GIFTWRAPPED

Over the television, perpetually turned on, Harvey heard the doorbell.
"I think I heard the doorbell, " he told Irma, his wife. She nodded.
Sliding on his slippers and tightening his bathrobe, he opened the door. Nobody was there. He scanned left, right, then down. There, lying at his feet, was a small, thin package fancily wrapped in green foil with red ribbon. "Look, Irm, " he said. "Someone's given us a gift."
She looked back at him. "Nobody gives gifts these days," she said.
He shuffled back over to his easy chair, holding the gift delicately.
"Do you think I should open it now?"
"I don't know," Irma replied. "Is it even your gift? Is there a tag with it?"
He poked at the gift, and pulled aside a small yellowish card that read "HARVEY: REMEMBER."
"Yes," he said, "It's for me, looks like."
"Well, I guess whoever sent it wants you to open it."
He tugged at the ribbon holding the wrapping together, slightly at first, but then more firmly until it began to come undone. The wrapping appeared hastily put together, and he didn't have to tug much for it to drop to the ground and reveal its contents: a little black box with a single red button. On the button, two words: "PUSH ME."
He looked up at Irma. "It says, push me."
"What if it's a bomb?"
"Gee, Irm, I dunno. That wouldn't be much of a gift."
"It would be for whoever sent it... did you make enemies, Harvey?"
He made a quizzical face. "Um.. no. I always try to be nice to everyone."
“Aw, Harv… just give it over to me. I’ll throw it away.”
“B-but it’s my gift. It might be something else, you know.”
“How in God’s name would you be able to find that out? Just give it to me.”
His fingers clenched tighter around the strange box. “No, I think I’ll keep it.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s a black box with a red button. It might be a bomb. It might be completely useless. Either way, it’s garbage.” She arose from her recliner and approached Harvey with her hands out. “Just hand it over.”
“No.”
Harvey clutched the box and pressed it tightly against him, and Irma made her move. She grabbed whatever little of the box she could and tried to yank against his stubborn fingers. Her face turned red with agitation. “Let…. Go…..”
The commotion almost drowned out the steady stream of monotonous instructions coming from the television, with him holding the box tighter than ever, and her yanking with all of her might, and both gasping for breath and their last fiber of strength.
He wailed, “You… never…. Let me have…. Anything!” - - and with that, the box, finally torn from his hands, flew across the room and hit the far wall, precisely where they weren’t expecting the collision – right square on the button, pressing it. They both stared slack-jawed at the box on the floor, red button now flashing furiously.
“Oh my god. Harry, I tried to save you. Really, Harry, I tried to-“
“Save me from what?” he asked. But already, he knew. More precisely, he remembered. The circuit block in the brain, installed by the High Command should certain circumstances warrant, like this. The subtle hack, engineered by one of the few remaining in the Resistance. The trigger, in the form of the little black box with the red button.
It would only be a matter of time – the sirens, the door crashing down.
At least now, he was prepared.