The Deep Blue Eyes of The Cyborg

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Manwad

The unseen leaf is an eternal student.
Posting Speed
One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Post-cyberpunk. Horror. Action-Adventure.
#1
The woman awoke under a sunless sky.
Exposed wires sparked around her, some binding, others prodding.
She thrashed, clutching her throat only to feel the clank of metal on metal. Something was blocking it. Her windpipe. That's the only reason why she couldn't breath.
It only took some more thrashing before she felt the spike.
The spike in her brain, stabbed deeper than normal, lodged in her spine.
It was flawed. Imperfect.
Imperfect because now, she's remembering, because she did it to herself.
The reason why eluded her.
Just like the sun above eluded the sky.

She shook enough to undo the wires around her bound limbs, easy enough. When her feet hit the ground she immediately fell and bit the corner of her desk, her false teeth sinking an inch into the wood. Every limb, every joint felt so heavy, so numb.
Raising her arms was a chore. Every movement felt like it needed an hour of deliberation before going into the next motion. The little timer in the corner of her vision told her she was taking microseconds.

She pried her teeth out from the desk, then used it to support her entire upper body.
That process was too easy. She realised why.
Her tits were gone.
Just a metal plate with the suggestion that tits might've been there, once.
She flopped and swung her hand to slap her face. That part was still there, as was her hair. Another flop and a few brilliant red strands spilled in front of her optics.

Legs. Those have to work. Those need to work.
She flailed them. She knew she was flailing and kicking them because the chair got knocked over, and the desk and ground thumped. She could hear it. She couldn't feel it. Her feet scooted, that slight noise is how she knew they were flat on the ground. She twisted her ankles and felt the thin talons dig into the carpet. She found her footing, flailed her arms until they were at some usable angle, and pushed.

She flew from the desk to the floor with a dull thump, body splayed.
She tried to say, "Fuck," but horrible static came out instead.

~

The woman is standing consistently. Now moving, that's still hard, but zombie-like shuffles will have to do. She just needed to get to the window controls.

She needed to see.

After pressing herself against the wall and slowly dragging herself to it, she hit the button. Nothing but a sharp click.

She mashed it until friction smoke came out, then shuffled to the centermost window. It's pitch black. It clinked when she tapped it. Her glowing red optics reflected her new face. Bone textured, plated skin shifting around to form a facsimile of a human face. It disgusted her in ways she couldn't find the words to describe.

She lined up her fingers with her face's reflection, balled them into a fist and pulled back. Servos screeched, glass shattered as she punched up to her shoulder through the panel. The glass bent, flexile fibers keeping the entire window besides the hole she made from collapsing. She pried it open.

An ocean of metal and stone constructs in the vaguest shape of spires, wrought from the earth below, violated her eyes. The alien landscape of twisted together roads, structurally unstable buildings for no purpose other than the resources were there, all wrought the earth into nothing more than a useless shape of black steel, stone, and red pulsing lights at every seam and corner, was once habitable. The red light, the mark of the architect, nanocyte, an ancient weapon of a long dead race, now fully deployed.

One that she could've prevented.

But one rushed project spelled doom.

She wished she could still cry. She's not adjusted to her body well enough to even fake it.

After pulling away, she stumbled back and shambled to the intercom.

She hit the button and said, "R̶͟e͘͜͠q́͟͡҉u̴͏̷̀͡e͞҉̶̷s̸͢t͜-͜҉̛"

A pause hung in the air. Was that her voice, just mechanical screeches in the visage of words? No no no, the procedure couldn't been that rushed.

"H̷̨͝o̸̵̧͢w͢͞ ̢̛͘͠҉n̸̶̢͜ò̸͢ẃ̧͢ ̵̸̷̨͟b̛͜͡ŗ͘o̴̢̕͢w̴͠͠-̨͜҉"

"Sa̧͘l̶̶͢l̶y̴ s͟͞o̸l͏d-"

"M͟y͏ ̵nam͢e ̕is̢.̢.̨."

Name. Name... Name?
Notes. She had them. She threw the drawers from her desk, scattering nothing but black sand. Nanocyte ate the notes.
Her computer wouldn't turn on. A moth eaten motherboard ensured that.

She took her finger to the desk. Signature. That's burned into her memory. That part transfers, right?

She wrote.

And amidst the squiggles, all she could make out is C and V. CV. Ceevee. Civi. CV.

CV it is.

Intercom.

"CV requesting... uhrm... an assistant. Head to top of the Red Sun tower. I repeat, CV requesting assistance."