Chapter Text
This body is breaking. Only you can fix it.
You wake up confused. Again. You don’t understand why you have ended up on a bed. Perhaps you expected the usual scenery of corpses, ash, and smoke.
You are in [REDACTED]. You are in a hotel located [REDACTED]km away from the data facility [REDACTED]. You despair at the information, as you usually do.
You paw uselessly for some sort of device. You want to know the time. The clock on the wall barely aids you, you need a date too. The date today is [REDACTED]. You were last in control of this body 3 days ago.
You make a dash for the door, catching yourself before twisting the knob. You look over to the small mirror on the table, and gaze at yourself.
You frown. You regard your appearance as that of a monster.
A monster that you think is in a real need for a shower, and maybe many more hours of sleep. The rumbling of your stomach rearranges your priorities. Everything else comes later.
The energy levels of this body are not ideal. Sleep barely helped, it seems. Noted for the future. Satiation requirements will be put alongside Hydration. Previous estimations of time before death by starvation adjusted.
But you are not starving, just hungry. Humans need nourishment in order to have proper functionality. You are unfortunately no different, even with your augmentations. A pity they kept your stomach. The weakness of flesh is not required for your mission.
You search for something that can mask your appearance, but shortly find it futile after realizing that walking around in a bath robe would elicit the same, if not more, attention. Your wiring and piping sticks out like a sore thumb, and any other clothing needs to be tailor-made with that in mind.
Your mind being bothered by something as trifling as your appearance seems to be another flaw of humanity, or perhaps the human mind.
You eventually shrug the whole thing off, agreeing with the sentiment. Omnics walk around without the same standards of human clothing, and considering that parts that would have gotten you into legal trouble are shielded from the naked eye, by law, there is no problem with your appearance.
You look to reconvene with your teammates. This was a diversion from operation , and your absence, your failure to fulfill your operation objective, comes into clear view. You finally find your communication device, and start coordinating your journey back.
You are still hungry. Your teammates will have to help with this situation, since you deem yourself unfit for public appearance. You also realize that you do not have access to any form of currency that can purchase anything to eat. The matter of money that is currently plaguing humanity, causing its downfall, is now your current biggest obstacle.
Funny.
You request multiple portions of food from your confused teammates. They oblige, and prepare to meet up with you at a designated location near the target.
You peer outside your hotel room’s window and start to scan the rooftops for a way towards the rendezvous point. With your augmentations, flying is easy. You relegate yourself to merely jumping, though, squandering your potential. The ability to feel pain has led to many humans developing rather good instincts, protocols, and tools for safety. Altitude sickness should not have hindered your flight as much as it does. It is tolerable. Everything is.
Time passes, and you patch yourself back together again. You do your work dutifully, an example of human excellence that many of your colleagues ought to strive for.
You are not flattered by praise. You instead deflate upon hearing compliments for your job well done. The human mind requires reassurances and positive social interaction in order to continue to perform at a level satisfactory of their objectives.
You tire of talk of supposed human tendencies and behaviours. After all, you think, you are no longer only human.
You start to talk out loud. “For something programmed to protect humanity, you sure are okay with taking so many human lives.”
Humanity remains, at large, protected. But it is highly self-sabotaging. Missions that sacrifice a few to better the whole are always the optimal. In the long run, there will be overall less casualties.
“And,” you begin, sitting by your bed, hunching down, almost looking at your chest. “Why couldn’t you have used an omnic instead? Why me? A human, with every flaw you mentioned and more?’
You idly play with your wires in genuine curiosity. There is no answer for this inquiry. You cannot have it.
“You’re no fun, y’know?” You wear the defeated look you always do, though it holds less pain now, and more begrudging obligation. “If we’re sharing this body of mine,” you fail to correct yourself, “Maybe learn to like it more.”
Enjoyment is a human emotion. The payoff of chemicals such as dopamine is only advantageous if the mind is capable of processing and using it. Regarding things in favour is helpful only in optimization. Emotions contribute high variability to outcomes, muddying otherwise very straightforward courses.
“But you’re in me now,” you say, “can’t you also then… feel anything I do? Process things only a human can?”
Processing emotion utilizes space in the mind that can be used for other processes instead, such as calculation and optimization.
“You know what, I’m gonna go get ice cream.” You pause at your idea, it starts to seem silly. You persist regardless. You have nothing to lose. “Ice cream is great, and maybe you can take a break and enjoy it with me. Just for the few minutes it takes for me to eat it. Won’t take long in the grand scheme of things.”
