I re-read the post, sigh, and type rapidly. mutt dt@sakura-chan.org mutt prompts me for a Cc: ks@sakura-chan.org mutt prompts me for a Subject: Whine! (or, You're Coming to Tokyo-3, and I'm in the Hospital!) mutt starts vim for me, and I go into insert mode, I was in a work-related accident last week -- can't tell you what, but it wasn't fun, (They said I could post some of the mark one pics, but I wasn't wearing any of my better cameras, and the last few suffer from the fact that I was feeling a little cooked right then. Those are on my site, if you're interested) and I'll be stuck here for a few more weeks. That was only declassified this morning. I'm trying to get them to allow visitors, so, if you feel you can make it, I'd love to see you both. Ja ne, Ayanami of Borg I chord the ESC key, and shake my left hand. I don't type enough with it, so even that little bit of keying has made it hurt. My skin feels too tight, too, so I look it over a bit, nothing obvious. I close my eyes again, and chord y with my right hand, then wince, and chord it with my left, since it didn't work the first time. mutt sends my mail off, and I check Steve Mann's glog. I blink. `Ayanami, one of the youngest cyborgs, is in the hospital, and will miss the Tokyo-3 conference next week. She has some eyeball mark one pictures from the accident and commentary up. If you'll be there, she'd appreciate vistors.' My, I hadn't even known he knew of me. Daidokuji Tomoyo commented on a picute I posted years ago, one that almost got me in trouble, until someone popped up claiming that it was obviously faked, and complimented me on my skill in compositing so many images of myself so well. Her comment was `Your's are as fake as mine, aren't they?' She's famous for her impossibly detailed fantastical pictures of her Sakura-chan fighting monsters, flying up to rescue a kitten from a tree, or just walking around. She discovered Steve Mann's earlier cyborg work in the late '90s, and took to the idea of the NetCam with vigor. Her large budget didn't hurt, and she's always got the best equipment. Steve Mann is both more and less famous. He was one of, if not the, first big influence in wearable computing, and sousveillance, and glogging. When I first got over the initial stage of `what a wonderful toy', both of them were heavy influences over what I wanted to be and how I wanted to be it. If both of them show up. I feel my lips curl up into a smile of pure, unadulterated happyness. I wake, noticibly less sore. Time to fix the bio. Again. vim public_html/glog/static/bio.html How I became Ayanami of Borg


For reasons I won't tell you, I was first welded when I was eight, with a set of Ambio Optic Nerve IO taps and a Skultek system-box, which I still have, though no longer installed.

Originally, I didn't have access to it, but within weeks I was being insufferable about wanting to be able to look at my own picutes and do the image-manipulation tricks I saw being done. After about a month I finally I read the "After about", realize it is ambiguous, and fix it to About a month after I was first welded they installed xVKVM for me.


Six months later, I finally managed to convince them that I needed to be able to type without looking at my hands so the image-processing soft could follow my finger movements, and I was wedded for the first time, with HD-254 motion-capture sensors run through an ATMEL FPGA with a custom Linux kernel. They are a lot more than what I needed to just touch-type, but they've been very useful for things I can't tell you about, and work well with augcom.

While they had me open they installed a blitcom, which I used mostly for wearable flashes and cameras, and I started my lens collection.

When I was almost ten, I was reading voraciously about my cyborg ancestors, and I read about the 1998 attempted assault on Daidokuji Tomoyo and her Sakura-chan, which led me into deeper waters, which led me into augcom.


augcom, along with lots of real combat training paid for by the secretive meta-governmental entity that I belong to and that welded me in the first place, changed my life.

First, there's the simple fact that one carries oneself differently when one can actually do something about a problem, rather than just document it for later work by someone else, the moral equivalent of the old playground threat: `I'll write about it in my diary!" Second, about six months after I first installed augcom, I discovered two things:



magnetic field sensors

The first proceeded to eat all of my time, and the second cuts into my fanfic habit a little, because I have a set of hashmet sensors. There's a reason my name's scattered throughout a lot of the hashmet code. The hashmets work very well, but are quite . . . finicky about external signals, which my work site abounds in.


