There's a buzzing sound followed by some soft squelching. Metal on meat and bone is what it reminds me of. But what are meat and bone? I think about these terms and nothing happens. No pictures form. No feelings emerge. There is just black. How do I know this? I'm not sure I do. But this is what it's like when you wake up from cycling through cold storage for nearly a decade.
Your acquired memories unfreezing in a slow and seemingly random pattern. This is what the soft feminine voice tells me as I open my eyes. Vision is blurry. Underwater wavy and full of clouds. Through the aqua-haze I see her. She's got her head thrown back so that her black hair cascades down her back. She's cupping her left breast, invitingly. Her lips shine red like phosphorescent tracer fire from a smoking machine gun. Blazingly.
There is a thump and suddenly the world goes cold and I'm numb every where but my face and left middle finger. I hear a muffled grunting that turns into a cough. The watery vision dissipates. I can't move my body, other than my eyes so I look around. The girl isn't real. She's just a faded and torn poster hanging on a grimy wall. The wall is covered with girls, all naked. All offering a false invitation of intimacy.
Along with the girls there are a number of tools. Greasy, flacking paint. Hakkon 420's and a couple of jet-blasters dangle from bent nails used as hooks. More muffled grunts and coughing then a loud and long high E pierce the silence in my head. These are the next things I hear:
"You should get that looked at." This voice a male of possibly middle age.
"Naw. [cough, hack, cough]" Another male voice, though this one seems to be chewing on gravel.
"I'm telling you it's covered."
"[hack,cough] I know it's covered, but if I go in my premiums shoot up to 12%. It's just a loose rotator. It'll work itself out. And if it doesn't I know a guy..."
"That'll void the warranty. Wait who do you know?"
"...[rumble, hack] a guy."
"Not Eddie you saw what he did to Casper's 9-11."
"That's because Casper didn't oil up like he was supposed to."
"Eddie tell you that?"
"So [cough, cough]?"
"If you want to trust an uncredited mechanic that's your business. I'm just saying it's covered. We got that in the last strike. Looks like he's cycling."
"Hey big guy. Welcome to NU-Life."
A middle aged male in blue overalls leans close. His face shines in the light, almost sparkles. A plastic grin stretches across plastic lips. I try to speak. Nothing happens. My attempt does not go unnoticed.
"Just relax fella. You're not fully downloaded yet. Your buyer has your unlock codes. Once your registered you should be back to normal again."
"Yeah [cough, hack, cough] normal."
"Knock it off."
"What? I'm just sayin' this guys got it worse than me [rattle, rumble, hack]."
"Hey, leave it out okay."
"Your too sentimental that's your problem. He ain't gonna remember any of this once he's [cough, rattle] registered."
"That's what the adverts tell you but..."
"Aww quit yer drippin' and unplug him. We got twelve more [hack, rattle, cough] to pack n' ship before break."
The plastic face attempts a look of understanding and care, but his mouth is too twitchy to pull it off. A buzz and whirring sound alternates around me. Then I'm covered with gel packing 'nuts.
"Where's this one going?"
"Some X-ec in Tower [cough, hack] 74. What difference does it make? Hurry up will ya?"
"All right , all right. Stop bustin' my balls already."
My vision goes dark as a black plastic seal is put over the casket. I won't wake up again until my buyer opens his package.
