The Demonstration
By Borg 5 of 9 SF
Introduction
In September 2022 I was diagnosed with an extremely rare form of paralysis called transverse myelitis. In my case, antibodies attacked my spine instead of a virus I had been fighting. During a 24-hour span, I went from being able to walk to not being able to support my weight. The paralysis kept creeping up my body like rising water, fortunately stopping at the abdomen. But it took powerful steroids and intense physical therapy to regain my ability to even shuffle down the hall with the aid of a walker.
Over the month and change I spent in the hospital, I experienced a lot of stress and worry, but also a lot of interesting sensations. My cybernetics kink helped preserve my sanity in these moments, and so I have folded many of my experiences into this transformation story. Kink can be a lot of things, and a protective mechanism is one of them. I am grateful to my kinky eccentricities, which I used to be ashamed of, for helping me through this crisis. My love did too—she was there for me every day and night.
But this is a work of fiction. Although my condition provided inspiration for this piece, the specific events depicted are far from anything which happened in real life. Which brings me to:
Content warnings: This is a work of erotic cybernetic fiction. It includes: a gender-neutral first person perspective, being taken apart, being awake during cyborg conversion, playing with the idea of consciousness. It contains a female dom, male drones, and relations with both.
Chapter 1: Amnesia
The first thing you remembered were the bright lights flooding your eyesight. The discomfort of the tubes in your esophagus and the plastic mask over your mouth and nose. In the periphery of your vision you can see beings in powder blue surgical masks bent over your abdomen. You feel tugging and pulling as they work on something inside your abdominal cavity. But there is no pain. There is little sensation at all.
How did I get here? What is happening? You can’t remember anything. Your head swims, no doubt an effect of all the drugs pumped into your system. But you can’t move.
“Doctor, the drone is awake”
“OK, we’re almost done here.”, another voice off to your other side replies. There is a high pitched whir as the doctor secures something to your shoulder. It clamps down. You don’t feel anything but the pressure. You try to move your head to look down at your body but it is held firmly in place.
Then, blankness as you are put back under.
You are suddenly aware of your senses again. An unspecified amount of time has passed.
You’re in an upright position, strapped to a rack. You try once more to look down at your body, but your head again cannot pivot downward.
The room looks sterile. There is a cart off to your left with laboratory equipment. You scan the room. Across from you is a monitor displaying what appears to be x-rays of a figure from both the front and profile views. Wires snake through the body, hooking to solid objects embedded within: Devices inside the ribcage, abdomen, with smaller electronics throughout. Behind the right eye is shown a circular implant. And behind that, items in the brain and replacing the ears. There are no legs below the thigh. It is then that you realize you are suspended above the ground. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. You hear voices:
“The drone is online”
“Vitals holding stable”
There is a dull ache behind your own right eye that would seem to correlate with what is on the monitor. Is this you on the screen? Before you can fully digest what you’re seeing, they speak again:
“Alright, let’s get it prepped. Flush the jacks”
“OK, flushing”, comes the reply.
A cool rush flows through your veins at the entrance point of your jacks: arms, right side of the lower abdomen, left side of the neck, and where your nipples and external genitalia were. You taste something metallic as the chemicals are excreted through your lungs.
You catch a glimpse of your naked, scarred form on a reflective metallic surface. The image is distorted, but you can make out stapled-shut stitches and small implants scattered over the body, protruding from the skin. Your right eye has been removed, and electronics are recessed in the orbital socket. What have they done to me?
“Ocular implant?”
“Ocular implant.”
A human clad in baggy silvery protective garb blocks your view. The face is obscured by a breathing mask and a glowing blue augmented reality lens over one eye. You can almost make out the HUD from the front, the text and images reversed. It holds up a device up to your face. It goes far into your eye socket, delicately clicking into place as it connects with the cybernetics in your skull. You hear a faint high-pitched whine as it powers on. There is a brief burst of static in your eardrums as your vision shows glitches, like a corrupted video file trying to recover. Then, clarity—more than you ever had.
