Hob did not smile or show any emotion at all as the nurse explained her stance. She was like a small, dark whirlwind, asserting herself as though there was no question as to either her authority or how things were going to be. He didn't quite know what to make of that. Settling into a cynical but silent neutrality seemed the best way to handle things at the moment, though his eyes followed her shrewdly as she exited graciously. For a heartbeat, he watched the door as though daring it to be anything but a door. Then he turned to prepare himself for the stripping down and wiring up.

Only he was alone. This... was strange. No sign of medicos and engineers rushing forth to remove his jumpsuit and lace with him wires and sensors and (shudder) catheters like a pit crew servicing a race car mid-race. In fact, there were not catheters in sight at all! Pausing to quickly relieve himself in the connected bathroom suite, he finished removing the rest of his overalls but dared to leave his boxers on. No one shouted at him or cursed at him to finished undressing. Rubbing at his face, he looked back towards the door in careful disbelief. The rust colored suit was tossed into the locker along with the handheld.

Had the nurse really meant what she said? Hope was too much to bear, but it certainly seemed true! Then again, Hob recalled the training sessions he and the others had gone through that were meant to help them distinguish physical sensation from virtual. While the current scenario didn't seem reminiscent of any of those grueling mind-fucks, his imagination could easily make the jumps to see the connections. Possible then... but not likely. If she had been serious, how long could it last? Everyone from the scientists involved in their 'creation' to the mysterious men in black who had found them to their handlers and officers like Harris had made it clear that the NI-techs lot in life was not going to be a happy one. In fact, they actively seemed to work to make it so! Harris had taken her orders from someone else before this Devika person, and that person had orders from higher up... How long could such largesse last?

These thoughts still bothered him as he laid himself out upon the memory foam mattress of the sliding bed. It was the sole luxury of being 'installed'. Glancing to one side, he saw the oxygen mask waiting for him as well as all the wires that the techs would soon be placing across his body. A glance upwards revealed the dark interior of the tube itself. Once his bed was slid into place, he would be locked in that tube to wait the mercy of being uploaded and mentally away from the claustrophobia that always threatened. The straps were still there, too, restraints they would place about his chest, head, and limbs to keep him still. There was too much of a chance of seizures occurring. Were an NI-tech to flail about, they could hurt themselves... not to mention the equipment. The damned respirator mask was even fitted with a mouth bit.

Still... no catheter...

Hob closed his eyes and looked back towards the door to see what weirdness was going to come next.

[i]"...there's be a statue of you and yours in every town square..."[/i]

No doubt her words had been meant to be kind. That or she was a manipulator par excellence. Only Hob knew history, or at least enough of it to see the downfalls in such a thing. Raising statues and praising the NI-tech's sacrifices to future generations would do nothing but glorify what they had endured. For Hob, there was no glory in any of this. And knowing the minds, quite literally, of his fellow NI-techs he felt confident in saying that none of them saw anything laudable in any of it either. The pain, the discomfort, the abuse... it would all be minimized and maybe even forgotten over time. No one wanted to look back on their ancestors and think bad of them, after all. The words of one of his favorite authors of the turn of the 21st Century came back to him: [i]'How dare you! At this time! In this place! They did the job they didn't have to do, and they died doing it, and you can't give them anything. Do you understand? They fought for those who'd been abandoned, they fought for one another, and they were betrayed. Men like them always are. What good would a statue be? It'd just inspire new fools to believe they're going to be heroes. They wouldn't want that. Just let them be. Forever.'[/i]

Out of nowhere, Hob wondered if Devika Wilkes-Lane ever read any Terry Pratchett. And whether she liked tea.