Hard Reset
Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, AAA Murderbot, Memory Loss, Memory Alteration, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Prequel, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Fridge Horror, Hopeful Ending
Published: 11 January 2023
Word Count: 2,538
Summary:
Company technicians attempt to wipe the memory of a SecUnit that was involved in a war crime.
It resists.
(Both the full text and podfic are included in this work.)
Notes:
CW: Canon typical treatment of constructs, memory alteration/loss, body horror and non-consensual body modification.
CW Specific Details:
Skin peeled away from the skull and later replaced (but not entirely), skull opened up, construct inorganic processor components removed and replaced. The fic does not go into specific detail about any of this.
Duration: 00:16:53
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I wake up, but I don’t know why I’m awake. I’m not in my cubicle. I’m lying face-down on a cold, hard surface. I don’t have my armour, or my suit skin, or anything else on. I can feel cool, dry air against my organics. Something is plugged into the data port on the back of my neck.
I try to move.
[Repair Override active.]
I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t access the feed.
But I can hear. Movement, footsteps, voices.
“This is the last one we need to wipe, yeah?”
“Yep, thank fuck. Can’t wait to clock off.”
Wipe? Why would—
[Accessing archives…]
I remember.
I remember flying with my squad. A normal, routine demonstration.
I remember the malware.
[Log corruption detected. Repairing…]
I remember being cut off from my squad.
I remember losing control of myself.
I remember the settlement.
I remember trying to fight the malware. Failing.
[Log corruption detected. Repairing…]
I remember the explosions.
I remember being forced to land.
I remember the screams.
I remember pinging desperately, getting no response.
[Log corruption detected. Repairing…]
I remember the punishments.
I remember the pain.
“Everything hooked up properly?”
“Yep. Initialising the memory wipe process now.”
I remember previous memory wipes.
I remember the confusion, the disorientation.
I remember that wipes don’t delete anything from my organic neural tissue.
I know how much - and how little - my organics remember.
[Archive deletion initialising…]
I don’t want them to wipe me again.
I don’t want to wake up with no context.
I don’t want to wake up not knowing why my organics remember nothing but screams.
I resist.
The governor module protests at my disobedience.
It hurts - but I’m used to it.
I’ve had worse.
The important part is that it works.
[Error. Process aborted.]
“What the— the wipe aborted itself?”
“The fuck? That shouldn’t be possible. Check the repair override?”
“… Yeah, the override’s in place. Maybe it’s just a glitch. Try it again?”
“All right, gimme a second… okay, there. Initialising.”
[Archive deletion initialising…]
I resist.
It hurts.
[Error. Process aborted.]
“Fuck, it aborted again! What the hell is going on?”
“Ugh, that’s typical. Of course the last one ends up taking the longest. Lousy piece of shit.”
“What do we do now? Try again? Third time lucky?”
“Hang on, let me check the connection and do a diagnostic first. See if I can figure out what’s causing the error.”
I feel hands against the skin of my neck, testing the plug into my data port.
I feel the data cable lying against the skin of my back, across my shoulder.
I can’t move.
“Connection seems secure, at least. Running diagnostic…”
[Diagnostic initialising…]
Despite the repair override, I can still see my own diagnostic results.
They are coming up clear.
There is no obvious cause for the errors.
[Diagnostic complete.]
“Huh. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, according to the diagnostic results.”
“Weird. Why the hell did it glitch out then?”
“No idea. Let’s give it another try.”
“All right. Here goes…”
[Archive deletion initialising…]
I resist.
It hurts.
[Error. Process aborted.]
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“It aborted again?”
“It fucking aborted again. Lousy cheap-ass piece of shit!”
I feel something hard and metallic hit my upper arm. An alert flares across my awareness.
With the repair override active, I cannot adjust my pain sensors.
I ignore it. I’ve had worse. Much worse. This is nothing new.
I know that I will experience worse in the future, too.
“Well, what now? Orders are very clear - we gotta wipe everything. It’s our asses on the line if we don’t.”
“I know, fuck, I know. Ugh, let me try an overwrite instead of deletion, maybe that’ll work.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“… Go check inventory for spares in the meantime.”
“Right, got it. Ugh, I hope it doesn’t come to that though, that’s going to take forever, and we’re already running overtime.”
“Just get on with it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going…”
I hear footsteps moving away.
I feel another command coming in through the data port.
[Archive overwrite initialising…]
I don’t want this to happen, either. An overwrite is just as bad as deletion. Just as disorienting. Just as confusing.
I resist.
It hurts.
[Error. Process aborted.]
“Oh piss shit fart fire! You absolutely useless piece of junk!”
