The Space They Left

The Conglomerate let you use Their old rig, figured it would be cheaper to let you have it rather than use the spare parts to fix what was left of yours.

Upon entering you find everything exactly how They left it, Their neuro-link still set to the same frequency, the personalised settings and various idiosyncrasies. Slipping it on you can feel the spaces in which They nestled into. The curves and silhouettes of synaptic subroutines, tailored to Their touch. The psychic spaces They had to occupy to pilot this beast of steel and circuit.

The Conglomerate offers to wipe this all clean for you, replacing it with the familiar set up of your old rig. You’d operate more efficiently, perfectly in sync, dancing through the cosmos. You obviously refuse.