[ WP ] Religious radicals believe that most of life is n't being appreciated . They create a neuro-disease that causes brain loss of any part of the brain not used every month . People have to start compensating for their apathy .

The second alarm goes off at 7 in the morning. The first, a few hours before, sharply shrilled that it was time to get up and shower. Hungover and covered with the sweat and scents of the night before, I had dragged myself through the morning routine of cleansing. There was plenty of time beneath the lukewarm stream of water to contemplate the sadness of another hangover caused by drinking alone. It'd been weeks since I last had a chance to talk to another human, instead of just the PC terminal supplied by work. I towelled off and staggered through to the living-room and slumped in front of the computer, waiting for the piercing whistle to repeat, to emanate from my phone. The second alarm marked that it was time for the Remembrance. 
 
 I sigh, move the empty beer bottles away from my desk and load up Hitchens 2. Since the Bliss neurovirus was released, there was a killing to be made from this sort of software; software designed to take you through a basic test, activating every faculty you'd conceivably need to prevent the atrophy. First, colour recognition and geometric shapes. Second, basic maths ramping into some gentle algebra and trigonometry. English, ethics, road safety, compassion testing, aesthetics, philosophical contemplation, the sciences. It was a hard sell at the beginning, for companies to give their employees the few hours off each morning they needed for the state-mandated testing, but given the choice between late employees and those in conscious comas, they made the right choice. 
 
 Two hours later, the general test finishes. I flick through my results, 91 % recognition of the basic concepts, not too bad after a night of hard drinking. Next would come a quick half hour personal session: the names of loved ones, relations to family members, anniversaries and birthdays. A prompt flashes on the screen: `` Please enter your identity number and full name''. I rattle my digits in, 12958321-A, and tab down to the field for my name. I blank. Slight panic begins to grow as I search my beer-soaked consciousness for that basic, bloody basic, detail. It'd been too long since I last had to introduce myself with anything other than my work ID number, too long since I had any reason to say those damned words out loud. Darren? No. Christopher? No, definitely not. I shout and swear and blaspheme out loud, as I slowly feel the neurovirus go to work; Purgatory, we call it, a limbo without knowledge, tied with a purging. It dissolves me gently. 
 
 The panic subsides. I stare blankly at the flashing cursor, waiting for me to enter some detail or another. I'm not sure what it's asking for, but I'm sure it's not too important or I'd remember it. I sit there, staring. Just staring. I'm sure it'd come back to me eventually.
