A little bit of a story which I’m reserving rights to. Continues from here:

The Great Cause defines us.
The Great Cause defends us.
The Great Cause propels us.
The Great Cause advances.
—Mantra of the Bound Corp

Her hull hissed, an expiration of depressurized waste comprised of nitrous-oxide, carbon-dioxide and hydrogen vying for their own space in a foreign atmosphere. Saber’s solo-protocols were already streaming packets of information that would have overwhelmed his regular senses if he wasn’t part of the 1ne. Atmospheric pressure, chemical compounds, levels of radioactive seepage from the terra firma, threat levels.

It all reminded him about how he formerly took his own senses for granted.

The sharp tang of foreign spices or the deep odors of long distance traveling; the stale, pungent air sitting sweat; the stinging acidity of exhausts—these all would bore him after time. He’d arrive at whatever destination, step out of the containment, take a deep breath and be happy he wasn’t stuck “back in there”. Release, he might’ve thought; just a chance to get away from those experiences.

Now smells, sounds, vibrations: all numbers on a visual.

Within the chitinous hide of his helm, his eyes peered through Saber’s exterior hull creating the comfortable, yet still strange, disconnected feeling of being in two places at the same time. Inside while standing outside; knowing the content here while knowing all out there; standing still here and flying through the landscape there. His mind once used religious shorthand deigning himself the Deist God, far off yet impossibly near to His creation—always unwilling to intervene while being on the very verge of doing so.

“Which God?” Saber had asked back then and that had ended that. He refused to allow those thoughts to pass into the Bind; he refused to think them. Voices in your head, your thoughts seamless with another, parts of you knowing what you’re planning before it’s even a solidified thought—it was ironic. Now, in an age where the concept of the old Trinitarian God of yesteryears Christians is written off as impossible, the Bind made it completely understandable. Unfortunately, for the 1ne, they were convinced that that old God was someone to be pitied in his eternal Trinitarian Bind.

Still strange, he refused to think, how the wet audible confirmation of Saber1ne’s hull cracking open to allow his egress was heard both from outside and within.

Habit kicked in: Lost1ne engaged the (endeared, beloved, freeing) solo-protocols. Peering through Saber’s (Deist God) sensor blisters was more of a hindrance when traversing landside. In the past he would try examining all distant creatures through the long warped tunnel while engaging it with his own eyes; but man is just way too finite for that sort of thing. Even now, years later, the further apart he was from Saber, the less…comfortable…it was to use Saber’s sensor blisters at the same time with his helm sensors. Yes, he knew that the sensor-blisters were a lifesaver; but the solo-protocols were a mind saver.

Even so, he examined his form: impressively tall, wrapped in the oily black chitinous hide that also made up Saber’s hull; his human features partially exposed so that he didn’t seem completely alien. In any regular atmosphere that might be okay, but here it was likely seem just as alien as an enclosed helm—at the thought his human features were covered. Satisfied, he fully engaged the solo-protocol, switched back to internal visual and exited Saber’s hull silently acknowledging that there were some benefits of being 1ne.