The truck jolted violently, its rugged tires slamming into the potholes of Neo-Seattle, now nothing more than a labyrinth of dead concrete. Inside the darkness of the rear compartment, I could hear only the roar of the old diesel engine. A pure, mechanical sound devoid of digital filters. It was the most honest thing I had heard in months.
Around me, three soldiers from 'The Analog' sat motionless. They possessed no neural interfaces, no neural links, and most importantly, they lacked the Dark Symphony flowing beneath their skulls. Yet, through my evolved Data Synesthesia, I heard something far noisier than mere data.
I heard their thoughts.
...he looks thin, probably easy to snap if he tries to run... ...these hands are shaking, he's scared, good... ...that steam generator will blow if
