Image of Enevelen collapsed in the middle of nowhere, footsteps trailing behind her across several sand dunes. [https://i.vgy.me/SAPc8G.png]

"Where am I?" thought Enevelen, as she watched the town come into view. Her body walked into town, many other mechanical figures waltzing in and out of stores around her as she observed them waving at each other, tipping hats, staring into windows... she waved as well, to no one in particular. Did she?

Enevelen wandered into the ammunition stop. Looking down at her body, she saw herself deeply injured. Bruises and torn ligaments, injuries that would make any other machine faint. She quickly covered herself with the stained shawl in embarrassment. Nothing to be embarrassed about really, her body thought, she had worked very hard. These were the scars of productivity.

Into the shop, her face felt the cool blast of air conditioning. The shop was very popular and thus made lots of money. They could afford such comforts. Business was booming! They must've worked very hard (who's thoughts are these?) to get to that level of success, and a strong ethic towards hard work was something she very much admired.

Her eyes perused the weaponry. Ballistic rifles, an ancient technology. Still very popular, and cheaper than any normal weapon. Her mind knew she needed more ammunition for her rifle, and some for her pistol. Charge batteries, probably over by the high-end electronics. Very expensive, her memory knew. Something not so easily manufactured, instead printed. Charged manually by a rotor. Printing was expensive and required a difficult-to-make metal and plastic paste. There was a large amount of science and research dedicated to the complexities and variations of mechanical paste (who is thinking this?) that her mind was unfamiliar with the specifics of. These things didn't matter to her though. Her job was to shoot, not ask where the bullet came from.

Her hands stumbled along the racks of batteries, many different sizes. What kind of weapon uses triple-grade G batteries? Something pulse-oriented, maybe, but not like her own. It was a lot of energy in one blast, maybe something meant to imitate an explosive (this isn't right, something's not right) or a concussive missile. Missiles seemed like overkill in a territory like this. Suppose you wanted to kill a large group like the Red Sands, or Scavengers? Explosive-mimicking weapons might've been good for that.

Her rifle's batteries were a quick find, very expensive. Thankfully now the credits had come in from the difficult job she had just undertaken. The pistol's ammunition sat nearby, in the smaller caliber section (this is wrong) to the right of the wide-shot batteries. So many batteries. Her hands grabbed a handful, as they were much cheaper than the rifle's ammunition, and her gun ate through them very quickly. An unfamiliar brand was also on sale, but her mind at first chose against picking them up because it was unclear if the brand would be as reliant (something feels wrong) as her usual kind. Her hands relented, however, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to at least get one or two of the unfamiliar brand as they were relatively cheap, and she could experiment with them on her body's next job. Never hurts to try another brand, her mind told her.

Enevelen's legs pulled her over to the counter, and her hands placed the ammunition on the counter to have the cashier scan and ring them up. Her mind was glad that that this store had revitalized the old cash register system popular in the twentieth century, instead of using automated checkouts or online purchasing. This store had a very good eye for comfort and aesthetics. Seeing a real person before her (what?) was something her brain felt reassured by. It made the purchase feel more trustworthy (what are you talking about??) and her mouth enjoyed the small talk that followed.

Wandering out from the store, her legs took her past the café she liked to visit with Chlorophi. Her stomach decided it wouldn't mind a soda or two, maybe something more alcoholic...? Thirst was always a common thing in the desert of course, though her mind knew just drinking a soda or two wouldn't quench it much. Water was what was needed, and walking into a casual dining environment looking like this (I don't feel like I'm in control) with things hanging out of her arms and legs, despite most of it covered by her shawl (I'm not in control!) she guaranteed it would frighten someone. She didn't need that kind of trouble (I'm not-)

