rain.

Max barked and danced towards her when River entered her apartment. Reliably excited, looking forward to a walk. Despite everything, River smiled.

“Hey buddy, miss me?”

Max barked again and tagged his leash with his nose.

“Okay, okay. Let me change.”

She peeled off her interview clothes and put on jeans, a hoodie, waterproof jacket. The rain was steady now—not a downpour, but the kind of persistent drizzle that could last all day. Perfect.

They walked north toward Golden Gardens, taking the residential streets. Max sniffed every tree, every mailbox, every interesting smell on the sidewalk. River let her thoughts unspool.

The interface hummed along, processing. It surfaced relevant patterns—other enhanced people reporting similar experiences, data on workplace discrimination, the growing cultural divide between enhanced and non-enhanced workers. River pushed it to the background. Right now she just wanted to walk.

The smell of wet cedar mixed with rain and salt. Someone was burning wood in a fireplace—that particular scent of fall turning toward winter. The sky was the color of old paper, soft and low. River had always loved this weather. The gray felt honest, uncomplicated.

She thought about the surgery. The feeling of waking up with something new inside her skull. The first time a thread completed and surfaced information—it had felt alien and natural at the same time, like suddenly remembering how to do something she’d never learned. The recovery had been hard. Headaches for weeks. Neural adjustment therapy. Relearning how to think with parallel threads running alongside her primary consciousness.

But it had worked. She’d become faster, more capable. She could hold entire product roadmaps in her mind, could analyze user data in real-time during meetings, could prototype features while simultaneously researching technical approaches. She’d gone from falling behind to leading sprints.

And now someone looked at her temples and saw something less than human. Something inorganic.

Max stopped to pee. River looked up at the soft sky and felt the rain on her face. Cold mist on her forehead, her cheeks. The kind of rain that got into everything—her jacket, her jeans, the spaces between her thoughts.

Knowing why Marcus had rejected her didn’t make it hurt less. Didn’t change what had happened. Didn’t get her the job.

As she walked home, River let her interface explore the enhanced professional networks she’d joined a year ago. The forums were always active, people sharing job search experiences, discussing workplace dynamics, debating policy and legislation. Threads surfaced recent conversations:

Interview went great until they saw my port. Suddenly very interested in my “decision-making process.”

Third rejection this month. Same pattern every time. “We’ll be in touch.” Sure.

Got asked if my “real self” was still in there. During a fucking panel interview.

Hundreds of similar posts. The news was no different:

Senate Committee Debates Enhanced Worker Protections

Tech Industry Split over “Enhancement Gap” in Hiring

Protests at Neural Tech Headquarters: “Keep Humans Human”

Her interface pulled metadata, cross-referenced sources, analyzed bias patterns in the reporting. The story was complex and messy. The efficiency gap was real. Companies that hired enhanced engineers moved faster, built more, competed better. Non-enhanced workers were struggling. Resentment was building.

River hadn’t asked for this. She’d made a choice—or been forced into a choice—to keep up with a changing industry. She’d paid for it with money and pain and weeks of recovery. She’d earned her capability.

Except “earned” implied that non-enhanced people who couldn’t afford the surgery or didn’t want the risks hadn’t earned theirs. That wasn’t fair either.

As she neared home she thought about Marcus Webb again. The sadness in his eyes. He’d probably built his career before enhancement existed. Probably mentored people, the old way. Maybe watched them struggle now against augmented competitors.

His pain might be real. Hers definitely was.

Understanding didn’t solve anything. Didn’t change what happened.

---

Back home, River toweled Max off, changed out of her wet things and made tea. She sat on her couch and pulled out her phone. Max jumped up beside her, turned three circles, and collapsed against her thigh with a sigh. She scratched his head absently.

Her friend Samir had texted her. He wasn’t enhanced, a software architect at a mid-sized company:

How’d the interview go?

She typed: Not great. Don’t think I got it.

His response came quickly: Their loss. You’re brilliant.

River smiled despite herself. Samir had been supportive when she got enhanced, even as he watched his own job prospects narrow. He was good at his work, but he couldn’t compete with engineers who could hold entire codebases in parallel threads. He’d moved into architecture and mentorship, finding a niche. But she knew it hurt him too.

Her friend Jess, enhanced, working in biotech:

Any news on VeriMed?

Bombed. Interviewer was scared of enhancement.

Jesus. I’m sorry. Same shit everywhere lately.

Yeah. You seeing it too?

Constantly. Got turned down last week. They said “cultural fit.” Sure.

River set down her phone and leaned back. Max adjusted his position, pressing closer. Outside, the rain continued. The apartment was warm but felt smaller suddenly, like the walls were closer.

Her threads ran parallel analyses on policy proposals, the economics, the social dynamics. No clean answers emerged. Just complexity and hurt on all sides.

Data on pending legislation surfaced—three bills in committee, each trying to address the enhancement gap from different angles. Protection for enhanced workers against discrimination. Quotas requiring companies to maintain non-enhanced staff ratios. Tax credits for companies training non-enhanced workers in specialized roles. None of the bills had momentum. No one could agree what fair meant. Enhanced workers needed jobs. Non-enhanced workers needed jobs. No compromise worked for both.

Evening settled over Ballard. The rain continued, steady and soft, drawing lines on her windows. River opened her laptop and pulled up three more job applications. Two medical device companies, one biotech firm working on neural interfaces. She updated her cover letters, refined her resume, checked that everything was current. Optimization running in the background, suggesting better phrasings, stronger technical examples.

It was late when she finally closed the laptop. The rain had softened to mist. River walked to the window. Seattle spread out before her—lights on the hills, the dark suggestion of the Sound beyond. Traffic sounds from the street below, wet tires on pavement.

Tomorrow, she’d hear back from other applications. She’d keep looking. She’d adapt, persist, find a way forward. She was good at her work, someone would see that.

Tonight, she just stood and watched the rain. Max slept quietly in his bed nearby. She didn’t know what came next, nobody did.

But she’d keep going.