Assimilation

I thought it'd be worse than it was. I thought I'd go mad from the invasion of my mind, the loss of identity. I hardly felt it, though, after the first puncture wounds.

'We are the Borg,' a billion new voices echoed in my mind, but just as hollowly as 'I am the Captain' had done for years.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective surface - a little paler than usual and a little more obviously integrated into my new vessel. Still, my metallic sheen seemed a natural conclusion to my ever-growing absorption in my ship.

No, it's not these few implants that made me this soulless machine. I lost my soul to the Delta Quadrant long ago - except for the last bit, the very last sliver of my soul...

A billion minds pounce on my thought, a billion voices whisper softly, 'resistance is futile, reveal it to us.'

What do you want with it, you legion of the damned? They whisper their reply, 'it will be assimilated.'

If a drone could laugh, I would have laughed then. My soul is not here, I tell them - I left him in command of my ship.