Assimilation [18+]

Posted on 03 Oct 2013 @ 5:59am by Legatus of Borg & 2 of 8 & 5 of 8 & 6 of 8 & 8 of 8 & 5 of 34 & Senior Chief Petty Officer Anthony Davis & Tarishiana Barel & Lieutenant Lilou Zaren & Lieutenant Jared Nicholas & Raifi Zaren
Edited on on 03 Oct 2013 @ 10:45pm

3,682 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Episode 04 - Exodus
Location: Borg Cube - Subjunction 2, Grid 3-1, Assimilation Chamber
Timeline: MD 03 - 0309 hrs

[ON]

A set of four white ceiling lights shone down and illuminated the assimilation chamber from each corner of the rectangular room. The whitish hue was hazy and reflected across the room's humid fog, which was also accented by a myriad of ambient green consoles and interfaces scattered across the dark gray walls. Several drones wandered around with a purpose, retrieving severed limbs and organs from the nearby organic collection bin and then moving them to another facility for processing and disposal. The floor was slick with blood from a variety of species' bodies making it evident that the chamber had seen heavy use during the past hour. With so many new Federation members captured from the Nova Class, the cube's assimilation drones had been very busy converting them into new Borg soldiers.

In the middle of the room were four surgical platforms, each one currently occupied by an assimilated member of Galileo's crew. They lay conscious on the tables, but their bodies were invaded by millions of nanoprobes which prevented them from moving or escaping. Their minds, however, were less fortunate. With their individuality still somewhat intact, they would be able to witness the horrors of their upcoming assimilation in full detail.

From the darkness, a figure emerged, stepping forward towards the latest casualties of a seemingly never ending war between the Collective and individuality. As the white light fell onto the drone's metallic surfaces, it seemed to shimmer for a moment, as if an angel, but a moment later, it was clear that this was only an angel of death.

"Peers, Lilou - Trill/Human female hybrid. Nicholas, Jared - Human male. Zaren, Raifi - Trill male...Barel, Tarishiana, Betazoid female with offspring. Life as you know it has ended. Your biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. We are the Borg. Resistance is futile."

Jared lay in the semi-darkness. Aware and yet unaware of what was going on with his body. He still had his own consciousness, at least partially and alt least for the moment,

He could feel the nanoprobes invading and taking over his body, changing it, making it more adaptable,'improving' it. He knew it was adding and subtracting things. Things he didn't want added or subtracted. But there was nothing he could do about that.

He so hated the Borg, he always had, they were the one race that even the enemies of the Federation, considered an enemy. A common foe. But the reason he hated them with such a passion was because the stole self-identity, self-awareness, CHOICE.

And now he was becoming one. He knew their mantra, RESISTANCE IS FUTILE and he knew more than likely that it was, but he would try to fight it as long as he could.

Then after a pause, he didn't feel the need quite so urgently.

Tarishiana would feel the minds around her. The most disturbing part to the Betazoid was the fact that it wasn't coming from the telepathic parts of her brain. She could feel herself changing and there was nothing she could do about it. The nanoprobes were in her, system and no amount of will was going to get them out. She felt a hopeless flow over her as she lost more and more of herself. In her last act as herself her hand moved to her belly, a last attempt to save the life growing inside her.

Zaren considered the wire-tangled ceiling through Raifi Cahil's borrowed eyes. So this was how it was to end. A hundred and fifty five years of exploration and the search for enlightenment, finished in minutes by his greatest nemesis: Conformity. He could feel Raifi struggling against the invasion of nano-probes. Struggling and failing. It wasn't his fault. The technology was not necessarily what one might call 'advanced', but it was systematic and it had only one purpose. What need was there of advancement, really, when the old ways worked so well? But it was a shame. He was trying so hard to protect them both, the final barrier against assimilation. They both knew that the probes would soon sever the intimate connections and rend their alliance. It was only a matter of time. And then? Death was the most likely event, for both of them. Death wasn't such a scary thing. Neither was it entirely final. It wasn't Raifi's fault. Every one died. Everything ended. It was part of the circle. And, of course, yes - it was a shame he wouldn't be able to continue wandering around the galaxy eating chocolate and playing the belaklavion and telling stories and lifting truths to light... but there were others. Always. A universe full of them. Raifi was gone then, though a part of him remained with Zaren. Always would. Or would for the next few hours or however long until they either killed him outright or he died, forgotten in Raifi's abdomen. What an experience to share. What new information he'd gleaned about the Borg process by observing first hand the catastrophe. Of course, he couldn't see any more, but he hadn't entirely lost his sense of what was going on around him. The pigmentation of the skin was a side-effect, not an intended part of the transformation; fascinating. And the attachments were supplemented by internal circuitry built by the nanoprobes. Very clever. Running off the energy of a body rather than an external power source. Someone should really use that in an application other than destroying individual personalities and adding bodies to a farm of drones...

