Artist:  Hamsteria
Artist submission: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/59651703/

Story:

There's so much one can do with a personal link, but honestly you're high or drunk and it's fine. You trust her. Fiddling with the plug, you manage to get it in behind your ear as you relax on the ground by her feet.

Visuals and neurals taken over, you lose sight and touch as she's fiddling with the swing door to your experience. The bad scent of the alleyway you'd gotten used to gone with the sound of grit on cement from your sensory check. Her just wondering what tape to insert. Or if she should mix her own cut.
But your vision's been black long enough, so instead she cuts you in to the smell of salt in the air. Waves crashing on a cliff face. There's grass against your shins and in the palm of one hand. The sky brightens to white and blue. You can feel that it's morning. Something tells you, a clock or a system. You aren't tired. Then there's more coming in, the moving of your other hand. Silk in its touch through silk strands that it touches. There are spots of wet, sticky clodding it up and coating your fingers while you do your best to get it out of the hair. The sounds of fabric brushing against more of whatever happens out of sight. Still looking at the sky, for some reason not wanting to look down. There's- oh something just under you grunts and whines. It's pained. It's a head in your lap. Finally, your gaze travels downwards to see the bloody thing.
[Critical Systems Compromised. Shutdown recommended. See a ripper IMMEDIATELY.] Appears at the edge of your vision like an alert. So out of place in this bloody scene. You can't help but to try and pull in every detail of the woman in your lap. Can't help but to try and identify them. It's nothing you recognize. Dirty people with no chrome, not a hint of technology. Swords, axes, blood, and medical supplies. They work feverishly at each other in a way you're only reminded that a ripperdoc does. There's yelling off in the distance and you can't tell if it's celebratory or anguished. There's both, you can't tell from who. All you have eyes for is this muddy blonde bloodstained woman and-

You're dropped, or at least that tape's gone. It's black again and you're creating your own blooming colors in the darkness. That was more intense than a braindance. Or maybe you just can't seperate it yet. Who was that person in your lap. Where were you. Another tape drops in; You're watching yourself walk through a cracked parking lot from the rooftop of your old workplace. With a hand above your head to wave, her voice calls to you from your mouth... This was what you were meant to see. Your emotions are a little more yours, even if your actions belong to her.
It could be any one of the times that she met you outside of work, but this was before you got a mind to start looking up. There's a small, soft case in your other hand. You recognize the feel. It's a gift. It's what got you free. You wave it a little, holding on to the hard shell wrapped in a soft, turquoise, ikat patterned case. They haven't made anything like this in sixty years. You didn't know it was that rare or you wouldn't have sold the case so cheap when you needed rent. You never told her. It's underhanded to... well you on the ground. An electric pulse runs down your spine in a sharp pang of panic. What if you don't catch it. The future's played out, of course. Your future's in that box.

Whose thoughts play out in your head? It's becoming a mix that's more her than you. Is this what she's thinking now or then. Are the thoughts yours? You can't tell and try to close the connection. It doesn't cut. Instead, you're fed back that you sent a disconnect request. To have access to your own head! It's approved.
The smell of old metal and oils hit your nose again. The grit under your shoes crackling...