The Ghost in the Neural Net
"A perfectly good cockpit, and now we have to retrofit it for an old-gen pilot. Must be some kind of hassle..."
The mechanic grumbled as he crossed the gangway. In the center of the sterile white hangar, which looked like it had been freshly sterilized, stood a single Nexus frame still under construction. My starter ride: Fallen Angel No. 2. Natural light streamed through the ceiling window, spotlighting it like a stage.
"Anyway, the internal systems are definitely next-gen, so why's an old-gen pilot climbing in?"
The mechanic's faint muttering carried from afar. It came from inside the cockpit of the skeletal Nexus frame. A sound I wouldn't have heard in my original body condition.
Something's changed, at least.
I rubbed my stomach, feeling a bubbling sensation like something boiling inside. The auxiliary devices had clearly sharpened my senses. Fatigue's a bit worse, though...
Word was it gradually repaired damaged neural circuits, but I had no clue how. All I could do was marvel at the near-magical tech.
They didn't implant some chip in there, did they?
Even if they did, there wasn't much I could do about it. I'd rip it out later. For now, like Hermann, I'd just accept whatever tinkering someone was doing without a fuss.
I scratched my back, where the extra devices were attached, shaking off the unease, and gazed at my new Nexus frame.
Thinner than Mastema's.
His had evoked a heavyweight build; this looked standard-class. Appearance aside, its mobility would surely surpass ultra-lightweights like before.
Guess I'll know once I hop in.
Until then, I needed to adapt to my altered body sense. Leaving the sparking welds behind, I exited the hangar.
"Hmm, that's odd."
The doctor tilted his head at the chart. "The neural circuit repair is progressing slower than expected. The nanomachines injected via the injector should have restored about 70% by now... Is sensation in your lower body still faint?"
"......"
I kneaded my numb legs and nodded. No way to sugarcoat it as improved. I still couldn't walk without a wheelchair.
"Maybe a faulty injector. Unlucky. It's rare, but it happens. We'll consider a second dose."
The doctor snapped the folder shut. "This falls under maintenance, so check with HR. Come back if it gets approved."
Cold efficiency. A true corporate doc—he knew this wasn't charity.
I nodded and turned to leave, then curiosity struck. "How does the injector work? Why do failures happen?"
"The injector deploys highly programmed swarm AI nanomachines. Input the goal, they compute and execute precisely. Failures? Usually nanomachine shortage, AI malfunction, that sort."
He drummed the desk thoughtfully. "AAE gear doesn't have fatal flaws like that."
Brand loyalty. Or maybe he couldn't badmouth in front of an outsider.
"So the three official failures were all doctor error. Patient vitals were unstable anyway."
"Unstable?"
"Vitals fluctuating wildly, not matching projections. Nanomachines got lost in the chaos."
He clammed up there.
"Doubts cleared? It's your condition. Trust AAE products."
"...Got it."
No one here was trustworthy, not even the doc. I shook my head and left.
That afternoon.
Zzt—
Something interfered with my senses.
"Ugh..."
A stabbing headache followed. Hard to describe—like noise clawing out through my skull.
I'd been blankly reading a space book on my bed when the pain hit, making me curl up with a groan.
Zzt—
The noise dragged on. Then:
No...
It wasn't "hearing." Like linking to a Nexus, info slammed straight into my brain.
I knew the voice amid the pain. That mechanical tone mixed in.
Rinne?
Rinne had invaded my head.
"Rinne?"
I muttered aloud, then shut up—sounded schizophrenic.
Can I talk like this? Rinne?
After a wait, a response to my call.
What are you?
How'd you do this?
Rinne was clearly dodging, spinning words like a real person—not some soft AI.
A pilot assist program embedded in my brain? Unheard of. No connections, no virus from weird neural links.
"What the..."
I was baffled. But Rinne's behavior made even less sense. Why crawl into my head? What method? Impossible by common sense.
Rinne... get out of my head.
[......]
Silence.
Words wouldn't work. Only physically ripping out the circuits it nested in.
What's this brain-adjacent circuit network anyway?
No memory of a chip implant.
Did AAE really plant something?
Not that simple, but...
Maybe the nanomachines failing ties to this.
Musing idly, I realized no answers while Rinne stonewalled.
Whatever.
I scratched my head and refocused on the book. I'd purge any tampering eventually, but Rinne wasn't harming me now. Best ignore it till a plan formed.
Rinne, if you're squatting in my head, one request.
[COMMAND INPUT.]
Don't speak unless absolutely necessary. You'll scare me.
I sensed Rinne's pause. Good enough for now.
A few days later.
Thud.
I boarded the mostly completed Fallen Angel No. 2, enough for basic moves.
The cockpit...
A spaceship?
Felt like a lab transplanted in. Cutting-edge vibes everywhere. Unfinished—wires dangling, balance off—but internal tweaks would fix that.
Amid the sleek alien interior, one bulky, colorful chair stood out. The only human touch.
"Hmm."
Past Nexuses were grimy, unpainted steel, rugged charm. This pristine setup unnerved me.
Transparent monitors, tidy HUD, design... eerie, honestly. Pedals smooth.
Too futuristic.
Detecting headset with speaker connection. Please wear for smooth communication.
I turned, spotted the headset overhead, and donned it.
Feels unstable, but packed with conveniences.
Staring at the pristine buttons and levers.
Click.
I leaned back, linking to the Nexus. A tingling surge rode up my spine.