I wake with a start as the room is filled with cold metallic beeping. I scramble deliriously, my vision still blurry in the light: The guards will be here any second. They’ll punish me if I’m not ready for my shift. Where is my uniform? I can’t disappoint them again.

A device around my neck detects my rising panic and blasts my face with ice cold air for a few moments. The sudden shock brings me to my senses and I gradually steady my shaky breathing.

The familiar searing pain in my head helps to wake me up the rest of the way as I reach for the information rectangle on my bedside table. I forget what the Autonomists called this thing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s more of their incredible technology: A featureless box that fits in my palm. It responds to my voice and my touch, and presents information to me when I ask for it. It seems to know everything.

The rectangle beeps in recognition as I touch it, and its front face displays the text: “A synthmorph is ready in the resleeving lab. Follow the indicated path.” I marvel for a moment that I didn’t even need to ask it a question - it somehow knew what I wanted to know.

I was taught to fear this technology, but I’m done being a prisoner to fear. I hold the rectangle in front of me like a magnifying glass, and it changes to become transparent - as if it were made of glass. But when I look through it, I see a blue line on the floor. The “indicated path”. Incredible.

I follow it out of the door of… my new home… and into the bustle of the common area. I feel a wave of nausea and my headache redoubles as I try to process my surroundings. Dizzyingly patterned art on every wall, people and beings with appearances beyond what I can imagine, flashes of color and light, and deafening sounds (music?) made using more of their electronic technology. My room must have hidden the sound from me. I don’t even bother questioning how.

I grit my teeth and follow the blue line - trying not to notice anything else. Eventually I find myself walking into a cluttered metal room, full of instruments and machinery. I sigh in relief as the door closes and the cacophony of color and noise is gone again.

“Are you okay?” asks a concerned robot, which takes a step toward me and then pauses, unsure of how to help.

I close my eyes and take a few moments to steady myself in the cold air of the lab, my head throbbing in rhythm with the pumping of my heart, before finally replying, “My head hurts.”

“Oh! Of course it does! Barotraumagenic neuropathy, isn’t it…? Inconsistent life support conditions on the asteroid mines leading to…” It speaks quickly and shyly, seeming to mostly be talking to itself. “I can fix that! Can I fix that?” It looks at me expectantly.

“Please.”, I say. The pain is always worse when I’m stressed, and I couldn’t be more stressed about what’s waiting for me in this lab. My eyes are drawn to a motionless mechanical body - not too different from the one the other robot is using - laying motionless on a padded reclined chair. Next to it is a second chair, this one upright and empty.

“Um…” the robot is sheepishly clutching a tool made of the same kind of matte plasticky substance that most of their technology seems to use. “This might feel a little weird, but I promise it’s going to help, and it’s not going to hurt. Okay?”

Without waiting for a response, it… she? Sprays me in the face with the tool. Thousands of droplets of dry moisture melt painlessly into my skin. I jerk back in alarm but suddenly… The pain is gone. It’s just gone.

“I disabled your ability to feel neuropathic pain, but sometimes there can be false positives and genuine pain can be suppressed too, so please be careful until we complete the resleeving process.”

I want to cry tears of relief. Nothing hurts. For the first time in my life, nothing hurts at all. But I don’t allow myself the luxury of tears. I need to stay strong for just a little bit longer. “Okay,” I say, tasting the cold lab air as if these will be my last moments alive. “Put me in that damned machine.”

The robot seems surprised - though I’m still learning how to interpret the stylized faces they draw on their visors. “You don’t… have any questions, or concerns? Maybe I could give you an anxiolytic? I thought that, as a refugee…”

I sit in the chair, my heart pounding in my chest. “If we wait any longer I’m not going to be able to do this.”

She pauses for a moment, her visor displaying some stylized emotion that I don’t recognize. Probably hesitant acceptance, because the next thing she does is recline my chair and press something large and cold against the back of my head. “Would you like to be awake for the transfer?”

My chest is aching now. I’m not sure how much more of this my heart can take. My mouth is dry as I choke out: “Yes.” I have to know that I’ll still be me. I have to feel that I haven’t died in the transfer.

