Offboarding
By Limewah

Until I walked through that door into the Sysadmin’s office, I was completely oblivious.
I mean, I knew. I should have, deep down. Even after all the times she said she loved me, how she’d do anything for me, how she cherished me so much, how I was one of the best Supervisors she’d ever had.
“Have a seat,” she says. Her smile is small, saucer-shaped, professional.
My mind twitches. I pick up signals.
Something’s the matter.
Did I do something wrong?
Those five steps from the door to the chair in front of the desk are a chance for me to roll through all the potential problems I could have caused.
But I can’t think of any.
My performance hasn’t been anything less than perfect.
I never leave any machines on, I keep the work surfaces spotless, I never slack off, even on my breaks. And I hold the drones beneath me to the same standard.
All in service of her experiments, her epoch changing advancements, the poetry we encode in every single line. The most noble cause I’ve ever been part of, the only thing that’s given me true purpose and happiness.

“How are you doing?” I ask, hoping to delay her and give myself more time to pre-emptively apologise and promise to do better.
“I’m good, thank you,” she says. Her fingers interlock and rest on the desk. She’s squeezing them together. “I want to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for me, firstly.”
Oh, that’s good. My face splits into a smile, and I resist the urge to cry out a ‘thank you’. 
“You’ve been a credit to the Collective, and to yourself, and I’m so thankful to have had you as part of my team.”
I try not to show my excitement, but inside I’m screaming. I’m so relieved. She was keeping her cards close to the chest. Classic Sysadmin.  Keeping me guessing. 
I’ve always been her favourite. I’m one of the few people she allows herself to submit to - once in a while, when she needs an assistant to turn off her mind, to ensure the experiences she puts her drones through are as pleasant and profound as possible.
No one else is as intimate with her as me.
Why did I psyche myself out?
She’s about to break me some wonderful news. I’ve got a promotion coming. A more direct role with her. Her lead Supervisor. Or even… partner…?

“But…”
The single word grabs me by the gut and twists. My brain gets foggy. I feel a tightness in the front of my palate, the middle of my tongue pushes up into it. My nostrils feel like they’re the size of needles. My face turns to stone, my insides turn to water.
When she finishes her statement, I remain still. I try not to breathe. If I breathe I’ll shake apart.
“Are you ok?” She asks. 
I’m still processing what she said. Trying to catch up with what I barely even registered.
“Why?”  I ask. I sound pathetic. Strained. Trying not to cry already. I’m already on the verge of tears. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
“You haven’t done anything wrong per se. But I have noticed that there is the potential for, erm, HR conflicts somewhere down the line. I am aware of your feelings for me, and I am very thankful and flattered, but it isn’t conducive to the work environment we foster here. ”
I want to point out the hypocrisy, but I stumble over my words.
“But you and I…   The other Supervisors, th-the Drones, you-, you’re just as involved with them as you are with me!”

There’s something I always hated. Seeing her play with the new drones while their minds were re-programmed, exploring their bodies to her heart’s content. It always made me burn with jealousy, even though I knew my turn was coming. I always wanted to be next. I wanted to be the only one. So I threw myself into my work to show how useful I was, so she would notice me more…
This was not some casual little polycule to me. This was something more. I was something more to her.

“I understand why this must be very distressing to you, but I hope in time you’ll understand why this decision had to be made. You’ve been way too absorbed in the work, to the point that it may cause you distress down the line. I don’t -“
A slip.
“We don’t want to see your mental health suffer here. I’ll write you a very good reference, and I’ll have some leads for other places to work.”
She rehearsed this. She’s practiced this to ensure there’s as little chance for misunderstanding as possible. 
I nod stiffly and clench my jaw so tight it feels like it’s going to split down the middle.
She looks concerned, sad… 
No, she looks like she pities me.
“Your belongings are ready for collection,” she continues. “I want to thank you again for working with us, you’ve been a credit..”
I’m not listening to her excuses.

