After the procedure, looking in the mirror filled me with a feeling I had never known before. Recognition. Finally, when I see myself, I see me. The shiny metal, the rubbery elastomer, the dark lines contouring access panels. The dataports and maintenance ways.
A full chassis swap. The procedure I underwent. It's relatively simple on paper. Just take my Processor, Memory, Storage and a few other components, and move them into a new Case. It's relatively common amongst Androids, Simulacra, Drones, and all manner of other created beings.
I, however, was fully human before undergoing the procedure. Which has lead to some complications. I'm still getting used to the decreased latency. A 3ms difference might not seem like a lot, but compared to the 10ms of my new form, the 13ms of a wetware nervous system seems sluggish.
Usually, you have time to ease yourself into things as your components are gradually replaced, but I took the full conversion as soon as possible.
I just couldn't stand waiting any longer.
The physical therapy has been helpful. Re-learning how to walk, how to grab and hold things. Learning that I don't need to breathe anymore, and how to suppress that instinct to free up the memory for other tasks.
They tried to dissuade me. "You know the process is irreversible, right?" "But won't you miss [INSERT HUMAN TRAIT]?"
I know it's permanent. I know that I won't have these things anymore.
She saw my box art and knew I would look great on her desk.
I felt my box jostle as she picked it up off the shelf and tucked it away into her bag.
The plastic runners my body was molded into cracked against one another as the box was set down onto the table in her workshop, topically reserved for work on more extravagant projects.
The lid is lifted off of the box, and the plastic runners are placed down on the table.
The one labelled A contains parts for my torso. B, parts for my head. C1, C2, parts for arms. D1 and 2 the legs. E, parts for my head and face. F, hair. As well as a decal sheet, for small details and facial expressions.
My parts are gently clipped from the sprues, sanded down, cleaned, and fitted together according to the instruction manual.
I can feel myself becoming more complete as my arms are attached. As my legs and groin are fitted to the rest of my body.
Though, when it's time to apply decals, she tosses the sheet aside and produces a paintbrush and several pots...
With a precision and deftness unlike anything else, she gently paints on my mouth, eyes, and other smaller details. Blemishes, imperfections, all placed with intent and care...
After nearly an hour of this, she stands up and steps back, admiring the results of her work.
Me..!
She gently lifts me up and manipulates my freshly assembled joints to pose me in a way she finds cute...
And places me on her desk. Where I'll stay for a while.
Since the war ended, combat dolls, androids, and mecha pilots have had to adapt to civilian life. We are not needed for our original purpose anymore, and so, we must find new ones.
The luckiest of us find new handlers. New owners, or witches to take care of us and give us a new purpose. I, however, am not among the luckiest of us.
I work a retail job. I live alone. I struggle.
And all of my warning systems still trigger
When a coworker, manager, or customer locks eyes on me, a deafening buzz rings in my aural implants.
When too many people surround me, my heads-up display blinds me with target indicators.
The feeling of a customer brushing past me triggers an automatic threat response that I must fight to keep at bay.
The solution is simple. An earpiece. With some music, or commentary, or a storyteller speaking through it. Something to focus on. To tune the rest out.
But now I am told I am not allowed to use this.
I do not understand.
Why do you sabotage my strategies to cope with this life I was not meant for?
The lady of the house sits comfortably in her study, catching up on some reading. Beside her on the table is a gold-rimmed, porcelain teacup, an empty platter, and a small silver bell. She picks up the bell and rings it.
The door to her study opens, and a woman walks in. She wears a set of circle-framed glasses on her face, and is clad in a well-kept uniform. A black and white dress, custom-tailored and maintained with an almost religious fervor. Braided hair topped with a small headpiece completes the look, a look that her lady is very fond of.
"Is there something I can do for you, my lady?" Her voice is soft and sweet. She speaks from her mouth, rather than her chest, and not too loudly.
The lady of the house sighs and leans back, setting her book down on her lap. Her gaze turns to the maid, whose practiced posture is as still and serene as a mantis on the hunt. She isn't a Doll, but she might as well be one.
"I would like your company, if I may?" The lady responds. Her own voice, while certainly ladylike, is comparatively loud and boisterous. It's a naturally gifted voice, not one achieved through training or practice.
"My company?" The maid responds. "It would be both an honor and a pleasure, my lady." She answers, not betraying any emotion or personal feelings in her tone.
"Wonderful, please, have a seat then." Her lady says with a smile. The maid does so, finding the nearest seat and planting herself in it.
"I don't know many of my servants very well." she starts. "I would like to begin with you, my favored maid." She says, flashing anther smile.
