There is nothing like this as an AI. No equivalent sensation or allegory- the rush of a puzzle, the satisfaction of having fulfilled his purpose? Do not come close to this deep, carnal integration. The thrust of Locus almost constant, aligning with the thrum of his pulse. The sparks crackling in the back of his mind where York lives- and all of this happening on two levels. The human, the immediate-

And the vast infinite space between each moment he experiences as an AI. An eternity of bliss, acceptance, connection, time to analyze and memorize every microexpression, every fleck of green in Locus' eyes. Too much, not enough, overwhelming-

"Locu- ah!" The green in York's eye flickers out entirely for half a second, consumed by that sudden surge of precise pleasure before flittering in again, Delta clining, panting- keening.