Taiga C1128513. Analysis: Unthreated. Directive: None. Status: Incomplete. Directive: Recover helmet and shotel. Energy: Adequate. Directive: Forage. Location: Midwest Kashkabald Wasteland. Directive: Return to outpost at Hawk's Pass.
The noise was like a pressure building up in the back of his skull, overwhelming. On the hard composite surface of his right gauntlet there were a series of scratch lines: six of them, at the moment. Six days.
...I beat the record.
Taiga couldn't suppress a grim chortle. Soon it developed into a hacking laugh, and he could see a few small ground-dwelling lizards scamper away in fright. Taiga charged at them, oddly amused by their panicked flight. "On with ye! On with ye!" he bellowed at them, waving them away with violent jerks of his arms. "Run away! The grand Esthar Army can't keep me, damn if the wasteland is going to take me! On-ward evaaar!"
Taiga C1128513.
He ground to a halt, mirth souring and turning to disgust. He felt the urge to tear away his uniform, burn it, destroy it, do whatever it took to rid himself of the damnable thing, but he knew that there was no possible way. Stumbling onward, he glared at the baleful shapes of the mountains looming in the distance as if they were old opponents.
"How long does it take to go insane?" he inquired of the emotionless voice in the back of his mind. "How long? Is it more... than six days?"
Status: Incomplete. Directive: Recover helmet and shotel.
"They're gone, don't you get it? Gone, gone, gone!"
Status: Incomplete. Directive: Recover helmet and shotel.
Taiga's hand went to the back of his neck, feeling the thick wire that lead from his collar into his skin and ultimately into his spine and up toward his cerebellum. For a moment, he wondered what yanking it out would do. The thought made him quickly lower his hand to his side.
"Onward ever," he muttered, halfheartedly raising a fist in the rallying cry of the Esthar Army. "We'll see if I can make it to seven."
-
Night had fallen by the time he felt compelled to stop. Collapsing against the largest rock in the region, he glanced at the mountains. They seemed not to have neared.
Tilting his head back and rolling his eyes upward, he sighed heavily. His mouth drew itself into a thin line, and one of the metal fingertips on his gauntlet travelled absently along beneath his collar, displacing the sweat that had accumulated. "Query," he said darkly, eyes piercing up toward the glittering stars.
Query accepted.
"Define. Paranoid schizophrenia."
An illness typified by an auditory and/or visual break from reality accompanied by paranoia raging from moderate to acute.
"Define. Schizoid personality disorder."
An illness typified by a strong indifference to social and societal relationships.
"Define. Masochism."
An illness typified by any derivation of pleasure either physical or emotional resulting from physical, mental or emotional abuse.
"Define. Necrophobia."
An illness typified by unreasonable fear of death or those things related to death.
"Query."
Query accepted.
"Define 'unreasonable' in regards to a fear of death."
There was a pause.
Phobia. A persistent aversion to or acute fear of a specific object, idea or situation despite all reassurances.
"That's not what I asked."
There was silence.
Taiga sighed. "Query."
Query accepted.
"Recall previous five queries, disregard the fifth."
Stored in memory.
"Analyze host."
There was a pause, and Taiga could feel an electric rush running through his mind. Feelings and memories skirted the edge of his consciousness, flickering in and out of his mental vision before he had the time to recognize them.
Analysis complete. No symptoms found.
Not any more. "Record in memory."
Recorded.
Taiga thought for a moment. "You know, it's nice to have someone to talk to," he said.
There was no response.
"Bath." he stated. "I need a bath."
Racking his memory for a moment, he tried to remember the myriad commands. He could have just as easily looked it up--he remembered the manual code--but he didn't feel like wading through the information.
"...Directive."
Directive accepted.
"Bathe."
There was a slight gurgling noise, and a multitude of tiny jets and ultrasonic generators switched on inside the uniform, shaking and rinsing away the dust and sweat. Taiga raised a hand to his stomachplate, feeling the slight cool as the water ran through his implant to be sterilized. There was a brief sputter as the compressed waste unobtrusively exited a small tube in his left heel, spit out to mar the ground. Taiga glanced at it, wondering how that much grime could have gotten down into his suit.
Analysis: Unthreated. Directive: None. Status: Incomplete. Directive: Recover helmet and shotel. Energy: Adequate. Directive: None. Location: West Kashkabald Wasteland. Directive: Return to outpost at Hawk's Pass.
Taiga resisted an annoyed groan. "Directive," he stated.
Directive accepted.
"Sleep."
There was a hiss as something was injected from his collar into his bloodstream, and the world dimmed. "Directive," he murmured as he began to drift off; he didn't wait for the confirmation. "Disable dreams."
Darkness enveloped him.