A victim of Search and Rescue.
You don't volunteer, and you don't get hired.
You wake up on a crisp spring morning, and realize you've been taken. Your skull is now a tin can and your arms are immobile rods. You have no legs and no organs. You're carried around by what looks (and feels) like a giant malevolent vice.
You'll never die.
You can't move at more than Three Kilometers an hour of your own volition and you can't steer when you're going any faster. If you don't work they start meddling with your brain; they pick at your memories and anything that produces endorphins.
You'll never die.
They alter your history. Your parents were abusive and your siblings bullied you. You had no friends. It gets to the point where you enjoy working, and that's when they take your brain out, and put it in a two-senses sensitive chamber. If you're lucky you'll get taste and smell-you get used to the bloody sensations that iron imbues.
You'll never die.
You may get picked out to act as a consciousness magnifier for one of their war machines. You'll see and hear and smell and touch and taste the dead falling at your steel hand. You'll remember doing it-massacring your own race, but you don't get to go mad. You'll just keep on chugging away until you're pulverized by some stray piece of exoskeleton.
Then you'll die.
__________________
I see you jockin' me.
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