Voyager
Upon Seven’s mental command the Borg tubules leapt forward from Seven’s hand and pierced into Raffi’s neck with speed and efficiency.
Raffi’s entire body jolted suddenly, instantly convulsing as if being electrocuted.
Concentrating, Seven kept her iron grip. She held Raffi’s jerking body firm, holding her close against her with the strength the Borg had ‘gifted’ her with.
While both her right arm and body attempted to hold Raffi still, Seven’s eyes remained unblinking and fixed on the tubules.
With concentration she released the nanoprobes, all now flowing into Raffi and making thier way to attach themselves to her spinal chord to transmit the instructed information to her brain.
Seven held firm, her focus and concentration intent on both Raffi’s safety and correctly directing the nanoprobes on thier way with absolutely no allowance for any deviation.
A tear rolled down Seven’s cheek as she held Raffi yet there was nothing she could allow herself to do about it, every fibre of her entire being was focused elsewhere.
The tear fell, dropping from her face and onto Raffi above her left breast.
It went ignored as Seven’s Borg left hand remained firm, trembling slightly with Raffi’s involuntary shudders yet the tubules remained steady and impaled into thier...victim.
With a pained intake of breath Raffi’s pulse and heart rate began to rise and her breathing increased in rapidity.
She began to gasp desperately with every attempted breath and sweat began to form all over her body.
In fear Seven increased her grip, mentally slowing the speed of the nanoprobes and gently reducing the flow to ease the shock that she knew was assaulting her soul mates neural pathways.
“Shhhhh...”, she breathed into Raffi’s ear, “Shhhh... Shhhh...”.
The former Borg concentrated her thoughts, recalibrating the flow rate of the nanoprobes with her mind and adjusted the flow to match, easing the rush of nanoprobes that ordinarily knew only to take over and assimilate.
Raffi’s gasps eased.
“What is the nature of your medical emergency, oh Holy Hell!!”, came a voice as the automatically triggered EMH shimmered into view upon detecting Raffi’s rapidly changing state.
“COMPUTER DEACTIVATE EMH!”, Seven shouted. There was no messing about, her voice was clear, her order definite.
There was to be no disturbance.
The EMH vanished.
Seven’s eyes remained fixed, not once had the blue eyes deviated from the insertion of her tubules.
As Seven held her firm and her body jolted and shook, Raffi’s mind felt a growing presence begin to loom amongst her own personality.
It felt similar to another person entering an otherwise empty room.
It was Seven, or atleast a part of Seven.
Raffi’s vision blurred to nothing as her brain began to process. It struggled to understand as a complex flow of information began to enter and the nanoprobes began to write thier information into Raffi’s own memory.
Seven’s memories began to pour into Raffi’s mind, suppressing Raffi’s own thoughts, Raffi’s own identity, and Raffi’s own individuality.
Seven’s nanoprobes overpowered her lovers mind and engulfed it with visions, sounds and feelings.
The information flooded in like a neural tsunami as memories assaulted all of Raffi’s senses simultaneously.
Raffi no longer saw the blur of her lowly lit quarters or felt the strength of Seven supporting her shaking body.
She suddenly felt the sensation, power and memory of being Borg.
Voices, so many voices.
The ambience of thousands, millions, billions of voices, a constant companion of ambient sound and knowledge.
The feel of the alcove, a sense of peace and tranquility within it as it firmly held the Borg body and nurtured it with regeneration.
Order, structure, calmness, safety, purpose, peace... a near tranquility of the mind.
A flash, a spark, a shattering shock of pain and it was gone.
New emotion, terror, absolute horror.
The voices were gone, suddenly, so suddenly!
Silence! What was silence?
Silence was new.
Silence was unknown.
Silence was overwhelming.
Revulsion.
Revulsion upon realising her body had been altered.
Stripped, her implants had been stripped!
Pieces were missing, parts she needed, parts she relied on!
Her eyepiece gone.
The voices gone!
The drone was now half blinded and alone, mutilated by the ship named Voyager.
A Starfleet captain spoke, spoke words about individuality and yet she could not hear the words over the deafening sound of the silence pounding her mind!
The brig.
Imprisoned alone. Confined, alone.
Panic setting in.
The Starfleet captain again.
She forces an identity, two words, a name, Annika Hansen.
Refusal, raised voices, threats.
A plea for the Borg!
The information is irrelevant.
The drone already has a designation, Seven of Nine!
A photo, a little girl, blonde, 6 human years.
Irrelevant!
A surge of emotion.
Loss, the loss of the others, the Collective, the Borg.
Fear, the fear of being alone, of being just one.
Terror at both what they had done to her, and what might become of her.
Anger at this unwanted memory, this “Annika Hansen” the starship captain was forcing upon her.
“Don’t want that life!”.
Confusion.
Hesitation.
Deep breath, compose oneself.
Perhaps there is truth?
“Red... her favourite colour was red”.
More changes, more surgery, exoplating removed.
Clothing, hair, all new concepts.
“Freed from the Borg”, or assimilated by Janeway?
She was...uncertain.
Her full eyesight restored... Was this compassion?
Compassion was irrelevant?
Assimilation into a new collective?
A new collective...
The beginnings of trust...
Her anger subsiding as time passed.
Perhaps Voyager was acceptable.
Yet pain remains.
Weekly “maintenance”.
Crying out as clothing is peeled away and skin regeneration is monitored.
So much pain.
Then silence, left alone in the dim cargo bay.
So alone for hours at a time, discarded until needed.
The dreams of a Raven and the truth that presented.
Assimilation, the end of childhood.
Confusion remains, there is still mistrust.
8472 returns.
Janeway’s solution is flawed, lethal, Voyager must be protected.
Her solution is correct. 8472 is beamed to the Hirogen.
The lives of Voyager’s collective are saved.
Yet Janeway punishes.
Confined again, discarded to the cargo bay with only silence to haunt her.
This collective is not yet understood, there is a lot to learn.
Yet onboard she remains.
Time passes...
The words “drone”, and “Borg” often now replaced with “human”, “individual”, or simply just “Seven”.
Rapports begin forming.
Is this “friendship”?
Janeway... Mentor? Teacher? Guide?
The Doctor... Is this friendship? A confidant? “You are my sunshine”.
Tom and Harry... Respect? Humour?
The Talaxian... Support? Encouragement?
B’elanna... A difficult mutual acceptance. Technical excellence.
Tuvok... His understanding of emotional guidance, a tutor.
Chakotay... Distrust and suspicion gradually gives way to a red dress and picnics.
“Voyager is my collective now”