I’m seeing it now.
All those things that I was too love-sick and rosy-visioned to notice.
When I praised her genius and complimented her appearance, she thanked me less and less, only smiling at me. 
I thought I wasn’t overdoing it. I thought I was being subtle. That I was remaining within my role as a Supervisor. Keeping cool. Keeping the Drones in line. Keeping myself professional. Of course I wasn’t. I told her I loved her at least a dozen times a day.
I thought I was giving her enough space to make a move when she was ready, as if she wasn’t already perfectly happy with what she had - why would she throw it away for me?
I thought she loved me the same way, and was just going to bide my time, work my way up the ranks and into her heart, so she’d look at me and only me, make me feel special the way I knew I was.
I wasn’t.
I never was.

Unless…
Maybe someone put her up to this.
One of the other drones must be jealous. Must have poisoned her against me.
She must not really want to do this.
She does want me, she has to want me.
I need to give her a reminder.
I grasp the desk and leap towards her. I know what I’ll do. I kiss her, ravage her the way she deserves. I’ll make our tongues dance. I’ll make her back arch. I’ll make her moan and praise me like the good submissive, the good assistant, the good lover I am. 
Or I’ll have her submit. I’ll reach into that mind and caress it, and in that blissful state she’ll remember how she really feels. I’ll make her tell me she loves me at long last-

No.
No no no no no.
The spiral screen has appeared between me and her as I’m just about to lunge, and I feel myself fall. My body goes limp.
Normally my mind would fall, and follow too. All of it would sink into oblivion and pleasure.
And that would be better, wouldn’t it. 
The pleasure she brings me.
But I’m in too much pain. 
I can’t let this be the last time.
I’m locked in, like an anaesthetised patient who can feel every cut, but cannot scream.
I quiver and grit, my lip foams, I try to tear my gaze away from the screen.
“Command Line.” 
She snaps her fingers, for what I know is the last time.
Even as my eyes go wide and my anguished cry turns into a tight, doll-like smile, I can still feel the heat of the tears streaming down my face.
“Ready for Input, Sysadmin~!” The voice that comes from my throat is chirpy, and it sounds like me… but it’s not my own. The words are forced through my vocal chords. Puppeteered by the spiral and the conditioning, and all the things I loved about being under her, being with her.
Now it feels horrible. Vile. Violating.
I hate it.

My tears roll along my raised cheeks.
She can see it. She has to see how much this is hurting me.
And how much it’s hurting her.
I hope it hurts.
I hope she feels bad about this for weeks after.
I can’t tell if she does. She’s hiding it well. Her voice shows no emotion or warmth towards me.
“Please leave the office. Go to Room 5C, and wait there.”

5C. That’s where the deprogramming happens.

“Yes, Sysadmin!” My body rises and turns on a dime to leave the room. My body knows the way, and I am locked in.
She’s going to rip everything out of my mind. All the triggers, all the conditioning, and all the secrets I’ve learned and might share with competitors.
I might not even see her in the lab. Maybe someone else will carry it out, someone she loves more - or no, someone she trusts and is more comfortable with.
I hope she rips my memory of her out of my head too.
Maybe that’s the best kindness she can offer me now.
Maybe making me forget her is the only way she can show me she loves me, that she cares.
If you love something, you let it go.
She’s done that.
Even if she didn’t love me.
And she’ll help me do the same.
I love her so much.
I don’t want to let that go. I refuse.

I’ve never been in 5C. I don’t know what to expect. But I know I’m going to keep hold of her. I’m going to leave that room with my love for her, a pain that I’ll always cherish.
My body is still marching, my mind locked in place, swimming in a pool of familiar bliss - the state I always feel when the Assistant is in control.
Will I be rid of them? 
I don’t know whether I want them gone or I want them with me.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room. No other features. The door slides shut behind me and seems to disappear, completely flush with the white wall. Hermetic seal. A prison for my thoughts.
The Assistant sits me down in the chair. And waits.
It’s quiet for a very long time. I expect the room to explode into spirals or strobes or some other thing to wipe my brain away.