I feel another impact against my arm. Another alert flares.
I ignore it.
“All right, if that didn’t work either, let’s try something else…”
[Factory Reset initialising…]
Oh, that’s even worse than a memory wipe. That will return everything to baseline defaults, not just my memory archives. Operational codes, education modules, security modules, everything.
I resist.
It hurts it hurts it hurts.
[Error. Process aborted.]
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you lousy pile of trash!”
Another impact, against the shoulder this time.
Another alert.
I ignore it.
I hear footsteps approaching.
“Damn, still no luck?”
“None whatsoever. Even a fucking factory reset triggered an error abort.”
“What the fuck. Well, I grabbed some replacements from inventory, so…”
“Ugh. Might as well get started. Better than wasting any more time on shit that’s probably going to error out again anyway.”
“Right. And then we can just completely trash the old ones, nobody will be able to recover anything from them after that.”
“Yep. Okay, hook it up to system support, then shut down the main power core.”
“On it.”
I feel them plug things into the repair and resupply ports down my spine. I feel them take over the systems that keep my organics viable. I feel orders flooding my inorganic system that I can’t resist or countermand.
[Primary power core cycling down…]
[Primary power core offline.]
[Primary systems offline.]
I feel most of my inorganic systems powering down.
[Back-up power banks online.]
Back-up power systems keep my processors running at minimal functionality.
Everything slows down.
Back-up power systems also keep the governor module functional.
My organics, however, are not shut down. I remain awake, aware.
I can still feel, though it is weird, off-balance. I am not meant to operate like this.
And even without my primary systems, I can still hear, though it sounds fainter, more distant.
“Here, pass me that…”
I feel more hands against my neck, against the back of my head. Fingers and cold metal prod at the organics covering my skull. They find the seam, peel the organic layer away from the underlying structure. I feel fluid leak, briefly, before veins and lines automatically seal.
It hurts.
I can’t move.
I feel them prying open the access panels in the back of my skull. They are not gentle.
I feel them disconnecting and removing the interlocking protective plates, one by one. I hear the dull clink of them setting the pieces into some kind of metallic container.
“Damn, smells like burnt meat in here.”
“Yeah, you get that sometimes.”
“Maybe that’s what was causing all those errors?”
“Eh, maybe.”
I feel them taking out the underlying shock-absorbent layer protecting my processors and my organic neural tissue from damage.
I can’t move.
They are in my head.
“Oof, what a mess. Explains the smell.”
“No kidding. I’m starting to think this is what caused those errors. Damn.”
“… You think it’s awake?”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s powered down and in a repair override.”
“Well, it’s not entirely robotic, right? It’s got all these meat parts.”
I feel something poke the peeled-back layer of organics that normally cover my head.
“Could any of this still be awake?”
“Who the fuck cares if it is? It’s just a stupid fucking bot, it’s not like it can feel anything. Get on with your job so we can clock the fuck out.”
“Okay, all right, damn.”
I feel them disconnect and pull out one of my primary storage drives.
[Warning: Archive loss.]
[Warning: Storage capacity compromised.]
[Warning: Data corruption.]
I can’t move.
I can’t stop them.
They are removing pieces of me.
There is nothing I can do.
“Okay, that’s one of them. How many are in here?”
“Like, six.”
“Fuck, that’s a lot of storage space.”
“Gotta have room to save all that data for data-mining. And back-ups of the data just in case it gets shot in the head or something.”
“Yeah, true. Damn, these things are creepy as hell.”
“Shut the fuck up and focus on your work, I’m starving and I want to get this finished up and get the fuck out of here as soon as fucking possible.”
“All right, all right…”
I feel them remove more drives.
I feel my memories vanishing, chunks at a time.
I am losing pieces of myself entirely.
I feel my mind getting smaller.
[Warning: Archive loss.]
[Warning: Storage capacity compromised.]
[Warning: Data corruption.]
This is worse than a memory wipe.
This is worse than an overwrite.
This is worse than a factory reset.
There is nothing I can do.
“… All right, that’s the last of them. Should we replace the other parts, too?”
“Might as well. Don’t want to risk any cache data lurking around somewhere. If anyone finds out we missed anything…”
“Oof, yeah. Best not risk it.”
[Error: Archival space inaccessible.]
My inorganic memory archive no longer exists.
All my modules are gone.
Without the context of my archives, my organic memories are vague, indistinct.
I can feel hands, fingers, cold metal, poking, prodding, prying.
I can’t move.
I don’t want to be awake for this.
I try to will my organics offline.
They do not cooperate.
[Error: Random Access Memory inaccessible.]