Enevelen, in her mind, watched as her body walked her over to one of the variety of commission guilds. Her body looked around the town, waving to no one every so often, like a broken animatronic. She realized, as she felt various foreign, awkward thoughts float through her brain, that she had lost control. Her body was operating without direction from her consciousness and was on full autopilot. With absolute terror, completely unable to control herself, or resist the motions her body was making, she stared as her hands opened the door to the facility. Her body wandered over to the billboard. An augmented reality display in her visor allowed her to see floating translucent graphics of pinned commissions, sorted both by price and difficulty. She struggled against herself as her body picked and poked at two or three new jobs, two difficult ones of reasonable pay, and one other of low pay but reasonable difficulty. She observed that her body was probably rationalizing what would be required to pay off the loan shark that fixed her legs a week before, and also expected future repairs from the mechanic that would fix the damages from the last job. It was a perfectly automated, considerate choice for her to pursue, but not conscious. She did not pick these jobs. She wanted to stop. She wanted out. What the hell was happening?

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She watched as her hands selected and confirmed the jobs of their own volition, her mind mentally scheduling them in an internal calendar app for when exactly to pursue. She screamed and screamed, internally, though of course, no one could hear. She was trapped in the backseat, strapped down, unable to interact with the world outside her vision. She watched her body as it waved to the operator at the help desk, who waved back. It was a casual wave, not too enthusiastic. Professional, automated. Like so many before her, she had fallen down, and was now stuck here forever. Nothing about her personality remained. All of it was trapped deep within the machine she had become. She continued to scream, first out of frustration, then out of sadness. Tears could not leave her face, the tear ducts belonged to the body. Nothing she could do. Nothing she could do. Blood leaked from her neck.

Her mind processed the idea of getting take-out. She had a little pocket money left over, though perhaps that should be saved for the mechanic? It was a thought. No. No. No. No. No. Stop. No. God. Please stop. She'd be able to afford a quick slice of pizza or something. Did cyborgs still serve pizza? She was sure this town had a pizza place. She could get it in a to-go box. Her stomach would love it, and she hadn't eaten in roughly twelve years. It wouldn't be a bad idea, her body laughed.

Out onto the desert floor again, into the scorching heat. Enevelen mentally tried to pull against her legs, but they continued to walk of their own volition. No control at all, full automation. Her body headed towards the mechanic, to get themselves fixed up for the next job. Preparation would come next, a week or two of scouting out the locations, scouring her electronic archives for information on the combatants, the commissioners themselves maybe, if the job seemed suspicious-

Wait, wait, wait, no please, this is my week off, this was supposed to be my week off-

-and a couple stretches before the mission actually begins. She'd want to get enough sleep for the coming jobs. It was important to sleep, it was important to keep her body healthy for more work. All the more reason to visit the mechanic-

No no no no no NO! NO-

-wandering to get them checked up. Legs repaired, maybe an arm readjustment, get her thermal couplings re-aligned as well. Wouldn't hurt to get her processors looked at while they were at it, though it might put her a little further in debt. She could just take on more jobs. Keep them running efficiently, and if she worked hard enough, it would be no big feat to get that all paid off in no time-

My consciousness, what about my consciousness, that won't fix it, you might erase me entirely-

No easy feat to get yourself cleaned up after a big job, but you know, that's how it goes. Work is hard, and headhunting is harder (laughs) that's just how it goes. Work is hard, and headhunting is harder (laughs) that's just how it goes. Work is hard, and headhunting-

I'm done, we can't, I can't let this go on, I'm pulling the plug-

As she wandered into the desert, many miles now between town and the mechanic's business on the outskirts (he was not able to make a location convenient for the townsfolk without them swarming him) her body pulled her up a dune, the most efficient pathway, before something clicked in her brain. With a sudden jolt, her body went limp mid-step, collapsing into the sand below. Her heavy metal body, ripe with pissing tubes of oil and torn rubber flesh, was swallowed by the sand as it slid down the slope of the dune into a crevasse. It sat there, limp, having flipped onto its back with its hands hanging over its chest like a possum. It twitched, her body attempting to regain control, to take her to the mechanic, but that was it. Enny sighed in relief as she lay there, the machine that housed her mind now dormant and slowly running out the clock. Nothing moved. She was so far from the town, from the mechanic, and had taken a "more efficient" route, several miles off of the normal walking path. No one would find her for several hundred years, and there was nothing she could do.

She sighed in relief.