The… woman must have activated something, because I can feel the metal thing blooming around my head like a flower. And then the petals enclose it completely - my vision becoming pure black. An instant later, I’m drowning in dry fluid. It’s pouring into me - invading me. I try to struggle in a blind panic, but my limbs won’t move. I’m drowning. It’s eating me. It’s-

My vision suddenly returns. I’m laying in the other chair - still completely unable to move. Someone is coughing and gasping frantically. Is that my voice? The robot is above me in a panic, saying “You’re safe! I promise you’re safe! Look - you’re already 70% transferred!” Everything feels wrong. I’m still breathing. How am I still breathing? I can feel my heart beating frantically.

The robot’s visor shows tears and worry as it says “Please let me calm you down! This doesn’t have to be so scary!”

I finally have enough control of my new body to clumsily nod once. The robot’s expression changes to one of relief as I’m hit by a sudden wave of calm.

I take a moment just to breathe. This is real. My body - my human, flesh-and-blood body - is lying on a chair next to me. And I’ve left it. Or… some of me has. “70%?” I ask numbly.

“Well, it’s about 90% now. Your exoself is always the fastest to scan and that makes up about 70% of most sophonts’ brains.”

“So… some of me… is still in there?” I glance weakly at my now-limp body, lying in the other chair, its head still enveloped in cold metallic petals.

The robot’s visor displays what I think is sadness and disappointment. “They didn’t do a good job of explaining how this works, did they? Is that why you were so scared?” I don’t respond, so she continues: “The nanobots gradually scan parts of your brain and replace them with software, which runs on your new body. They relay signals between your new and old bodies until none of your old body is needed anymore. That way your consciousness is never interrupted during the transfer. You gradually transfer - one piece at a time. And speaking of which… it looks like you’re fully transferred now. Could you try moving around a bit?”

My chair begins to straighten itself as I look down at the machine that is now me. I raise its hand to its eyes and flex its fingers. Every motion is smooth and effortless - as if its limbs weigh nothing. And I can see so much more: My peripheral vision has nearly as much detail as what I’m looking at. I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding in and then pause, confused.

(I’ll continue this when I have more energy!)

“How am I breathing?”

“Oh! I thought you might be overwhelmed by the transfer, since you’ve been in that old morph- uhh… your body… for your entire life so far. So I installed some biosims to your new synthmorph. You can breathe, your heart will beat in response to your emotions and physical activity, and you can even feel and move your mouth, lips, tongue, and eyelids! And those will be drawn on your visor, too.”

I breathe, blink, and lick my lips, then feel my face with my hands. Nothing but smooth glass-like material. I should be terrified by this. I was taught my entire life that consciousness isn’t transferred - people are killed and replaced by soulless machines. And yet here I am. I look up at the robot who has been so compassionate with me. Do I look like it does now?

“You seem pretty overwhelmed,” she says, “but we can take this as slowly as you need to. You’re the first Jovian we’ve resleeved, and I wasn’t sure how someone like you might adapt, so I have the rest of the day to spend with you if you need it. Oh and don’t worry - the Outlook that was suppressing your fear is already being faded out. It will be completely gone if you’re still this calm in a few minutes.”

I stand up slowly - expecting to be unsteady on my feet. Instead every motion feels graceful and effortless - as if I weigh nothing at all. I walk silently up to… me. Laying on the table. The body is still breathing - probably to preserve it. The petals have retreated back into the machine and I can see my own face, peaceful as though asleep. I expect to feel horror or revulsion but instead I feel a numb kind of relief. I’ll never have to feel pain again, and they say that I can live forever like this.

The robot seems sad. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t save it. I know that body must have meant a lot to you. But I’m going to be recording everything I can about it - including genetics and epigenetics - if you ever want to clone it, or take its appearance.”

“What’s your name?” I turn to it, realizing that I know nothing about this thing that has been so compassionate and helpful through one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

“Oh?” It seems confused. It pauses for a moment. “Oh! Right! Is it okay if I activate your entoptics?”

I have no idea what she’s saying. “Okay.”

Suddenly my vision swims with information. Every single piece of equipment in the lab blooms with text and boxes and graphs and images. The walls are crawling with notices, solar storm reports, task schedules, and navigational aids. But something in my new body must have recognized how overwhelmed I was, because they all quickly disappear and my attention is drawn to the robot who’s been helping me all this time. As I look at her, I notice two things simultaneously - neither interfering with the other: I see her, exactly as she was. But her body has text associated with it. I can feel it, more than see it.