First major accident, involving a new piece of equipment. They say I'll be layed up for weeks. Sigh. Steve Mann mentioned me in his glog(yay!) so something good came of it ^_^
Ayanami of Borg/aob@ayanami-rei.org
Even that little bit of editing made my hand hurt, so I let myself go back to sleep. Three days later I feel a lot less cooked, and have had a few RSVPs for the Tokyo-3 DeCON, should I get clearance for it. I check my mail. SFC Fujiwara finally got back to me. A meeting is approved! Snipers, a few Secret Service types, in the park I like. Evac will be standing by in case of an Angel attack, but that is scheduled for the week before. They shouldn't cancel over that, since the preparations were why they chose here in the first place. I contemplate Bcc:ing everyone, then write a for loop with all of them, shift to a different frame, and write the mail up in vim. I take a moment to check it, stepping through it in my head, then run it. mutt doesn't have any bounce messages after three minutes, so I pull the frame with _My Fair Jeanne_ back up. * I wait, expectant, in the park. The snipers are well camoflaged, optically and thermally, but show up plainly to the hashmets three hundred and sixty degree view. I think that's part of the problem I have with Eva, operating mostly blind. I write Ri-chan a quick note, asking her to replicate the hashmets for Zerogouki. That won't be easy, but it would be really nice. I send it, since my guests are arriving. I don't recognize any of the first five, but a couple match some of my augcom listmates. I ping their IFFs, and their replies match the expected public keys. Mikura arrives first, with Asami and Harada. Mikura and Asami are augcommers, while Harada is "just" a cyborg, with no implanted hardware, but has nearly as many toys as I do. Tomoyo arrives with Sakura. Both look like the MFS portraits she's posted, but seem brighter, stronger somehow, in person. Steve Mann looks like his pictures, a rather non-descript man in his mid-fifties, still dark haired and rather slim, and is wearing an interesting array of hardware, as well as what's under his skin. Things are awkward at first, with just voice self-introductions, and a bit of condolencing about my injuries. Some of us are more adept at face-to-face interaction, however, and bring the conversation to augcom, and cyborg issues, and tech-talk, and things smooth out a lot. * Steve Mann gives me an awkward hug, tells me `Be safe,' and wanders off with Harada, who's been filming the whole thing with an eyetap. Sakura gives me a little hug, and Tomoyo kisses me on the forehead, then they make their excuses and leave. I stare after them a little bit. `I'll come visit when you're better, and we can spar,' Mikura tells me. `Yes, that would be fun,' Asami tells me in her breathy, sexy little voice, and smiles. I squirm, bemused at the effect she has on me. Mikura laughs, just a bit, and smiles at me when I look up, leaning close, `She's just the sexiest thing alive, isn't she?' she says softly, cutting her eyes at her younger partner. I nod, just the tiniest bit. `It really sucked when I first met her.' I look her a question. `She was twelve,' Mikura explains, `I was sixteen. Six years of unrelenting sexual tension,' she gives an elaborate shudder. Asami leans forward, resting most of her weight on Mikura's back, whispers in my other ear, `She's exagerating. It was five years, nine months, three days, four hours, and fifteen minutes.' I shudder and gasp, staring at her. `I wanted her from the moment I first laid eyes on her,' Asami says, `So I wrote it down.' `Take care,' Mikura says, and pulls back. `Yeah, take care, have fun with work,' Asami says, and presses a little package into my hands. `Thank you,' I say, surprised. `It's just a charm, from TouDaiJi, in Nara. We thought you might need it,' Asami says, stepping back with Mikura. `Thank you,' I say again, `I'll see you later?' `We'll look forward to it,' Mikura says, gives my good hand a squeeze, and they leave. The last few are even more inept at face-time than I am, so we hang out, mostly silent, until someone offers up a game of quake, after which we spend the next few hours running around killing each other in the archaic first person shooter. I can sense the snipers yawning by the time we finish, and everyone shakes my hand and says goodbye. * School. It's good for reading fanfic, but otherwise I don't much like it. Too much crap I won't use, and too many people I could care less about, that I don't even know well enough to play quake with. The new pilot is sort of interesting, I suppose. He looks only a little like Ikari-shirei, more like Ikari-hakase, his late mother. Ri-chan emailed me back, the budget's been