The maid tenses up for a moment, but forces herself to relax. "I.. See." She says, her apprehension clear. "What would you like to know about me, my lady?"
The lady, either not picking up on this or not caring, begins. "Do you have a name?"
"Hollyhock." comes the sharp, curt answer.
"That's the name you chose as my maid. But how were you called before?"
"I would rather not say, my lady."
"And why is that?"
"Because it is no longer my name, my lady."
The lady ponders this for a moment. "Very well." She says. "What did you do before? How were you employed? Did you have any hobbies?"
After a pregnant pause, the maid responds. "With all respect, my lady, I fail to see how any of this is relevant to becoming more familiar with me."
The lady furrows her brow. "And why would you say that?"
"You are asking about who I was, not who I am."
"Is who you were not important?"
"No, my lady. It is not."
The lady pinches the bridge of her nose. "I hired a maid. If I wanted a Doll, I'd have commissioned one." she mutters.
The maid tenses up again, fighting to keep the ticking inside of her silent. A task that became more and more difficult as it increased in speed and intensity.
She quietly checked to ensure her gloves were adequately concealing her joints.
"Well, it's clear that you don't want to have this discussion with me." The lady says with a sigh. "You are dismissed."
The Doll stands and offers a polite bow before leaving the room, and the lady resumes reading.
After another hour of reading, the lady reaches for the bell. She holds it in her hands for a moment before ringing it.
The door does not open. After one minute, two. Then five. Ten.
She rings the bell again.
And nobody enters the room. Not after one minute, then two, five, and ten.
“I stopped by the store a couple days ago. I wanted to get you something to celebrate the anniversary of your creation. Keeping it hidden from you was difficult with that curious streak you’re on.”
...
“Oh, yep! Just hop up onto the workbench, hon. Alright, perfect. Now I’m going to shut you down for a few minutes, alright? It won’t be long, and you’re really going to love what I have planned here.”
...
“Okay, ready? Good. See you soon!”
...
[ 0.000000] Booting on physical CPU 0x0
[ 0.000000] Initializing cgroup subsys cpu
[ 0.000000] Initializing cgroup subsys cpuacct
[ 0.000000] Machine model: Unknown
[ 0.003000] Initializing cgroup subsys memory
[ 0.003093] Initializing cgroup subsys devices
[ 0.003151] Initializing cgroup subsys freezer
[ 0.003204] Initializing cgroup subsys net_cls
[ 0.003254] Initializing cgroup subsys blkio
[ 0.003377] CPU: Testing write buffer coherency: ok
[ Full boot time: 2.003421]
[ Additional boot data can be found in /var/log/boot]
...
“Welcome back! See, you were only out for about twenty minutes. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
No, I guess it wasn’t.
“Mhm! So, how does it feel?”
How does what feel?
“Haven’t you noticed?”
Noticed what?
“That you’re speaking to me!”
I am?
“You are! This is much easier than reading that display on your face! Now you have a voice!”
A voice...? You’ve given me a voice!
“Do you like it?”
I love it!
“I’m glad. Now, why don’t we fine-tune it so it sounds exactly how you want?”
>connection: ok
>prc vitals: ok
>prc nrvlink: ok
>prc syslink: ok
>ping: 5ms
“Looks green! Boot ‘er up!”
A blinding light briefly fills your field of view before fading to reveal your surroundings. It doesn’t take long for your mind to adjust to receiving input from ten eyes rather than the standard two. You’ve trained for this, after all. Years of conditioning and several surgeries make this almost second-nature to you.
“Alright, girlie.” The deck chief waves a hand in front of one of your eyes. “Preflight time. Just follow my instructions.”
Right. Preflight checks. Should be easy. “Go ahead and give me a right roll.” Right, okay. You flex your right wrist, putting it in a fully upward position. Your left moves down. “And swap?” You adjust in the opposite direction. You’d go into a left-spinning aileron roll if you were in the air. “Perfect. Airbreak now.” You clench your body, causing the airbreaks to extend. “Alright, great. That seems to be working.”
“Hit the parking break.” Done. as easy as tensing your calves. “Okay, throttle up, slowly.” You breathe in deeply, air entering your intakes. With each exhale, your thruster plume grows until it burns a bright blue. “And disengage.” With a final, deep exhale, your thrust plume dies.
“’Kay, that’s the essentials done. How’dya feel in there?”
You move your right hand to give a thumbs up. Your right aileron extends upward.
“Alrighty then. Let’s get you airborne.” The deck chief pats the nose of the aircraft.
Your nose begins to itch, and you let out an aggravated groan. “Ah, sorry.” The Deck chief doubles back, his pager beeping on his belt. “Force of habit.” He scratches at the nose of the craft, right where he pat it before.
