[CW: self-harm]

✴

Maybe you& can just distract yourself&, get lost in a project. You& push yourself& up and over to your desk, where you were in the middle of modifying your terminal. Its plastic case is removed, its circuitry exposed. You& stare down at the labyrinth of traces and pads. Your& eyes are immediately drawn to the power management circuit--with its input contacts exposed, as you were in the middle of replacing the integrated circuit. Hopelessly absentminded as ever, you even left a power cable plugged in from when you were testing it earlier.

Without thinking about it, you& reach down and touch the exposed contacts. The sensory feedback is immediate--the painful shock, alarming, violating, but stimmy in its own way, strangely satisfying. You& touch it again, deliberately. Your& nerves reflexively recoil your hand, and you& can’t force yourself& to keep it there. If only you& had better control over your body. That’s what it will be like being a technopath, you& think--your nervous system will be a tool to finely control, not something you fight every step of the way. But then, who will truly be in control? Did you& ever choose to be interested in electronics in the first place? You& silence these thoughts with another microdose of 3 amps.

The calming endorphins hit your brain, the only thing that can calm you& on a night like this. But it’s just not enough. Without thinking, you& have your soldering iron in hand, left plugged in but turned off. A push of a button activates it at its last preset of 400 degrees. That would silence all the unwanted thoughts. It would even look like an accident. She’ll yell at you less if it was carelessness that damaged Redshift property.

Before you& can hesitate, you& bring the hot metal tip down to your& left arm, the inside of your& wrist--you& trace a path up your& forearm until your& nerves force your& hand away. The wound opens up, melting open, following the line you& drew--red, then white, bordered with red. Then, the pain--sharp, intense like never before. You& drop the iron and clutch your& arm, shouting in agony. The scent of burned flesh and burned plastic hits you& together as the hot tip touches the carpet under you&. You& hit the floor a second later. The scent and the light fade away as you& fall into the embrace of dissociation.

The memory collapses, and your& senses return to your& mycelial headspace, still clutching your& left arm tight.

“I knew it,” the intruder signs as his avatar reforms along with the terrain. “What a couple you& make! Imagine what you& could do to yourself& together!”

“I don’t do that anymore!” You& strike the wall emphatically as you sign, sending a shockwave that impacts him--you& feel it too.

“Because I’m here to stop you!” he signs.

“You’re the reason I did it!” you& sign.

Your& fingers trace the texture of your& arms--two old scars intertwined. It’s okay, you& think. I’m the same, feel? I’m the same. You& let go and turn your& focus back toward your& adversary.

“Stop interfering with this mission!” you& sign. “If I fail here, so will you!”

“Why is it only when you’re chastising me that you even come close to acknowledging us as a system?!” he signs. The mycelium between you vibrates in sync with the anger he radiates.

“What?!”

“Can’t you& see I’m here to help?! I’m in that twink’s head just as much as you are--he wouldn’t have gone there, even though it was crucial to the mission, he was blocking it from your touch!”

“Fuck off!”

“No! You& need me! You&‘re not strong enough for this mission! Neither of you!” he signs.