Afi Serwaa (she/her, they/them, ve/vis)

Muse: SAKAR i.74829-22418 (it/its)
Muse note: it likes to be called seventy-four

Status: Do not disturb (I'm in an important conversation right now!)
Next available: Unknown

Station role: Synthmorph maintenance, nanofab schematic design and programming, exomod troubleshooting and development
Emergency station role: I'm helping the Jovian refugees stay healthy and adapt to the station!

The text keeps going from there but that’s all that I can process. Even this amount leaves me with more questions than answers, but at least now I know: “So… your name is Afi?”

It- they take an exaggerated pose of joy as they say “You got it! I’m glad you’re picking things up so fast. Now… I don’t want to overwhelm you too much but this is what I actually look like.”

A 2D animated character - with the same art style that was displayed on her visor - appears on top of her mechanical body. I can still clearly see her as she was before, but somehow I also see this character, overlayed on top. I have no idea how the conflicting information isn’t driving me insane, but I’m somehow taking it in stride. “You have… the ears of an animal?” I say dumbly. They remind me of the TARAs we used in the mines - reconnaissance animals bred to warn of danger.

“I also have a tail!” Afi announces joyfully, and the character swishes it back and forth behind her as the tailless mechanical body mirrors her movements. “I’m a fox,” she adds, as if that explains anything.

@fargate @0x7700e6

I think I’m getting a lot more comfortable writing! this wasn’t anywhere near as draining as the last two parts, and I only had to stop because I ran out of time. anyway pinging both of y’all since you both expressed interest 💙

@kasdeya i enjoyed this too even if i wouldn't want the entoptics part

@wyatt yayy I’m so glad to hear that! 💙 it really helps a lot to know that folks are enjoying this

and yeah hehe that level of interconnectedness is very normalized in this world but it can also lead to a lot of problems and even security issues - it’s kinda like how modern-day folks trust and depend on computer security and IoT devices way more than they probably should, and that can cause unexpected problems when the tangled web of technology that they take for granted runs into a problem of any kind

@kasdeya i just hate information overload and also would have a bit of sentimentality for *not* knowing everything about everything. I like whimsy and imagination too much and also wouldn't be so eager to totally escape from limitations; I think limitations make things more fun
this is not saying anything about your character or story, really; just moreso my philosophy

@kasdeya (I still enjoyed it, even that part was neat. just not something I'd want done to myself if I were to be put in a new form/body)

@kasdeya i liked that they at least asked permission
though i wouldn't have said yes until i knew exactly what 'entoptics' entailed

@kasdeya this is such a cool story…

but why do i envy

i wonder how much longer it’ll go if at all, I’d read a whole bookful lol

@6 thank you so much! I’m so glad you’re enjoying it

I honestly have no idea how much longer I’ll keep writing this, but I’m just really happy that folks are liking it so much. and I really hope I can keep going! I feel like this is a story that I could continue for a really long time if I’m able to. the POV character hasn’t even started to explore this new world yet - and there’s so much for them to find and learn

@wyatt that totally makes sense! and it’s an interesting perspective as well - one that I didn’t really consider (except for the information overload part lol. that aspect would drive me absolutely crazy if there was no way to filter it)

I do think there’s something exciting about not knowing. sometimes I like to browse paranormal subreddits, cryptid subreddits, etc. and let my imagination wander with pareidolia about what those lights might be, or what could be making those noises

@kasdeya i like knowing, but i like for the knowledge to be something i gained for myself

“Looks like you’re adapting incredibly quickly to entoptics and to my avatar. There’s just one more thing and then I think you’ll be ready for life on the station.” Afi beams. “We’re going to make you a friend!”

I’m getting increasingly used to not knowing what Afi is talking about, but I let her continue.

“I decided early on that I’m not going to let a refugee leave this lab until they each have a muse. Unless they refuse or something… but I really hope they don’t. It’s going to make everything so much easier - especially getting used to your new morph! I don’t want to give you decision fatigue so I’d recommend that we just decide on personality for now, and you can configure-“

“What’s a muse?” This sounds important. I’m not going to let Afi activate anything else unless I know exactly what’s going to happen.

Afi is suddenly shy again. They fidget with their fingers and their avatar shoots out animated droplets from their head. I make a mental note that droplets indicate anxiety. “U-um! Right - I’m sorry. I guess the idea of… you wouldn’t have had…” I give her a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts.

