The journey to the Core, mostly by elevator car, was long. It was over an hour, which was an eternity for someone as constantly wired as Sorthven was. As it rode in the car, it could smell the TA’s around it. It was not the same as a human smell, a thankfully distant memory for the neurorider, but it was still offensive when the stench confronted its sensors. Sorthven let out a melodramatic, electronically filtered groan, followed by, “Meat’s for meals”, loud enough for the people around it to hear.
Sorthven had very little remaining of its original organic body mass. Even its left leg, left hand, and vital, internal organs were too much to deal with for the former human. What made it even worse, the lower left quarter of its original face remained. The rest was a dull grey metal with no shine at all. The most colourful things about Sorthven were the scanners replacing its eyes. They glowed a dim green, unless it was pitch dark. In its black suit, a jacket and trousers with what appeared to be motorcycle boots from about a century before, the neuro was a menacing sight. Sorthven enjoyed that.
You’re running late, an internal voice registered.
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