The Collective could already feel the knowledge and experience of these latest drones coarsing through their minds, one by one adding their own unique intellect to the greater whole. Something however was wrong, two of these drones were unsuitable for assimilation at this time. The Collective paused for a moment, deliberated, and moved on.

"Barel, Tarishiana, your offspring will be adapted to service us. Do not be afraid, a maturation chamber will help your offspring develop into a healthy drone."

Turning again, the drone received it's latest set of instructions from the Collective.

"Zaren, Raifi - joined Trill - symbiont knowledge will be added to our own, once removed from it's host."

With a turn of it's head, Legatus summoned additional drones, these ones equipped with the correct surgical implants to perform a task as close to doctors as the Collective possessed. Two pairs of drones entered the room, a mix of species and genders, each assigned their own individual task as mere extensions of the Collective's will.

Separating as they entered the room, each pair passing one side of their apparent leader, in order to attend to their assignments.

Approaching the Trill, one drone raised it's biomechanical arm, the laser scalpel embedded into it's circuitry whirring into life as a perfect line was sliced into Raifi's midsection, the stench of burning flesh permeating the room as the drones finished their work. The second drone then stepped in, reaching within Zaren's body to wrap hands around the targeted symbiont, before beginning to pull it free of the host body.

Raifi began to scream: harsh, panted, sharply echoing torrents of sound. Then the nanoprobes connected to his pain sensors and he fell silent, accepting the progress for what it was. The betterment of the whole. He couldn't operate as part of the collective if he were consistently experiencing thoughts from outside of it; the idea was ludicrous.

Zaren, for its part, had experienced several transitions of this kind, but it had never before experienced fear during the transition. Blind and deaf, it could only register the events occurring through physical sensation. Rough hands gripping its exterior none too carefully. The feel of stagnant air on its wriggling bulk. What had been meant by 'symbiont knowledge added to our own', it wondered. How could the Borg possibly know how... unless they'd captured and dissected other symbionts before... It wondered if there was a way to stop whatever it was they had planned. Without a body to connect to, it had few options. Something cold surrounded it and Zaren's exposed nerves began to twitch in the unpleasant temperature.

The second pair of drones had a far easier task by comparison, a simple embryonic removal was not beyond the medical skills of the drones. Again with staggering ease the medical drones raised their appendages, making their incision and pushing aside the various connective tissues and stray segments of organ that blocked their view of the baby - a vivisection on a live patient was nothing short of necessary for the collective benefit of the Borg. Two new drones were far better than one.

Tarishiana was losing herself. She had no control over her own limbs. She was trapped in her own mind. She watched as the skin of her abdomen was sliced open revealing the blood organs that surrounded her womb. The ligaments that held her muscles in place had been stretched by the pregnancy. The drones extracting her child gave little care to what they cut and where. She had no worry of dying, the nanoprobes healed her nearly as fast as they could cut.

There was no cry as they pulled her child from her. Tarishiana would have screamed or had tears streaming down her cheek, but Tarishiana was gone. The Betazoid scientist was no more. In her place was 2 0f 8.

One of the drones departed for the maturation chamber with the tiny infant, while the other returned to continue with the final assimilation. Her powerful build and scarred facial ridges marked her as having once been Klingon, but any trace of her origins was long gone from her mind, now fully integrated to the Hive after 22 years of service as a drone. Honour, family, blood: all were irrelevant now to the drone designated as 5 of 34.

With as close a feeling of satisfaction as a drone could have without being an individual, Legatus turned his back on the scene and moved back towards the corridors of the cube. As he did, the mental link between it and the other drones aboard the ship gave orders to the newly arrived 5 of 34. Proceed with assimilation.

There was no concept of rank or privilege in the Collective, and the drone of 22 years took the instructions from Legatus without a flicker of complaint crossing her impassive, grey-mottled face. She had participated in the assimilation of 46,108 individuals, a number that jumped to millions when counting secondary roles: a more experienced assimilation drone could not be found within the Sector.

Her retinal implant scanned the restrained subject: Species 5618, male. She punctured his neck with her assimilation tubules all the way to the bone, drawing a sample from which she instantly determined his age to be 23 years. Her bioimaging computer showed only light musculature: he would be worthless as a tactical drone. The neural data was more interesting: the electrochemical signals indicated a facility for languages, including some dialects previously unknown to the Collective.