Other humans come into view. One carries a bulky chest plate piece. Another human, from before, returns with another piece: one which is contoured with a bulge. And, yet another, a round half-dome. The material of these components is an alloy unlike anything familiar.
The human with the half-dome attachment comes forward and off to the left, out of your periphery. You feel cold metal and static-electric tingling as the material makes contact with your bare head. It fully grips the left side and top of your head but on the right only covers the crown, leaving the hairless flesh dotted with implants exposed.
The human with the chest plating approaches you and holds the front plate over your implant-riddled chest as the back plating dangles to the side. The being carefully aligns connection points on the underside of the plate with the jacks protruding from your body. Another brings the back plating around, again aligning it.
“1.. 2.. 3” one says. They push the plates together in unison, the connections entering the jacks, your new chassis penetrating your body. Fusing with it. It is part of you now.
A low-rise backpack made of the same material is carefully slotted into the backplate, and you feel tugging sensations as it is locked firmly into place, and a vibration as it comes to life. There is a new heaviness, that of your new chassis pushing you down with its weight. But you don’t budge.
Finally, the engineer holding the piece with the bulge holds it in front of your crotch. The one who installed the chest plating pulls a thick hose from the bulge, and slowly feeds it into the port which has replaced your primary genitalia. Through the center of the hose’s jack is a curved metallic rod. The rod slowly, and smoothly, glides into your port. There’s a strange sensation as it penetrates, going impossibly deep inside your body. A slight pinching, the nerves being stimulated in ways they have never experienced. It makes its way inside your urethra until it finally pushes through the internal sphincter leading to the bladder, or whichever biomechanism your bladder has become. The ring around the base of the cable twists and locks itself into place. There is a cool, almost painful sensation of fluid being pulled from you. Or is it being fed into you? The sensation is constant. It hurts a little, but it’s not a bad feeling.
Cables are picked up off a tray to your left, and your headgear is plugged into the back of the muscled chassis. More cables are attached from the backpack to the jacks on your temple, and finally, from the side of the codpiece into the backpack
An engineer hits a key and the bonding process begins.
You feel a needle enter you. Then another. Each time, the sting of the metal pushes through your flesh into deeper tissue. Some make connections with pinhole ports, others stick into biological systems.
Something appears in your head, like an inner monologue but foreign to you. It is raspy and robotic: “Neural network online. Firmware 55.1.” Did you speak it or just imagine it?
Time: 545011200. You have nothing to compare it to.
“Unit. State your designation,” the engineer queries the cybernetic network which now comprises your brain.
You stiffen slightly. There is a strange burbling in your mind as the programming hijacks your brain. It becomes louder until it overwhelms you. Then: “AX-5 series drone. Unit identifier 74J-96-B”, you speak in unison with it.
The programming releases you, dropping you back into free will. Why is it in my head? What is going on? And why do I crave it?
With some effort, you look down. There is a halting servo sound as your head moves jerkily—malcoordinated. You see your arm ends above the elbow. It terminates in a gleaming jack. One of the humans carries a prosthesis. Instead of a hand, a metal claw is at the end, and myriad unfamiliar tools extend from the side. Some are needle-like, some like tiny robotic fingers. You are hungry for it to be attached to your port. You need it. Just as you were thinking that, your arm automatically pivots forward to accept the new limb. It is carefully secured to the port sideways, then twisted to lock into place. A feeling of euphoria courses through you. An especially thick hose is fed from your back into your manipulator arm.
Another key is hit, activating another device. Electric pins and needles shoot up your arm, but the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. There is again the feeling of being taken over, ascending into bliss. Your arm slowly raises, claw opens and closes and the tools fan out from the side of your wrist and back, like a wave. Calibration complete. You hold it up so you can see the piece in detail, gazing upon it in wonder. Every movement you make, you hear the faint sound of tiny motors. You feel like you are about to orgasm. It is building. Then, a voice snaps you out of it:
“OK, shut it down”
A switch is flipped. Your head goes limp as you stand. The manipulator arm returns to a rest position. Vision off. Consciousness off.