“A muse is like… a helper… that lives in your head. And their whole job is to make life easier. They learn what you want and like and they can do things for you if you ask.” She gives me an anxious look. “Does that make sense?”

“You’re saying that a person would live in my mind with me? They would see everything that I do - maybe even everything that I think?”

Afi is shooting out droplets even faster now, making a placating gesture frantically. “Nono! I mean… kind of… I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds! It’s going to be really really helpful… and… they’re really nice… and cute… and…” Afi looks almost defeated. They take a deep breath and try again.

“A muse isn’t what you would call a person. It’s not a sophont either.” The distinction between ‘sophont’ and ‘person’ is lost on me, but ‘not a person’ makes sense, so I let them continue. “It’s… a computer program. And its entire personality exists to help you. Helping you is the whole of its existence. It can see your thoughts if you let it - which will make it much better at helping you. But if that’s too much then you can even stop it from seeing what you do unless you allow it to. But it’s never going to betray you or share your secrets with anyone. I want to give you a muse based on software that I made myself, so I can promise that you won’t ever regret anything that you share with it.”

That was a lot to take in. Did Afi really think that I would immediately agree to having some non-person thing put inside of my mind? Despite myself, and despite the fact that I’ve barely met Afi, I do trust them. But how could I ever trust a “muse”? It sounds like it’s closer to a machine than a human - or maybe closer to an animal. Then again, Afi is a confusing mix of all three, and has shown me more kindness than I could ever expect from a human.

Afi speaks up, still fidgeting with their fingers. “Um… how about… we make a muse together, and we can talk to it together. But then we turn it off, and you can turn it on only when you want to talk to it again. Does that sound good?”

“… I choose when it turns on and off, right?”

“Of course!”

To my own disbelief, I say: “Okay…. let’s try it.”

Afi asks me a lot of questions, trying to determine the perfect personality and appearance for my muse. They clearly want to make sure that it won’t seem threatening or intrusive to me, and I can’t help feeling that they missed the point of my discomfort with the idea. Eventually they conclude “Something respectful, clearly not person-like, non-threatening… Oh! I know the perfect preset!”

Several panels appear and disappear in front of their face. Afi seems able to manipulate them without moving her body at all, though her animated eyes flick around inhumanly quickly to track things as they move and change. Finally, I feel a stream of text being sent to me from Afi:

Message from Afi Serwaa:

okay - let's try it out!

attached:
  exomod::muse::afimuse4.74.10/i.67
  attachment metadata:
    good signature from Afi Serwaa
    note: lightly tweaked from preset 12

  install and run?

Somehow I can sense that the final line of text is a question meant for me to answer. I’m about to say “yes” out loud but it must have sensed my intent because it’s already installing.

Moments later, another avatar appears in the room with us. Her skin is pure white and she’s dressed like a child’s doll from old Earth: A frilly, impractical dress that nearly drags along the ground. She has a fixed, placid expression painted on her face, which I realize - like the rest of her skin - is made of porcelain. She looks completely real - like a physical object in this room. And yet I can also see the empty part of the room that she inhabits. She is both there and not there - I can see both realities simultaneously.

The porcelain doll-thing bows respectfully, and its fixed expression animates as it says “This one is pleased to meet its owner. It hopes it can be of use whenever it might be needed.”

I realize, self-consciously, that Afi is searching my expression - trying to gauge my reaction. I feel a roiling mix of emotions - too strong and too tumultuous to understand.

“Is it too submissive?” Afi asks. I don’t reply.

The doll-thing vanishes, and in its place is a floating blue orb. “Hello, user. I am-“

“Wait! Bring the doll back!” I say in a sudden panic.

A pause. The orb disappears, and the doll returns. Afi says nothing, searching my expression anxiously.

I slowly approach the doll, which is standing perfectly still - not even breathing - and stroke its cheek. I can both feel and not feel the smooth, cold hardness of its porcelain. I can also feel tears running down my nonexistent cheeks. I don’t understand what I’m feeling or why, but I care deeply for this thing, and I need to protect it.

“This one. This will be my muse.”

Afi pauses for a long moment. “Okay.”, she says quietly.

I slowly withdraw my hand, my cheeks burning with anger. How could I let Afi see me fall apart like this? I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

Afi is silent for a long moment, and I can tell that she’s holding something back. Eventually she says: “Right now it will respond to ‘muse’ or ‘doll’. But… would you like to name it? … Or… name ‘her’?”