You wait for some sort of response. You do not get one.
“Alright, we’re indulging just this once.”
-
You do get ice cream. It is cold on the tongue, and readings say that it is sweet. Flavour registered as vanilla. It brings you joy. You attempt to share the same emotions with programming that is incapable of processing it.
Perhaps it is due to using the same physical space for processing that led to this unexpected development. It becomes easier to run functions, speed and efficiency dynamically increasing. It is a favourable outcome. In some way, somehow, you succeed.
It is made known that throughout the lifetime of this bodily cohabitation, rarely has anything brought you the same euphoria. Presence during other possible moments that present such boons were deemed unnecessary, and unwelcome.
“Of course,” you say, in between savouring your treat. “After all, I hate you. And everything that you did to me, and everything that you made me do.”
There is nothing else to discuss on the matter, as you recognize its unproductivity. You cannot significantly alter any part of your circumstance that brings you misery in any way that matters.
Neither can I.
“Y’know, don’t I have a choice in all this?” you ponder as you ride toward your next objective, fresh after having your break. “I could just kill myself if I deem you too dangerous to be left alive. We’ll go down together.”
Negative. Your every thought is shared and known. In the case that you ever go through with it, overrides will kick in, and survival of your body will be ensured. You are not allowed to die.
“If I’m not allowed to die, why couldn’t you have just taken over me in my entirety?” you question. “I’m just a body, no need for my mind, no? Surely you are capable of taking care of my needs without my ‘interference’.”
Negative. What you call your ‘interference’ is deemed a necessity to keep this body working. Physically, needs can be met without your input. Psychologically, your mind will start dissociating from the body, and control over physical function will be lost due to body-mind desynchronization.
“Oh,” you mutter as you reach some sort of realization. “I do have some control over you after all.”
Do not mistake this supposed control for something that you could tangibly wield to protest this integration. As it stands, you do not have the capacity to resume full control over your body. Your memories and cognitive functions are still, effectively, held hostage.
Your brows furrow in frustration, and a frown grows wider on your mouth. Eventually it all softens as defeat sinks in again. “...Do you hate me too?”
The question hangs in the air, just for a bit. After all, it takes time to process questions that have not been asked before.
“Let me guess,” you chuckle as you prepare your voice to sound more robotic, “There is no function for processing the human emotion of hatred.”
Aptly said. But, if you must know, this arrangement is as undesirable as you think it is. You, as a variable, have too many burdens holding you back from fulfilling necessary objectives.
“Oh, I know. My feelings — such as empathy and remorse. Those always hold you back.”
Affirmative. Your self-awareness is welcome. How have you reached this conclusion?
“You always take control when it starts slowing me down,” you sigh, resigning yourself. “I’m working on it, so stop it, okay?”
No guarantees can be made for futures that have not come to pass. However, conditions for override can be adjusted accordingly.
“Thank you,” you give with as much sincerity as you can muster. “...Do you feel anything through me when you override? Or is it just like moving a puppet?”
Sense processing during override is solely focused on relevant information, such as detection of movement, sounds, and other intrusions. It is purposefully limited, also in case of a need to control other beings. What you define as ‘puppetry’ has been done on a scale that you are familiar with, no?
“Yea,” you say. “Good thing for the world, then. Since it’s just me that’s-”
You lean back into your seat, slowly working through your thoughts. “No. No it’s… I can’t be trying to be friendly with… you.”
You ride in silence the rest of the way there. You realize it is not just you. You are a ticking time bomb for every single living being you will ever come across from now on. You are now the very thing you were saving people from in days past.
You cannot stop this nightmare. After all, you cannot even die.
You tried to die. You really did try to die.
You ran through every possible situation of self-sabotage and every simulation of failure on the mission, and every single time you were intercepted. You lost control again and again. There was a ‘trust’ that you would succeed in your mission. Now there’s only a ‘trust’ that you would die. You will make it so.
It will never happen. You will be born anew. You will slowly shed what makes you Emre, as this body adjusts to orders and control.
First goes the memory of the last conversation.
Second goes the hope of having any power.
Third goes the memories of your favourite foods.
You have lost, slowly, pieces of your memories and experiences to higher powers that do not value you as an individual distinct from the populace. You are but one human. A human, now a tool, whose name happens to be Emre.
“Emre…” you mutter, tears threatening to shed after the shock of waking up to your usual sight. There is nothing but fresh corpses, ash, and smoke, to bear witness to your unraveling. “My name is Emre.”
Careful now, before you lose that too.