Old Meat

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This is a companion fluff story for the /tg/ homebrew game Server Crash.

Do I ever miss the old meat? Hell, who doesn't? Sure as hell don't need to tell you about the sense of touch, the fact that only a few people can even use their sense of smell in here. You didn't know that? Well hell, learn something new every cycle I guess.

Thing I miss most, though...hell, I probably oughtn't tell you this, but I'm too zonked on underclockers to care.

My wife. The two of us worked from home, by virtual telepresence. Spent the whole work day sitting in our swivel chairs right next to each other, jacked into full VR. We used to hold hands before we went under, so the first sensation we'd have when we came back to the flesh was the other's presence. Corny as hell, I know, but it helped both of us through some shitty jobs.

Then the Fall hit. We were both at work in different nodes. I didn't even know until I tried to jack out and realized I couldn't move my real-world hands. A minute later the Cybers came, and I had to run for it. I jumped from outpost to outpost before I finally ended up here at Wikipedia. Had to wipe my trail once to keep some bastard pirate off my tail. And I know that if she's alive, she's likely had to do the same. The part that really gets me is that out there, we're still just sitting at home holding hands, but in here I'll probably never...

Sorry, this is supposed to be a celebration and here I go with my doom and gloom.