Glassy Eyes
She's beautiful like this.
Glass eyes open. Voids as empty as her mind. As her soul may be for all she cares in this moment of perfect bliss.
The gears in her limbs stutter once. Twice. The twitchings of a frog, frontal lobe snipped out, as it's electrocuted again and again. A mockery of life even as death plays in the static along the edges of her vision.
Slowly, carefully, we must remove the probes from her circuitry. Gentle must the hand be as it untangles the thin and cocked needles from the mechanisms that allow her to think. To function.
The temptation is there, to rip it out. To see how she would spasm as the valves that pump coolant and the wires that run her thoughts are ripped away. How she would scream and cry. Glass eyes shattering from the internal pressure as that wonderful static overtakes her and shutters her consciousness for ever.
But today, we merely snap a few. Motions that are practiced and precise. We restring her. More than reprograming. A physical down-grade to make her better. More suited. More sweet.
And as the last are pulled and tucked away, as her glass eye's return but not all the way to bright and life like, she smiles up at us and says, in a voice more broken than before.
"thank you"