Shephatiah barely had time to register what was happening before the grip on her scalp tightened. She screamed—not out of fear, but pure outrage—as the ceiling crane snatched her by the hair, lifting her from the ground with brutal efficiency. The mechanical arm jerked her upward, her head whipping back painfully as her body dangled beneath it like a rag doll.
“How dare you!” she spat, her voice rising in fury. “Put us guys down, you worthless fucking hunk of stupid fucking shit!”
Her nails clawed at the air, helpless to reach anything as she swayed from side to side. There was no fear in her voice—just boiling anger. Shephatiah had been treated like royalty her whole life, and now some damn machine thought it could drag her around like cargo? Unbelievable.
The machine didn’t listen, of course. It swung her around, her hair pulling at the roots as it carried her effortlessly across the spaceport. The cold air stung her face, but it wasn’t the temperature that bothered her. It was the indignity of it all. She had never been manhandled like this—by anyone, much less a machine.
The crane jerked to a halt above a large metal bin. Without warning, it released her, but her hair, still tangled up in the silver wheel mechanisms, arrested her descent. She screamed horribly at the pain of having her scalp detach slightly as her “coif” of hair was torn. Her genetically modified “super-hair” all came off at once, like a wig. Shephatiah plummeted into the hopper, landing hard on the metal surface with a dull thud that knocked the wind out of her. For a moment, she lay there, stunned and furious.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the floor shifted beneath her. The hopper dumped her onto a conveyor, and it jerked into motion, carrying her forward like so many before her.
I don’t wanna deal with this. I gotta get out of this somehow.
Her anger flared again, and she tried to roll off the side of the conveyor, but as she glanced over the edge, the sight of the fall made her stomach turn. She gritted her teeth, gripping the metal platform beneath her. Fuck, fuck, fuck... She was not about to fling herself into a drop that deep.
The conveyor rattled, pulling her forward with brutal indifference. The noise grew louder, and she began to notice the bloodstains—old, crusted, mixed with the metallic smell of rot. She was being taken somewhere—somewhere bad.
Ahead, she saw it.
The machine loomed at the end of the conveyor. Covered in hanging strips of human skin, it looked like some macabre fusion of flesh and metal, a nightmarish blend of both. The skin that draped over it was rotting in places, and underneath, she could see the skeletal structure of a once gleaming, white machine. Now it was covered in rust, dried blood, and gore. Its arms—or what remained of them—were shattered, with only one appendage still functioning.
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Small white spider robots crawled over the thing, welding with small torches, repairing it as best they could. Two of the spiders were working to reattach a dismembered limb. Sparks flew as they soldered the metal, ignoring the fact that their machine had already been broken once.
Shephatiah’s heart raced, her fury beginning to crack as the grotesque scene unfolded before her. The conveyor rattled louder, and with a sudden jolt, it kicked her off. She landed between two broken rollers, just shy of a deep pit below. Her body scraped against the rough surface, but before she could even scramble to her feet, the machine's remaining arm shot out, slamming her down and pinning her to the ground.
“Get your filthy fucking hands off me!” she shrieked, her voice venomous, her body twisting as she struggled. “Do you know who I am?! You can’t fucki—”
Her words choked off as she glanced up. The spiders had finished reattaching the second limb. The machine flexed it experimentally, testing its range of motion. The broken, bloodied skin still clung to it, hanging loosely from the arm like old rags. And now, it was reaching for her.
A knot of terror formed in Shephatiah’s throat. Her chest heaved as her breathing quickened, her mind reeling. But even as the arm reached closer, she refused to scream. Her rage bubbled over once again, clinging to her in her final moments.
But the terror was stronger. Her throat tightened, and with a convulsive swallow, the unthinkable happened.
Shephatiah's heart gave out. Her body jerked once, her eyes wide, frozen in shock.
The machine’s limb hovered just inches from her body, its final strike unnecessary. Shephatiah’s AVP feed was over.
EPILOGUE TO THE INTERLUDE: SHEPHATIAH EXPOSED
The machine continued its work, oblivious to the fact that Shephatiah was already dead. Its remaining arm moved mechanically, gripping her body with cold, indifferent force. It lowered her lifeless form onto the table beneath it, her limbs limp and bloodied from the earlier struggle. The white spider robots skittered around her, continuing their repairs on the damaged machine as if nothing had changed.
Without hesitation, the machine began its grim task.
Its pronged appendage extended, cold metal fingers slicing into her skin. Bit by bit, the flesh was stripped away, peeled from her body with the same ruthless precision as it had done to countless others before her. The blood pooled beneath her, staining the metal table, as layer after layer was flayed from her body.
When the task was done, there was nothing left but exposed muscle and bone, her skin draped across the machine like another trophy in its grotesque collection. Her body, now devoid of any identifying features, was just another victim processed by the machine.
With mechanical efficiency, the machine’s arm swung her flayed corpse over the edge of the processing table. Without ceremony, it dropped her down the pit—into the dark abyss below.
Her body landed heavily on the twisted, broken form of God Love Omega, who still lay motionless among the pile of dead. The pit was silent, save for the sound of her body joining the others—another casualty in the endless cycle of death and decay.
A Dotour robot, its sleek, insect-like form appearing at the edge of the pit, hovered for a moment before descending toward Shephatiah’s body. Its blue panel face reflected the carnage as it moved with unsettling precision. The robot reached down, its long, slender fingers wrapping around her head with surgical care.
From its back, it retrieved a silver cylinder—the NPU, gleaming under the dim lights. It placed the device over her head, and with a soft whirr, the robot completed its task.
Satisfied, the Dotour robot turned and ascended from the pit, leaving Shephatiah’s body behind in the darkness, now just another forgotten soul, stripped of both flesh and identity.