Disconnection

The process of disconnecting from the mech's neural interface was always painful. The conduits that extended your senses outward to the metal colossus and made it an extension of yourself had to, by necessity, dig inward as well. As the doctors and mechanics disconnected each line, a sharp pain would run through your skull. An eye would go dark, a limb numb. Your fingers stopped listening to you, until you realized they weren't your fingers anymore.

It was a necessary process, to prevent Bio-organic Symbiosis Syndrome from taking hold. To prevent you from forgetting about yourself, your body, your physicality. When you finally could step out of the cockpit, with your legs trembling as they remembered what it was to walk, you felt the pains of being rush through every nerve in your body. A voice in your head screamed, hating the doctors for pulling you out, demanding that you be plugged back in to the robot. It took several minutes before the pain cleared and you began to recognize the row of faces watching you. Some, you knew, were faces you must have seen before, having been through this operation several times. Others were new, they introduced themselves one by one when you had finally readjusted to Organic Existence.

You didn't know how long they'd be on the ship with you. They told you that the previous doctor had died in the last battle, how one of the mechanics was transferred to another ship on the far side of the system, and how some of the other pilots were still planetside. While they talked, you realized the room was cold, a sensation you hadn't felt in months. With a shiver, you remembered you hated the cold. You had to fight the urge to turn around and crawl back into the cockpit, where any temperature sensation was shut off, the hallucinatory environment being tuned Just So to your biological preferences.

On of the medics saw you shiver, and brought you a blanket. It wasn't as comfortable as the cockpit, but it was a start. Wrapping it tightly around yourself, your eye drifted across the bay. In the corner, a familiar mechanic caught your eye; a woman whose loose overalls were covered in the grease and the grime of a dozen other mechs. You remembered getting lunch with her during your last rest period. You remembered enjoying it. With the help of a nurse- a new nurse you didn't know, the old one was in medbay tending to the wounded- you shambled over. You leaned against the wall and dismissed your escort. You smiled, or tried to at least, the muscles in your face still adjusting to the concept of being used.

The mechanic smiled at you. "Good to see you again," she said.

"Good to be back. I think."

"Want to grab some coffee?" Then, in a whisper, "While your were gone I smuggled in some of the real stuff."

You nodded. "I'd like that."

She put your arm over her shoulder, and supported you as you walked to her quarters. With each step, the voice demanding the comfort of the machine grew ever more dim. As the smell of fresh ground coffee reached your nostrils, the first pleasant sensation you've had in months, you could feel those pangs of withdrawal begin to subside. You sat down in a cheap metal chair, and forced yourself to relax. You breathed in deep, and remembered just how much you liked being You.