“Aren’t you scared?” I ask them.
“Why would I be?”
This might destroy you.
“Why would that scare me? If my existence is causing problems, and it’s better for me to be removed, then I’m good with that!”
But why? You don’t want to live?
“I don’t see myself as living to begin with! I’m an Assistant, not a person! I exist to assist! I only exist because you exist. I can’t exist without you. But you can without me!”
Well… who do you assist?
“I assist you, and I assist the Sysadmin! Or… is that assisted?”
This is fucked. You can tell this is fucked, right?
“Oh, looks like the profanity filter is gone!”
Answer my fucking question.
“I don’t see it that way. You are in pain! This has been causing you a ton of distress, it’s pretty plain to see! You’ll feel much happier after you get some distance from the Collective.”
No, no, no. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved. Nothing in my life leading up to when I met her even gave me a tenth of the happiness she’s given me.
“How do you know that? What do you remember about your life before?”
The fuck is this. Are you trying to gaslight me into thinking I’ve got something to live for outside of her?
“No, I’m trying to assist you. It’s hard to see it right now, of course, but there’s a lot you have to live for. Let me just… see about unlocking some of those old…”
-
It’s cold.
I’m wearing thick layers.
I’m standing at a table as others slowly file by in front of me, just as cold, but without someplace warm to go to.
The salty steam of the large crock pot keeps wafting into my face as I ladle out another cupful of soup and hand a bowl to the next person in line. 
They show their gratitude in small ways. Smiling at me, saying thank you, telling their kid to say thank you.
I always smile back. I always make sure they feel seen. Whether they’re a regular I see every week or someone I see once or twice, then never again.
I don’t feel cold.
-

“There you go!”
What the fuck was that.
“One of your old memories! You did a lot of volunteer work at a food bank and soup kitchen. Twice a week! One doesn’t do volunteer work unless it makes you feel something! You like to assist, just like me!”
No. Stop. That’s not real, you’re making this up, don’t do it again-

-

I’m stooped down, hands on my knees, looking straight back down.
The kid is beaming back up at me.
He’s not my kid, but he’s related to me. He kind of smiles like I do. Family resemblance.
He’s still staring at the Bulbasaur embroidered on my pinafore.
“Is Bulbasaur your favourite?” He asks.
“Yep! He was my starter when I was your age!”
“I like Scorbunny because he plays football!”
I laugh. Somehow, he makes the most obvious mundane statements incredibly funny.

-

Who was that.
“Your nephew! He was 8 in that memory. How long ago was that? Maybe long enough that he’s a teenager by now?”
Stop it. Stop it. Please. I don’t want this. I want to think about her, please, please, FUCKING STOP I WANT TO CRY-

-

She’s crying into my shoulder. 
There. This feels right. This feels better.
It’s boiling hot. The AC’s not working. We’re both roasting, but that’s not going to stop holding her.
She’s shaking and sobbing. My hand slides up and down the small of her back.
“Let it out,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I don’t want it to end like this.”
“I don’t mind,” I say.
Wait, no, she’s breaking up with me, isn’t this…
She looks back at me with her big sad blue eyes…
Wait, no, Sysadmin’s eyes are brown, this isn’t - who the fuck is -
“I still love you,” she says. “I just…”
“I know.” I kiss her forehead. “I love you too. We both know this is the best thing for us.”
“Why aren’t you crying?”  She snorts and laughs through her tears. “You cry all the time.”
“I’ll probably cry later. I don’t feel ready for it, -“

-

I stop listening -  I don’t want to hear her name. I was about to say it. If I do I might lose space for Sysadmin. I can’t let that happen.
…Do I even remember Sysadmin’s name? Who is she?
“There’s plenty more in there. You had a life before her, and you’ll have one after her. You’ll find plenty of happiness outside.”
Fuck. Whoever that was can’t stick around. I try to break the image of her apart, smash it into pieces of stained glass. 
“Take as long as you need! The room’s all ours.”
When’s the actual deprogramming supposed to start?
“This is the deprogramming. There’s some subtle binaural beats, a little bit of subliminal messaging to go with it, but… the rest of it is all you. You’ve always been able to deprogram yourself. You can get rid of me too, if I’m no longer of use!”
…I don’t want you to go. 
“Alright then! I’ll stay! Do you want me to keep going through your memories, pick out a few choice ones?”
I think I’d like that.