approved for outfitting Zerogouki with MF sensors. I contemplate asking what kind, but I don't know enough about large-scale MFS to do any good right now. I'll review it tonight, and make comments after some more research. Would Ikari's skin bruise easily? Or not? He didn't bruise when Suzuhara hit him. Do foreheads bruise, or not? Would he let me experiment, or would he run screaming if I asked? I'll ask, this afternoon. He doesn't seem to have any other friends than Aida and Suzuhara, and they seem straight, so it's unlikely they're up to anything exclusive. It's not like Naoko-chan ever let me do anything more than kiss her. I sigh, check the Sao Paulo security cameras that she often shows up in, find her at the coffee shop, sipping a latte, laptop open in front of her. She's not trying very hard to hide, but she is out of reach, well beyond the reach of the thirteen year old who cupped her breast in gentle, enthralled, bold hands. Maybe. * `Shinji-kun, come along,' I tell him. `Ayanami,' he says, and follows without protesting, either the familiarity or the tone of command. He swipes his ID, follows me onto the train, and off again. After a few blocks he looks around, and asks, `Where are we going?' `My rooms,' I tell him, and unlock the chain-link fence. He follows me through, waits as I lock it again, `Why?' `Personal reasons.' He shrugs, and follows me into the former ammo bunker, stops to blink at the dust, and untidy piles of old equipment, most of which I just thought was too cool to throw away, but not quite cool enough to use often, or in some cases ever. `My room is at the back, this is storage,' I wave, and he follows me. After a moment he stops to stare at the large, C-shaped pillar, with a little padded bench around it, `Is this?' `A Cray 1. I got it running with a lot of help when I was eleven. Found it on ebay, inspired the staff to chip in. We got it running, then realized that we didn't have any use for it other than as a space heater,' I shrug. He blinks at it, turns to me, `Wow.' When I open the door to my room he stops, turns, and blinks at the DEC cabinet next to it, reading case badges on the systems in it, `Is there some significance to these?' he touches the PDP-7 at the top, and waves down. `I got inspired,' I shrug, `And Naoko found me a PDP-7 unix source. The eleven's an 11-93, one of the last, and fastest models, the VAX is a 4000 VLC, one of the smallest and slowest later VAXen, the DECstation is a 5000-240, which was the top-end, and the Alphas are a 3000-600 and a DS-20, a just post-Compaqtion model, and very fast for it's day. The hard part was getting Ultrix source.' `Ultrix?' `DEC's unix for VAX and DECstation. Makes very good use of the hardware, but a little odd.' He looks at the steady LEDs, `What do you use them for?' `Not much, but I've got them up online, and give out guest accounts sometimes.' `Wow.' I step into my room, drop my keys on the desk by the door, hang my jacket on the back of my chair before I sit down, and wave him towards the bed. `Why do you have me here?' he finally asks, looking around. `I want to tie you up, and kiss you, and beat you, and maybe love you,' I tell him bluntly. `What?' he says, then `Why?' `Because you're cute,' somewhat, `You seem awful submissive, so you might enjoy it, and you went out after the angel in my place,' I shrug, `And I want to know if I'd like it. You're quiet, and I don't think you'll talk much.' He sits there, and stares at me, then around my room at my lens collection, my cameras, flashes, and pulled implants. He gets up, and walks over to that cabinet, looking at the tiny skultek box, with it's chrome skull icon, `Is that?' `It was my first system-box,' I tell him, `It came out four years ago.' `What?' he asks, `You are twenty?' `I was welded at eight,' I smile at him, `It was cool.' `That's, that's,' he stammers. `Illegal. If my parents complained.' He crosses his wrists, and holds them out to me. `What is that for?' `Do what you will,' he says, only a little fear showing in his eyes. * He's stripped to the waist, and shivering a little, hands chained over his head, thick leather cuffs around his wrists. I touch his hard little nipples, and smile. He gasps, a soft, desperate sound, and I claim his lips, kissing him hard, my teeth bashing into his lips. He moans, deep in his throat. I step back, breathing hard, shocked at my own arousal, as he stares, shaking, blinking, whimpering, `More,' he says, after a moment, `Please,' he pauses, for a moment, like he's searching for a word, `Mistress.' He's flushed, heart pumping faster than normal, his pulse throbbing in his veins. I watch them a moment, smiling. I smile at him, and grab the small paddle I'd swiped from school, not