Unknown no longer. The data was downloaded and billions of voices murmured inside her mind - inside the minds of everyone in the humid chamber - as the new information was acquired and disseminated. And over the murmur, another noise could be heard: the sudden whirring of the drill attachment at the end of her left hand. She lowered it to Jared, a veritable symphony echoing amidst the hum of the cube as the sounds of flesh shredding and bone splintering joined.

Eight of eight slowly sat up as the restraints on the bed released him. He was now one with the collective consciousness. There was still the barest memory of Jared Nicholas, but though it tried to fight back, it was only a matter of time before he was gone forever.

He looked down on his new and improved body, knew irately that he would now be able to adapt and overcome as he was fed knowledge by the group. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one. He was aware of that now.

"We are Borg. Your designation is 8 of 8," she informed him in echoing tones no longer recognisable as Klingon: her organic vocal cords had long since been replaced by a more efficient audio subprocessor.

8 of 8, formerly Jared looked down, flexing his new cybernetic hands. Then his lower and upper arms. This felt good He was 8 of 8. He had always been 8 of 8.

"Yes," he replied his voice mechanical, "I am 8 of 8, I am part of the Collective."

"We are Borg," 5 of 34 immediately corrected.

It was common for newly assimilated drones to struggle with identity issues, but all the same she ran a spectral analysis with the neural subimager technology the Borg had acquired from the assimilation of Species 4482. She determined that there were still active neural pathways not responding to the nanoprobes: perhaps as a result of the drone that had once been Jared having a facility for languages, some unknown to the Borg, his neural arrangement was atypical of Species 5618.

She moved round behind him and raised her augmented left arm, a saw buzzing as it extended from her biomechanical appendage. Leathery grey skin at the back of his neck parted easily as she cut deep enough to penetrate the skull, her right hand then raising to inject via tubules a supplementary uplink node. It would strengthen the new drone's link to the Collective and should eliminate any remaining trace of individuality. She sealed the wound shut with her regenerator.

8 of 8 watched the saw coming, flinched for a nanosecond before just standing there. He felt no pain and when all was said and done felt unified, at ease, with no trace of his former Humanness remained. He was content, resigned to his role and function as a tool of the Queen. That was the way he had always been, that was the way he would always be.

Lilou couldn't quite catch her breath. She twisted her wrists in the bonds, fighting with all her limited personal strength to free herself from the table. It felt as though she had been fighting for years. For what? To be something more than a cog in a machine? Why, when machines had been her best friends for so long... Would anyone really miss her if she were gone? Yes! she thought fiercely. Maybe not many, but she had a purpose on the Galileo. She was worth something there, even if it wasn't a personal worth. Move, she thought. Move! Out of the corner of her eye she watched one, then another of her comrades succumb to the will of the hive. "Barel!" she shouted. "Nicholas!" They didn't seem to hear her. "Fight it! What about Quinn? What about everyone back on the Galileo? Fight it!" She'd read about the indoctrination process extensively, a part of her lifelong fascination with the Borg, but no amount of preparation, study, or fantasy battles had prepared her for actually struggling against this. She tried to focus on the things that made her individual, but she'd spent so long trying to keep her head down and blend in, keep out of sight, do her job well so they couldn't do without her, but try not to stand out. Try not to step on toes. Screw it. "Damn it, I know you guys can hear me. You're not machines. You've got flesh and blood and bone. Break out of it!"

Of course, that was when the saw shut off and a drill, much closer to her, began to whir. She swallowed hard, trying to twist her head within the straps to locate the source of the sound; a pair of hands descended on her head and peeled her eyelids back and, a moment later, an intense pain began to build in the left side of her head. The astigmatism in her left eye, which she'd always compensated with goggles, glasses, or just plain squinting, had been located by the scanning mechanism over her and the crew tasked with assimilating her were not impressed. No imperfections could be allowed in a body belonging to the Borg. As the pain built, Lilou saw the source of the drill sound: a strange looking mechanism with a silver cylinder at one end that spun at a rapid pace, edges gleaming. Someone was screaming in short, sharp gasps. Who else was in here? Tarishiana had just lay there and let them chop her open and steal her baby. Who could be- It felt as though her head were splitting open from the inside. Then the scent of copper and a splash of warmth over her cheek was followed by the whirring drawing nearer, but the pain had gone. Instead there was inky black, empty space, and the welcome embrace of unconscious. As the half-Trill lay prone, the drones in charge of her continued the process of the cortical implant and prepared the next injection of nanoprobes to control her.

