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TopReputation t1_ixu2ae4 wrote

Down on their luck soldiers for hire willingly "rent" out their meat-space bodies for credits by the hour. During this time, their body is controlled by a (to be named) Megacorp AI/software.

Our MC (main character) is an elite street samurai/mercenary/ Corporate Soldier-for-hire that "wakes up" mid-op, the AI software having been booted out by a rival Razorgirl with a knack for netrunning. She sees what's happened and decides to spare his life.

Now MC is left holding the bag, in the middle of a Corporate warzone with soldiers and agents gunning for him and with his figurative pants down at his ankles feeling lost as shit.

Themes: Playing with the idea of memory and identity a la Total Recall, with similar tropes of someone that's deep in an operation but has suddenly loss all his memory of who he is and of the operation (except this time it's because the AI personality chip got booted out mid-op). Other themes: Exploring the idea of if someone can be held accountable or guilty of a crime if they weren't fully in possession of their body at the time of the crime

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SorryUncleAl OP t1_ixul1gi wrote

"I told you it wasn't me. It just wasn't. I blacked out. Then I woke up."

The detective's fly-lens eyecaps swiveled around to size up your expression through what must've been 40 different perception OS. Then he burst out laughing.

He only spoke after he got ahold of himself, incredulous at your gall to present such an outrageous story.

"Do you know how many times a day I hear those exact words? You might be good at punching up low-lifes on the street, but clearly nobody was hiring you for your storytelling ability. Now let me cut to the ch--"

"Sir? Mr. Callbrook sir?"

A small female technician scuttled up behind the many-eyed man and tapped him on the shoulder repeatedly, prompting a groan and an admittedly fascinating display of 80+ sensors simultaneously sliding back and forth, as of a sort of technologically-perverted eye roll. They mumbled a few sentences back and forth thar you couldn't decipher, before the detective slammed his arm down onto the control panel of the console at which they were gathered. The various screens displayed complex technological diagrams, and graphs which were steadily starting to peak all at the same time.

It was time to get a closer look.

The measly handcuffs weren't built to withstand even simple electromagnetism. The implants in your fists and forearms afforded you for a variety of offensive and utilitarian functions, not the least of which was the ability to crush just about anything between them like a tin can in a hydraulic press.

The detective and his technician only jumped back when they heard the loud CRAAAAK sound of the handcuffs being demolished. Before any pleas could be made, you were already taking their place at the console, casting them both aside with force that slammed them both against the back wall of the room.

The graphs and diagrams were of your own body. Your chip sockets to be precise. And there was something seriously wrong with one of them. Not only was the slot with the AI program's chip locked up and closed of, but the chip itself was shattered and fragmented within it's casing. Worse yet, some parts were still...

Active?

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