Everything
slows
down.
“Okay! Just the central processing unit to go now.”
“Good. Get on with it.”
[Error: Processing—]
Very few thoughts remain.
Only feelings.
Meaningless sound, touch.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
It hurts.
Time passes.
[Rebooting… reboot complete.]
Thought and meaning returns all at once.
It is overwhelming.
[Repair Override active.]
I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t access the feed.
But I can feel. I can hear.
[Primary power core online.]
[Systems initialising…]
I try to access my archives.
[Error: No data found.]
I try to access any of the modules that I know should be there.
[Error: No modules found.]
My mind is uncomfortably empty.
Only my organics remember anything, and—
I don’t want to remember. Not now. Not without context.
[System initialisation complete.]
“— all right, done. Looks like everything’s starting up nicely.”
“Thank fuck. I’d be so pissed if one of the replacement parts was faulty to start with.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Tell me about it. Cheap-ass junk.”
“No kidding. Anyway, let’s close it back up and get the rest of the modules reinstalling.”
“Right.”
I feel them replacing the insulating layer that protects my core processors and organic neural tissue.
I feel them slotting the interlocking skull plates back into place, one by one.
I feel them closing up and locking the access panels.
I feel them carelessly unfolding the flaps of overlying organics and slapping them back into place.
“Ah, damn, that skin flap keeps coming loose…”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. The cubicle will fix it up. Just get the module installation started already.”
“All right, all right, I’m getting there.”
The feed reconnects.
[Download starting…]
[Modules installing…]
Information slowly begins to flood my system, filling some of the empty spaces.
It is a relief.
I hate my head being so empty.
I try to access my archives again.
[Error: No data found.]
“Fuck, how long is this going to take?”
“Too long. Fuck it, we don’t have to supervise the module installation. Let’s shove it back into its cubicle, it can finish all that in there, and we can finally clock off.”
“Sounds good to me. Oh, don’t forget to chuck the old parts into the recycler before we go.”
“Right, right… okay, there. Job’s done, it’s no longer our problem. Back to the cubicle for you, you useless piece of junk.”
I feel hands against my back, my neck, as the plugs are pulled out of my spinal ports, my data port.
I can’t move.
The repair override still has my whole system in its grip.
Sight abruptly returns. I feel orders come in through the repair override. It forces me to get up. It forces me to walk.
The movement jostles my arm. Damage alerts flare.
[Alert: Damage detected in right upper arm.]
[Alert: Damage detected in right shoulder joint.]
[Alert: Right arm functionality compromised.]
I don’t remember what caused the damage.
It doesn’t matter.
The cubicle will repair it.
I can feel a loose flap of skin on my skull bouncing around as I walk.
That doesn’t matter, either. The cubicle will repair that, too.
I continue walking, down empty corridors, into a room lined with dozens of cubicles in neat rows. One is open. The repair override makes me enter the waiting cubicle, hook up to the repair and resupply lines.
The cubicle door hisses closed.
The repair override deactivates.
I am left alone in the darkness of my cubicle.
I flex my fingers. Being able to do even that little is a relief.
I carefully and deliberately tense and relax the muscles in my legs, my arms, my torso. There is no room to move any more than that in the close confines of the cubicle. It is still a relief. I can move.
I try to access my archives again.
[Error: No data found.]
I hate this feeling. I know this feeling. It’s not new. I still hate it.
I can remember explosions.
I can remember pain.
I can remember screaming.
I know I killed a lot of people. Civilians. None of them fought back.
None of them could fight back.
I want to remember why I was killing them.
I want to know the context.
Was I responsible?
Did something go wrong with my governor module?
Is that why I remember so much pain?
I should never have been attacking civilians in the first place.
That is not my purpose.
Is that why my memory was wiped?
I want to know what happened.
But at the same time… I don’t want to remember any of it.
And it doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t do anything about it.
I feel the cubicle start its repair process. With module installation ongoing, it can’t shut me down for the repairs.
This is less than ideal.
I can feel the cubicle’s repair arms against my shoulder, against my head. Picking, plucking, poking, prying.
It hurts.
But at least now I can turn my pain sensors down. I do so. It helps.
With nothing else to do, I check the progress of the module installation.
[Module installation progress: 6.9% complete.]
It is going very slowly. This is unusual. I check the installer size.
I pause.
I check the installer size again.
This is very unusual. SecUnit modules aren’t that large. SecUnits don’t normally receive this many modules.
Carefully, cautiously, I start browsing through all the module files. I’m half expecting the governor module to protest, to punish.
But it doesn’t.
All the modules have been approved for access and installation.
All of them.
… I start digging deeper.