A new member of Galileo's crew entered the assimilation chamber led by two tactical drones, but unlike the other recently-assimilated crew members who had been rather docile, this one was violent and angry.

"Get the f--- off me!!" he yelled at the two drones who clutched each of his arms in a tight grip. The large security officer, Chief Davis, struggled mightily against his captors and tried to twist his body free of their hold, but with no avail. "You won't assimilate me!!" he screamed as he was led into the middle of the chamber and looked around at the horrors in front of him.

5 of 34 scanned the target. Another Species 5618, with a physical profile that analysis fed back from her link to the Hive indicated for assimilation as a tactical drone. As the data fed through her cortical subprocessor, she calmly informed him in the voice of billions: "You will be assimilated. Your objections are irrelevant. Do not attempt further struggle or you will damage your organic tissue."

The latter was a reference to his arm, held in a vice grip by one of the drones, blood trickling from an open wound. In the Borg cube environment, it would likely fester: total replacement was the optimal course, with the information the Collective analysed reporting a 73% success rate. Over the sound of Davis's screams, the saw attachment on her arm started to fire again and she stepped in as the two drones dragged him onto the assimilation table and began to strap him down.

"Your biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Objection is irrelevant. Resistance is futile."

Lowering the saw, she began to cut off his arm. One of the other drones injected his neck with its tubules, his skin pulsing and instantly turning grey as the nanoprobes entered his blood stream and began altering him from the cellular level; the other moved to the replicator, incorporating advanced medical technology assimilated from Species 2228, and began synthesising a replacement arm complete with Borg enhancements and specialised tactical systems.

Blood splattered against the drone's armor and the familiar cracking of tissue and bone quickly followed. Davis began to scream as his arm was severed, but gasped and soon fell silent when his body was infiltrated by the nanoprobes. They went to work with great efficiency rewiring his neural pathways, and soon any reminder of who he had been several minutes ago was now gone. He looked down at his stubby arm with indifference and watched as it was fitted with a new mechanical one. The servos in the device whirred softly as it was tested out, and it quickly became his new appendage.

"Your identity is 7 of 8. You are Borg," she informed the newly minted drone, before turning to Legatus.

"Assimilation has been completed. The drones will be repurposed for assignment, pending orders from the Collective."

Legatus looked across at the latest additions to the Collective, their thoughts and knowledge pouring into it's processors and memory storage with every passing moment. Now they would know everything the Federation ship had been sent here to do, and more.

"We are enhanced. Proceed to subjunction 13 of grid 2-5 and assist with repairs to our shield grid. You will comply."

7 of 8 rigidly sat up on the assimilation table and got to his feet. He processed the new hardware which had been implanted in him, then received his orders to begin repairs to the cube's shield grid. Moving with a stiff and mechanical gait, he proceed out of the assimilation chamber to comply with his instructions.

8 of 8 had been given a purpose an assignment. For now he knew it was only to serve the hive, the queen. As he began walking a gait that was both familiar and different he knew what his mission was, to help decipher the codes of other species, to that the Collective would have an easier job of assimilating them.

Standing was a struggle. 6 of 8 understood the need to rise and go about the work of the hive, but his motor reflexes were on the fritz. An elbow twitched as he slid off the table, throwing off his balance and nearly buckling him to the floor. Grasping the table, he held still as an additional neural probe was inserted into the back of his head. Minutes later, the failures of the body were corrected, replaced by rapidly growing exoskeletal plating and renewed lines of communication between brain and muscles. Straightening, he aimed for the door, passing by a metal basil full of some kind of twitching, pulsating matter the color of sludge. Symbiont, Trill. Disregarding the visual information as irrelevant, 6 of 8 continued out the door without acknowledgement.


[OFF]

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Legatus of Borg
Borg Drone
Borg Collective

SCPO Anthony Davis (7 of 8)
Security/Tactical Officer (Tactical Drone)
USS Galileo
NPC'd by Lirha Saalm

Lilou Peers
Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Galileo

Raifi Cahil (6 of 8)
Formerly Raifi Zaren
FNN Journalist (Tactical Drone)
USS Galileo
NPC'd by Lilou Peers

5 of 34
Assimilation Drone, Secondary Adjunct of Unimatrix Nine
Borg Tactical Cube 624
[NPC - T'Srrr'Kharh]

2 of 8
Borg Drone
Borg Collective


5 of 8
Borg Drone
Borg Collective

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