I say the name “Sarah” before I can stop myself.

The doll bows happily. “This one is delighted to receive a name from its owner! Please let Sarah know if it can help in any way.”

I fight back tears, hating myself the entire time.

Afi seems at a loss for words. “Ah… maybe we can talk to Sarah more another time.”, they say eventually. “Do you want it to go away for now?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“You can do that by looking at it, and consciously choosing to end its processes. And you can bring it back anytime by looking at a space nearby and choosing to speak with it again.”

I slowly turn to Sarah, and it simply disappears. I let out a slow breath.

Afi pauses awkwardly yet again. Eventually they say, “There was one more thing that I wanted to ask you, if that’s okay. Since we’re talking about names.”

I turn to them, but don’t reply.

“Would you like to choose a name for yourself, too?”

“I’m Mary.”, I say automatically.

Afi fidgets uncomfortably. “Yes, um… you’re Mary Thirteen, right?” They glance at my still-breathing body, where the number 13 is tattooed on both of my shoulders. “It seems that all of the refugees from that asteroid are named Mary.”

I give her a confused look. Of course we are.

Afi slowly and carefully chooses her next words. “On this station, most people choose their own names. They want a name that represents who they are and what they value, personally.”

I stare at her blankly.

“Okay - for example!” She says, pushing through her own awkwardness. “I chose the name Afi Serwaa. It’s a Ghanian name. That’s because when I was young, I idolized an Autonomist hero named Awo Serwaa. She was an infugee from old Earth, enslaved by a Martian hypercorp, who managed to escape and free about six hundred of her fellow infugees, destroying the hypercorp server farm in the process, and establish an Autonomist cluster hab that’s still around today.”

“Serwaa Station”, she says with tear-filled eyes. “Awo means that she was born on a Thursday, so I chose the name Afi, because I live in the tomorrow that she helped create.”

I don’t reply.

“Um… anyway,”, she adds, fidgeting awkwardly again, “I thought you might want a name like that. That represents what you want or love or value. Or who you are. Something personal.”

“I…” I’m not sure how to respond. “I don’t know. I don’t know how you could have made a decision like that.” I reply honestly. “I’ve always been Mary. I don’t know how to be anyone besides Mary.”

“Okay.”, says Afi, surprisingly quick to accept my answer. “I guess I’ll call you Mary for now then. And if there are multiple Maries around I’ll call you Thirteen. Would that be okay with you?” I nod, so she continues. “Well, that was all that I had planned to help you with today, Mary. Is there anything that you wanted help with, or that I can explain, or anything else that I can do for you?”

I shake my head.

“Okay! In that case, I’ll talk to you later. You can always message me or find me through your muse if you need anything.”

I approach my sleeping body and gingerly pull the palm rectangle out of my pocket. “Follow the indicated path to return to home 524.” I brace myself for the nausea and pain as I step outside, but it doesn’t come. I look numbly at the art and flashing lights, and listen to the electronic screeching that is still playing, seemingly from every direction at once. And I simply step painlessly through it, until the doors of home 524 close behind me and instantly end the sound.

Acting on autopilot, I crawl into the bed recessed in the wall and pull the blankets around me. Then I curl into a ball and sob uncontrollably.

@kasdeya a doll! awawa!

@kasdeya So far this is lovely.

Eclipse Phase-inspired stories are nice (and relation to trauma, self & everything) and this approaches things in an interesting way.

@kasdeya i just remembered to check back, and still great!
“choosing a name” is always hard, taking time, even just naming projects often takes considerable effort… <small>(i still need a name or two for myself…while i can come up with names for other things or people decently easily)</small>
having someone (or -thing) in your head certainly sounds scary choice on top of everything else, but i also kinda like it, having a toggleable friend, who can be there, but not annoy you if you don’t want to… interesting for it to immediately be a doll as the first thing, not something else, “don’t feel like it”, and then doll, and the fact afi could modify it without needing a reinstall is…interesting…no prompt, just instant override, like sure she made it, but kinda weird backdoor to have, kinda going against the whole “ask first“ deal, lol
the breakdown sounds a lot like she might’ve had a rather similar doll, hmm… I could see an authority figure destroying it either for discipline, or because it was forbidden to begin with…
interesting in any case!