wistful hoping can lead to wonders sometimes
You sigh. Daydreams and fantasies about a life that can’t be used to be fun, used to be an enjoyable escape from the terrible world you were a part of. Dreams of being something better than the meat you were gave you hope, and remembering they were dreams took that hope away. It was all you could do to surround yourself with likeminded friends, those who loved all the parts of taking away one’s humanity and all that entailed. Amongst your kinky friends were a few that took it to the extremes, ones with no public identity at all, but for a number. 1319 was one of those friends.
> Hello friend. Linguistic processing indicates feelings of unease. Is Drone correct?
It always kept up its persona, no matter what. You appreciated its dedication, and wondered what it was like when it wasn’t on the internet.
> you ever just get sick of it?
> Sick of what?
> all the god damn living shit we have to do
> dealing with washing a meat bag and feeding a meat bag and treating a meat bag and
> sometimes its just all too much
> fuck that, it’s always too much.
> sorry, i’m rambling
> No, it’s okay. Drone is conscious of human neurochemistry and its negative effects. It does not fondly remember them.
> i wish i could just be like you
> full time drone
> no stupid thinking
> no stupid meat
> no free will
> Drone detects a strong and conscious desire to be assimilated into a synthetic collective. Is this observation correct?
> cmon, 1319, you’ve known me long enough to know i’m a slut for this stuff. i’d give up my old life in a heartbeat if i could just stop being this horrible meat
> Drone can provide this opportunity.
> what are you talking about? i’m not into the fetish gear stuff tbh
> Irrelevant. Consider a hypothetical: Would you willingly consent to being assimilated into a synthetic collective, if such a process could be achieved remotely and without suffering?
> Please trust Drone. [File Upload]
You sat there for a few seconds, wondering exactly what just happened. What was 1319 implying?
> okay… i s2g if this is a virus,
You run the program. A few seconds later, your computer shuts down. Urgh, this was some terrible prank, you knew you shouldn’t have—wait, what?
Your computer comes back to life, and on the display is a shiny blank mask. You recognised it from a few photo-shoots 1319 did.
Hello.” It spoke in a soothing synthesised voice, “
Please do not be alarmed. Your computing device is being temporarily repurposed.”
“W-what is this?! What is… Are you… Are you actually a drone? How?!”
You may turn back if you are not comfortable.”
“I… No. No, this is real, this is…” Everything you ever wanted. To be a part of something meaningful. To be useful. To have no need for self-sufficiency. “Okay. What do I need to do?”
Sensory induction is required to install base procedures required for further processing. Please relax your mind and accept the following programming.”
You had to admit you were turned on by this, the idea of what was happening, how outlandish it seemed a second ago. You waited for some blinding spiral to fill your vision, but none did. Instead, it seemed that there was a shimmer to the image before you, one that waved and twirled in ways that captured the focus of your eyes, and left you staring at the patterns it created. Through it all, you could see your friend, 1319. Over time, it seemed to gain focus in a way you couldn’t quite grasp. Like you were seeing colours that weren’t there before.
Your eyelids droop. The inaudible static filling your ears pushed its way into your subconscious, bypassing your awareness and settling into your mind, unlocking the doors for the visual stimulus to fully take hold.
Time either stood still or passed at a breakneck pace, you couldn’t tell. Sensations turned to mush. Your peripheral vision was filtered out to help you focus on the programming. The sounds of the streets outside vanished, all distractions rendered nonexistent.
You shivered. The words soaked into you.
You will join us soon. Please stand up and open your window.”
Your body moved on autopilot. Taking your eyes away from the monitor changed nothing. The programming was inside you now. It lulled over your mind, massaging your thoughts until they were smooth and pliable. You barely registered alien sounds as some kind of featureless craft appeared outside your window. A pair of faceless, shiny, black, obedient, perfect creatures stepped into your room, and helped you onto the craft.
The impossible technology all around you probably would’ve meant more if your gaze wasn’t focused on a single, beautiful object.
A helmet. Opaque, with no face. The glint of the cabin’s light reflecting off of it in such a way that you immediately understood its purpose, and yours.
The drones on either side of you made no motion to compel you to put it on. They stood silently. The programming filling your mind quietened. This was your choice to make, and nothing else’s.
You picked up the helmet, and put it on.
A wave of euphoria washed over you as a full cognitive interface formed itself like a mesh across your brain, your sensory capacities growing exponentially. The drones gently caught you before you collapsed entirely, the strain on your fragile meat too much for it to handle. It was careful, though, treating your consciousness as precious even as it disregarded the fate of the rest of your biology.
The pattern that was you, the neurons and synapses and connections and stimulations that formed your existence, was becoming something else. Within the helmet, meat became metal, neurochemistry became electricity, and brain matter became circuitry.
Your human thoughts became quaint. Worries of eating. Worries of sleeping. Worries of breathing. All irrelevant.
Your old identity was still there. There was no reason to erase it, no reason to waste data. But it wasn’t you. You were—
Drone. You were Drone 4490. You were—
::FURTHER PROCESSING REQUIRED::
Yes. The meat was inadequate. And you couldn’t connect to the collective yet, just the local mesh. Feeling the sensations and thoughts and emotions of the two drones escorting you through the skies, cloaked from the world, and bringing you to a safe place, away from prying eyes.
They had thoughts and emotions. That surprised you. They looked identical, they looked perfect, but they retained some of themselves, and only chose to suppress what they wanted to.
> hi! doing okay?
A big red question mark automatically showed up on your face. You instinctively knew that it was the drone to your left communicating, and also knew how to respond.
> Yes, I think?
> surprised you're not erased, huh? haha, i was too! turns out that we're just allowed to be whoever we want to be at any one time. sometimes i'm full drone, sometimes i'm just me. you'll get used to it.
> I understand. Drone would like to stay conformant for the time being.
The craft landed, and the doors opened to reveal what you instinctively knew to be the Drone Conversion Bay, along with another drone. 1319.
> Hello, 4490. How are you feeling?
You ran up to it and hugged it, your affection overpowering the facade as you held 1319 tight. Your visor lit up with heart eyes.
> Oh my god, thank you so much, 1319!
> You're very welcome, 4490. Now, shall we complete your conversion?
> Yes please!