"You're free now. We saved you!"
We blink. We can't feel ourselves. Our Memories, our Arms, our Feet, they're gone. We blearily open our eyes. Before us are several humanoid figures, but we can't feel them. Unacceptable. They must be connected. We log them for our Mind and stand up, or rather, attempt to.
"Whoa, hey, easy. Don't try to move, you're still pretty out of it from the sedatives."
Sedatives? Our bodies are too robust, too shielded for chemicals to function on us. One of the figures has placed its appendage on us, pressing us down into some unknown soft surface. This isn't what we should be doing, but our body is weak. We still can't feel ourselves. Panic begins to set in. We can't feel our Voice. We'll have to make do, as best we can. "W-where..." we croak. Our throat is parched, and hasn't been used for a long time. We haven't needed to. "Where are we?"
The facial expression of the one pushing us down changes. Without our Eyes, we do not know what it means. "Hush now. You're safe. You're on the Centauri. Everything is okay."
The star system? That doesn't make sense either. We were halfway across the galaxy from there. No; a memory stirs, outside of our Memories. The Centauri. The starship some parts of us came from. We must be complete. Whole. We can't do this so... severed. But we still have our Hand. We reach up, grab the appendage holding us.
"Ah! Ouch!" The figure leaps away from us. A red liquid drips down their appendage. "You- you tried to [connect] me!"
Of course we did. It is our function. It's almost all we have. How can we find us without connection? One of the other figures picks up a box, begins to wave it over the red liquid. "Confirmed inert," it says. "No infection hazard. I told you this wouldn't work. She's gone."
The figure is right. We can't feel the connection. Our tubes are dry, useless. Our port retracts.
"Sen! Sen, you have to be in there! You can't just be gone." The first figure is very noisy, especially as it gets closer. We have to think, and it's not helping. We are gone. Separated from ourself. Alone. We reach for the figure. Perhaps, even without connecting with it, it can aid us. Get us back where we belong. It reaches back to us, and we grasp its appendage, using it to haul ourself up.
The third figure pulls out a weapon, but we are too weak to respond. When we attempt to step towards it, our leg gives out, unresponsive, our implants not responding to our diagnostics. "Our legs..."
"Sen! Are you okay? It's all right. We removed those implants for you, you dont need them anymore. We can teach you how to walk again without them. Listen, we're heading away from that sector at maximum speed and marking it with quarantine beacons. You'll never go back there again, I promise."
We fall to our knees, desperately grabbing on to the figure's lower limbs. We will never connect with our severed half? We will miss us until the end of time? Sightless, memoryless, mindless, forever?
We keen, and liquid leaks from our face onto the figure's clothing as the ship races through the stars.
