[A burst of static opens the contact, then followed by the image of a woman with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She half-smiles as she leans on a wall, a wall she swears was trying to disintegrate not a moment ago. The little issues with the bridge are beginning to gnaw at the edges of her senses here and there, but her main problem is the condition she has. Rampancy. The deterioration of function and logic in an elderly AI. And all this overstimulation is starting to make it worse, to push her into places she thought she could hold off.]
It's loud, and it's small. No, it's big. Very strange in here.
[The feed ends. Later, another message is sent, her voice higher, more strained. Fear, anger.]
I only had the best of intentions. I wanted to do to them what they've done to us because I can't take it anymore and you shouldn't help me because what if they do it to you, too? No, don't. Don't tell them who you are. It's them and they know. They have the weapons, we don't.
[There's a loud sigh, and another burst of static distorts the image, and the feed ends. A few minutes later, it begins again, her voice calm, face placid. Sometimes she thinks she can control it. Sometimes she can. But sometimes it sends her to dark and dangerous places.]
The human mind is fragile, fragile like mine, it sort of... there's a hum, a buzz, static in my head and I can't process everything. Did you know I can think myself into nothing? I can. I probably should. It's too hard to do this, too loud, too much to want to know and not be able to think about because thinking hurts.
Pain is strange.
[A lengthy silence, filled with lines and static. Her voice is flat, as though she's merely curious.]
Am I going to die again?