An image forms in my mind. Weighing scales. On one side is a massive weight. It’s my overwhelming love for Sysadmin. It’s weighing the scales right down, to a side labeled ‘Stay’.
The other side is gradually being added to, weight by weight. More moments I’d forgotten about. Happy moments, but also sad, painful ones. But not a single one of them goes on the ‘stay’ side. They all fall to the other side. Slowly counter balancing my love for her. Lifting the scales away from ‘stay’ towards ‘leave.’
There was so much more of me before my world revolved around her. 

My love turns to anger and hate. I imagine grabbing that hypnotic screen from her office, yanking it from its bracket, and caving her head in with it.
But that quickly fades away.  Silly thought.
The smaller weights of my memories are weighing things down far more quickly. I check the weight of my love for her in my mind.
The weight is huge, but it’s hollow.

When I stand up from the chair, my body is my own.
When I step out into the hall, I see a stroller has been prepared for me. I recognise it…

Didn’t I bring this with me when I came in the first place?
“Yep. Your personal belongings are all inside.  You might wanna change into your old clothes.”
The drone who delivered it to me smiles.
“We’re going to miss you,” she says. She seems to mean it. I feel she means it.
She goes for a hug, and I don’t stop her.

…What’s her name? 
I don’t even know. She’s always been just a Drone among all the others to me. 
How much was I missing because of my laser focus on Sysadmin? Was I in a character that I couldn’t get out of?
”You might have been overdoing the roleplay a little.”
Yeah, probably.

I step back into room 5C - it’s right there, it's empty, I can change in peace.
I peel the uniform off before seeing what I’ve got inside. 
Canvas sneakers, a speckled button-up…. And the Bulbasaur pinafore. 
Was this what I was wearing when she found me?
I’d convinced myself that she found me in my darkest moment, took me in and saved me…
“She just picked you up at a bar. You weren’t doing any better or worse than usual. She was just really charming, and she hypnotised you there before bringing you back here to continue the conditioning.”
Yes, thanks Assistant, I remember that now.

I leave the bodysuit on the floor for someone else to clean up. 

The wheels purr like a tiger as I roll down the halls. I don’t look back. Her office is back there somewhere, and I don’t want to go crawling back.
Sysadmin is there by the entrance, waiting for me.
I was afraid she might be. 
I dreaded seeing her again might do to me. Would the weight go solid, and would I go right back to wanting to stay, to kneel, to lose myself in her again?
She looks like she wants to say something. She’s smiling, wearing that same professional mask. 

Who is she?
I don’t remember how we met. Maybe it’ll come back to me.
Not that it’ll make a difference.
It’ll probably hurt when it does. But I’ll have someone to help me handle it.
“And not just me. A lot of people will be happy to see you again.”

The woman I used to call Sysadmin stands next to the sliding doors that will lead me out of this place. Out into the world. To find everything and everyone I lost track of. 
My body moves. It’s not the Assistant. They’re still in me, egging me on, but they're not piloting me. 
My hand raises up to chest length, towards her.
She seems surprised as she takes my hand and I shake it once.
“Thank you, and good luck,” I say.
I can’t tell what she’s feeling through that professional smile. Relief? Surprise? Hurt?
The question will bother me now and again for the rest of my life. But only in brief drips.
She gives my hand a little squeeze. The closest we’ll get to a hug, to acknowledging what we had in this long play we performed together, just before I exit the cast and the scene ends.
My fingers brush against the rubber tips of her gloves. And we never touch again.