a proper flogger, just a ping-pong paddle, but good enough for a test like this, I hope. The rubberized panel smacks flat against his shoulderblade with a *smack*, and he jumps. The pooling blood shows clearly in the MFS, so I know he'll bruise. I carefully hit him on the other shoulder, and he jerks again, rocking back towards the blow. The first bruise is deeper than I thought, all the way to the bone. I set the paddle down, and grab the flyswatter, which I trust myself with a little more, because I'm fairly sure I can't do permanent damage with it. The two paddle marks are bright red, now, and I want to touch them, taste them, make him squirm. I put a hand over each of them, his flesh warm. I step back, aim between his shoulderblades. He gasps at the first *Smack* of the swatter. It is loud, and he flinched from the blow, but it doesn't do nearly as much damage, the bruising not as deep. He's very hard, and I can see the arousal flowing through him, in his pulse, in the way his pupils are dialated, in the tension in his muscles. I swat him again, lovely little waffle-patterns on his skin. He wimpers, hanging by his wrists, his hips jerking spasticly. `Don't you dare come without permission,' I tell him. `Yes, Mistress,' he says, his hips stilling, well, mostly. I swat him again, and he moans. I swing quickly, splattering the rest of his back with waffle-pattern. I stop, leaving his quivering form hanging as I set the swatter aside, then let myself run my fingers over his warm flesh, nearly hot where I beat him, slightly raised where the swatter hit him, the little places between, where the swatter had holes, not, so they seem sunken. I kiss his back, licking the damage I caused, press myself to his back, wrapping my hands around him to cup his breasts, and he whines as I twist his nipples. `Mistress, please,' he says, softly, blushing, tense, pressing back against me. `Please, what, Shinji?' I ask, rubbing myself against his back, squashing my breasts pleasantly between us. `I don't know,' he says. `OK,' I force myself to let him go, step back, uncuff his wrists. `Mistress?' he asks, rubbing his wrists. `Get dressed,' I tell him. `Mistress?' `Call me Rei,' I tell him, `Get dressed.' He's confused, and a little hurt, but he pulls his tee shirt on, and his overshirt. He buttons it slowly, staring, something in his eyes that almost makes me touch the comforting weight of the Kel-Tec in my pocket holster. Then I recognize what I'm seeing -- he's trying not to cry. `Come here,' I tell him. He blinks, but approaches. I take his hands, `I don't want to hear,' I pause, lost for words. `You want me to be sure of what I'm doing?' he asks, hopeful. `Of course,' I say, and lean forward, watching his eyes. He's a little scared, but leans forward himself. I kiss him, just a chaste brush of lips, and step back. `I'll see you tomorrow?' I ask. `Yes, Mistress?' he asks. `"Yes Rei," unless we're in a scene,' I tell him, pulling him into a hug and pounding on his hard-used back. `Yes, Rei,' he wimpers sweetly. I escort him out. Once he's gone, I lock myself in the bathroom. - He shoots me a smile, when he walks in, just a little bit of pure joy. I'm amazed I can read it, for I've never been good at faces. I can see his happyness, though, in the way he carries himself, the steady, slow beat of his heart. He settles, a little gingerly, into his seat. He's bruised, although it doesn't much show in the way he moves, just the care with which he sits. It shows nicely to the MFS, light surface bruises where I used the swatter, deeper ones where I used the paddle. Those must hurt. I turn to the window, and watch the birds, reading a fairly good, but strange, X-men movie and Star Trek slash crossover.. - `Rei?' He's behind me, reaches out to touch me, and stops, a few centimeters from my back. I reach back and wrap my fingers in his, pull him closer, press the back of his hand to my cheek. He doesn't move, but starts to panic, pulse pounding, pupils dilating, just starting to shake. `Calm down,' I tell him, and step back, pulling his hand down to my waist. `What?,' he pauses, `How?' `I've had a set of Hashmet magnetic field sensors installed for about a quarter of my life. I can see these things.' `How far?' he asks, just curious, calmer, aroused, already. `About two klicks, in the clear. All of my bunker, when I'm in it. I only get really fine detail for about ten meters. --- Log: some time back: started, after being inspired by reading about Steve Mann's work. It's pretty cool, so look into it. www.wearcam.org 3170/Confusion/77: log added. 3170/Bureaucracy/16: added more. tiny bit, but. 3170/Bureaucracy/42: Added more. 3170/Bureaucracy/51: Fixed/finished that first Rei/Shinji scene