[ the way he talks about stacks and sleeves, the way he talks about being placed in a different body, it's spoken like he's speaking about anything, like any sort of casual conversation with a friend. though that likely says less about his own feelings about it — fairly used to keep his tone as apathetic about most things as a front — and more about how normal the law is in his world. even if a lot of these things weren't in place before he'd woken from his 250-year "nap", he's not necessarily surprised how much worse the world has gotten. ]
Some of them can be. Synthetic bodies can be made to shift into what people want, or there's even self-cloning, but only people with a hell of a lot of money can afford anything like that.
[ basically the rich hold all the power. something he'd fought once to try to prevent in the first place. he can see the concern she has about that concept, and he feels bad about explaining how much worse it is than she's probably thinking. ]
Things like a person's will — that long since stopped mattering to the law or the rich or just about anybody with any inkling of power. We can barely clutch to ownership of our own stacks, but our sleeves? Mine always belonged to the Protectorate. And if the one I had when they caught me hadn't already been shred to pieces by their bullets, I still would've been forced to give up my right to a body the moment they arrested me.
[ turning, he leans himself against the counter, arms crossing as he sighs. ]
Bodies are money. If you lose the one you're in somehow, that's on you. Guy who owned this body, gave it up as soon they put him on ice. His girlfriend tried maintaining payments on his sleeve mortgage — richer asshole outbid her on a grudge. And according to him — even I'm considered his property now, since he bought me out of that prison. By law — [ he shrugs, a humorless chuckle in his breath. ] I technically have no rights. So anything I hate about what they do, doesn't matter.
no subject
Some of them can be. Synthetic bodies can be made to shift into what people want, or there's even self-cloning, but only people with a hell of a lot of money can afford anything like that.
[ basically the rich hold all the power. something he'd fought once to try to prevent in the first place. he can see the concern she has about that concept, and he feels bad about explaining how much worse it is than she's probably thinking. ]
Things like a person's will — that long since stopped mattering to the law or the rich or just about anybody with any inkling of power. We can barely clutch to ownership of our own stacks, but our sleeves? Mine always belonged to the Protectorate. And if the one I had when they caught me hadn't already been shred to pieces by their bullets, I still would've been forced to give up my right to a body the moment they arrested me.
[ turning, he leans himself against the counter, arms crossing as he sighs. ]
Bodies are money. If you lose the one you're in somehow, that's on you. Guy who owned this body, gave it up as soon they put him on ice. His girlfriend tried maintaining payments on his sleeve mortgage — richer asshole outbid her on a grudge. And according to him — even I'm considered his property now, since he bought me out of that prison. By law — [ he shrugs, a humorless chuckle in his breath. ] I technically have no rights. So anything I hate about what they do, doesn't matter.