The Measure of Mortality

[Emet-Selch]

Thoughts were surfacing and submerging faster than his mind could process them. Were those his? He didn't know. Nor could he. The wisdom he sought came at a price, indeed. The burden of it. The horror, the questions left unanswered. Where did the others go? Doesn't matter. They don't know about the First Thought. Or, rather, they try to ignore it in their calculations. Here lies everything they don't know, and yet... they pretend as if there was nothing to be afraid of. Well, should they be scared? Are they even able to be scared, to feel fear? What drives the sentience inside those canisters? He prefers not to care. As he became more one with them, as they ripped more muscles from his frame and replaced them with precious electronics, the more alienated he felt — not because he was losing something humane, but because he understood that he never could become like them. After all, pattern matters. But what if he had all his brain cells replaced one-by-one by something mechanical? Would it still be him, would he ever feel or be alive? Snap! The feeling of someone almost painfully touching his thoughts was close to unbearable. What could it be other than that? 601-H-71B tried to scratch the metal plate on his skull only to recall that his head barely has any flesh left. The nerve endings were removed along with much of the rest of his parietal bone. Still, the phantom itch disturbed him as much as the absence of his original limbs. The provided alternatives were more effective, but still... 601-H-71B suddenly thought about how good it would be to have ordinary limbs again to scratch them however he likes, but the other second his mind was invaded again. "Of course", he muttered to himself. "The impatience". There was no audible answer. Instead, he felt that his mind was filled with agonizingly hot stars forming into constellations. The specimen was about to arrive. "At last", 601-H-71B could not complete the sentence. The imaginary gears in his head shifted as the images started to overlap his vision. Sensors indicated that they will arrive very, very soon. The door opened, letting in some slightly less stale air and several silhouettes, one of which was horizontal. The constellations demanded he turn around. His gaze slid over the old metal sheets with the "Property of Kishiro technology" label, and then to the visitors. - - -

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