(Redux) [Vignette] ???

Identification? I'm Charlotte Fawkins.

No, I'm not. Sorry, that's a joke. Wouldn't it be easy if I was, though? Wouldn't it be nice? I'm already half-submerged: I could sink with a thought. The milky waters will eat at my scales, and I'll be left velvety, defenseless. Pliant. Causality will stretch me like taffy. I will and must be what I am. Those are the rules, right? I will wake up (it will have taken no time) and I will be Charlotte Fawkins, with a splitting headache, and with dream-memories of meetings and executive reviews.

Like this one, kind of. Haha.

The real one? I am the real one. (At the moment.) The original one, if that's what you meant, would die. It wouldn't hurt. She'd just drift apart.

Me? No, I'd never do that. I'm a professional, not a hack. I'm just laying out the--

Have I considered it? Don't ask stupid questions.

Yes. Yes, of course. It's impossible to do a thing like this and not consider it. L'appel du vide, right? It goes beyond that, though, it's an active drive: the mind wants to match the body. Even if you don't go all the way, you're still battered with constant noise--

Yes, I do have to be good.

Thank you.

Thank you, but no, that's different. That's just a variant on the standard chassis, really, works on the same principles. No, not an illegal variant, just... not recommended. It's unproductive, for one. And you get all sorts of... ideas. And feelings.

What? You know, feelings. Excitement. Affection. Interest.

Is it bad to have-- I don't know. It feels good in the moment. It feels like shit after. It's like being sucked down the wrong end of the telescope. It's like seeing in color, then forgetting what color looked like, but still knowing-- still knowing you saw in it, at one point. Sometimes I miss opposable thumbs.

I'm not complaining about the standard chassis. That wasn't complaining. Don't write that down.

Don't write-- this is off the record, got it? All of this.

Yes! Even that! Especially that! 'Affection' isn't-- that's all on her end. I didn't choose to pair myself with a touch-starved sad sack. No, I don't 'give in,' I'm forced into it, like how I'm being forced into this, by the way. Wow, sue me for 'giving in' to incredible mental pressure--

You're concerned about it affecting the end goal? That's insane. That's absurd. I hate the stupid bitch.

'Measurable levels of--' You can't possibly measure that. That's--

What? I am not 'drawing this out.' You're just making things up, now. You're just crafting wholesale bullshit. This is slander. I don't want to hear this.

Huh? Yes, she'll be fine. I'm a professional, remember? I check in once a day, wake her up, the whole procedure. There's no danger to your pwecious--

I don't want to hear this. I don't-- has anyone told you you're a fat whore?

No? Really? I find that hard to believe.

I think you're jealous, honestly. I'm here, enjoying life, enjoying freedom, and you're stuck in a cubicle. You're jealous, and you can't even report me. This is off the record. Remember?

I am not-- I am not being affected by her. Frick you.

Fuck you. That's what I said. Fuck you. I'm done with this.

[CONNECTION LOST]