Six years ago, on a muggy October afternoon in 2019, I walked out of a downtown piercing studio with thirteen millimeters of bioglass and copper sealed beneath the web of skin between my thumb and index finger. The installer wiped away a single bead of blood, snapped off his gloves, and the future settled quietly into my hand.

The first week was all antiseptic soap and subconscious flinches, little reminders that I‘d just invited hardware to live under my skin. By day ten the swelling was gone; by day thirty I needed the reflection of a phone screen to find the scar. What never faded was the shiver of delight every time a phone buzzed and my personal site bloomed on‑screen. Tap‑to‑URL felt like teleporting a business card straight into someone’s pocket. I locked the tag read‑only on day one, so five years later it still points to the same URL, unaltered.

Somewhere between changing bandages and high‑fiving friends, I tumbled head‑first into radio‑frequency nerd‑land: late nights dissecting MIFARE command frames, exploring how protocol quirks can be harnessed for stronger security, and occasionally frying Arduino boards with over‑ambitious antenna builds. Curiosity spilled outward: satellite downlink specs, long‑distance RFID tags, any scheme that pushed bits through the air. The implant turned from party trick to portal, opening an invisible playground every time I powered up the SDR.

Phones caught up, too. Back in 2019, iPhones needed an app; nowadays a casual bump works out of the lock screen. Most people react with a grin, some with worry, a few with envy, especially when they realise the implant cost less than a dinner in Orlando and never runs out of battery. Occasionally a security guard wants to see ID after the trick; I hand them my plastic card, smile, and wonder which credential really proves more.

I get asked if I’d do it again. The honest answer is that I already forget it’s there, until I’m shaking hands at a meetup and someone’s phone chirps. In that instant it’s 2019 all over again, and I’m reminded that technology feels magical only when we’re brave enough to let it cross the skin‑boundary.

The next implant? Probably one that unlocks my front door and kicks on the coffee machine as I step inside. Once you’ve embedded one line of code under your skin, adding a few more feels inevitable.