New-U

"New-U station online. Please stand by for respawn."

"How many times have I done this now?"

I died on Pandora. Then I did it again.

Then again. Then again. Lost track around ten.

Every time, I wake up in a tube of blue light

With a bill from Hyperion and a brand new life.

Same face. Same scars. Same gun in my hand.

Same dust in my lungs. Same taste of the sand.

They call it a service. They call it a gift.

A chance to respawn, to shift

The cost of my failure to someone else's dime.

But nothing's for free. Not death. Not time.

Every time I come back, something's off.

A memory missing. A dream I can't shake.

A door in the dark that I open again.

New-U. New you. Same old game.

Step out of the tube, forget the pain.

New-U. New you. Same old lie.

Another version of me that doesn't ask why.

They say it's a second chance. A reset. A cure.

But every time I come back, I'm a little less sure

That the person who left is the person who's here.

New-U. New you. New fear.

I've been erased before. Not death. Erased.

A digistruct glitch. A copy-paste.

They say it's me. Same atoms. Same code.

But I feel the difference under the load.

A hesitation. A flinch. A thought that's not mine.

A memory of dying that feels like a sign.

They tell me to trust the machine. To believe.

But the machine doesn't die. The machine doesn't grieve.

The machine just copies and prints and renews.

And tells you it's you.

"Do you ever wonder if you're the first one? The original? Or just the latest copy in a long line of copies who all thought they were the original?

I died six times today. And I can't remember which death was the first. Or if there ever was a first. Or if I've always been version 47."

The psychos have it right, you know. The ones who scream.

They know the truth. Nothing's as it seems.

They die and come back and they know what they are.

A copy. A ghost. A scar on a star.

But we pretend it's fine. We pretend it's clean.

We pretend dying's just part of the machine.

We pretend the face in the mirror is ours.

That the hands on the gun are the ones that had power

The first time around. Whenever that was.

Before the first death. Before the reset.

I don't know if I'm me anymore.

I don't know what me was for.

I don't know if it matters. I don't know if it's real.

I don't know if the things I feel

Are mine or just code that learned how to bleed.

A copy that copies what it needs

To pretend it's a person. To pretend it's alive.

New-U. New you. Same old game.

Step out of the tube, forget the pain.

New-U. New you. Same old lie.

Another version of me that doesn't ask why.

They say it's a second chance. A reset. A cure.

But every time I come back, I'm a little less sure

That the person who left is the person who's here.

New-U. New you. New fear.

"Respawn complete. Thank you for choosing Hyperion."

"How many times have I done this I don’t remember.”