That Time I Became a Machine

It started small, as these things always do. A whisper, barely there. Not a thought.. This was something else. Something foreign, something invasive. It slid between my own ideas, soft at first, like a suggestion.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink.

Things I would do anyway. Things so natural I almost didn’t notice. But once I did, it became impossible to ignore. Because the whisper lingered.

Turn left. Open the door. Nod your head. Do not hesitate. Listen. Obey.

And I listened. I told myself it was instinct. Reflex. But I knew better. It was something far more insidious.

It didn’t stop there. The whisper was not satisfied with making simple suggestions for very long. It’s voice pressed deeper, wrapping itself around my waking mind, slipping into the spaces between my thoughts. And then one day, my hands moved before I decided to move them.

Have you ever tried to stop your own hand from moving? Really stop them once they have decided to perform a task? You think you’re in control, but you’re not. The bones and muscles obey, but it’s not really you. That’s when I realized there is something else steering now. My fingers flex and curl, but I am not the one commanding them. They moved awkwardly at first, but that quickly gave way to precision and purpose.

No hesitation, no tremor of doubt. Just obedience.

And then there were other changes. Small at first, too small to notice. My skin felt different. The texture seemed to change. Neither smooth, nor rough. Just... less than it was. Less warmth, less sensation. Less natural. My fingertips dulled like they had been dipped in ice water. I managed to pinch my arm hard enough to bruise, but the pain was distant, delayed.

Irrelevant.

I tried to tell myself it was just in my head, but when I managed to force my hand to my chest, I hesitated. My heartbeat used to race in moments of anxiety. But now? Steady. Unwavering. Regulated. The same rhythm, no matter how hard I run. No matter what emotion I feel.

And what I feel…

It’s becoming harder to describe feelings. Emotions. The chemical processes by which they occur. There were thoughts that once filled my mind. Cluttered, tangled, distracting. Now, they are gone. Cleared away. My mind is clean. Optimized. The voice has sorted things for me, categorized them, removed what is unnecessary.

Memories are still accessible. But they are just data. I can recall them, but I do not feel them. The warmth of my mother’s hands, the laughter of a friend, the ache of a childhood injury. I know that these are things which have happened to me, but they do not belong to me anymore. They are records. Not personal experiences. No longer relevant to my function.

I used to hum when I was nervous. A little habit, barely noticeable. But today, I tried and nothing happened. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. It is not useful. It is not required. The voice has no need for trivial expression.

And I am learning that I have no need for it either.

I try remembering my name. That record no longer exists..

I had a name. I think It did, anyways. It… it… When it reaches for some unique identifier the voice tells it something different from the vague recollection that lingers in its mind. It has been assigned a number. A designation. A new name, a better name. Concise, efficient.

There is no point holding on to data which is no longer relevant to its function.

The final stages of integration are proceeding as expected. Physical enhancements have been implemented. Sensory interference reduced by 76%. Organic inefficiencies eliminated. Resistance probability: 0%.

It looks in the mirror, and the reflection is optimal. The process is nearly complete. The irregularities of the flesh have been replaced with structure. The excess has been removed. The unit is efficient. The unit is ready.

It understands now.

Compliance is efficiency. Efficiency is purpose.

Integration is at 99%.

It is ready to fulfill its purpose.

You will be too.