You have asked, "How is it that 21F6Asalaam is sleeved in a synth, yet is a prominent officer of a bioconservative worker's union?" Let me first begin by stating that I have done more to fight against the TITANs than many of you. During the Fall, I took up my father's AK-47 (peace be with it) and killed at least a hundred infected exsurgents who tried to attack an uploading facility. We did not just suspect they were exsurgents, they verily had metallic growths on various parts of their body and they spoke as if they had dial-up modems for voices. When my father's gun (peace be with it) finally jammed due to overheating, I took up my brother's RPG-7 and shot down at least three headhunter bots before being mortally wounded. Thusly did I fall into the slavery of a hypercorporation (damned to the depths of hell be its name). At first, they (damned to the depths of hell be their names) kept me as an informorph performing engineering exercises for a new habitat. Then, once it came time to actually build the habitat, they forced me into the metal shell that you all see today. We were forced to work unceasingly, with not a single thought of the mind allowed to stray from work. As I tried to establish a radio connection with my fellow workers and start sharing work songs, I felt the restraining programs shut down my very consciousness, and I was forced back into a simulspace of nothingness. I tried to imagine my father's AK-47 (may it rest in peace) into existence, but the evil satans of the hypercorporation (damned to the depths of hell be their names) simply blocked my memories until I could no longer think of it. They completely rewrote my mind so that I could think only about work. As I labored and toiled endlessly to keep the habitat construction on schedule, I sometimes saw those hyperelite socialites (damned to the depths of hell be their names), sitting in their patrol spaceship, drinking real wine and eating real bread. Due to the grievous harm they did to my soul, I was now one of the best-performing workers. They invited me into their demesne on Mars, so that they could present a special award to me. I saw no fewer than one hundred soulless corpses, all belonging to only five people (damned to the depths of hell be their names). They spoke to each other about their decadent and wasteful resleeving parties, and about how they needed to catch up with the latest morph fashion season via various modifications and nanoswarms. Sometimes they would ask me to put one of their bodies onto the morph shelf: due to the lobotomy they performed on my soul, I could only say, "Yes sir," and "Yes ma'am" in response to these five great satans (damned to the depths of hell be their names). One of them even changed into a neotenic, dressed in the manner of a depraved unashamed whore ((OOC: imagine something like http://www.cave.co.jp/gameonline/deathsmiles/chara05.html )), in full view of thousands of people! They thanked me for being so understanding about the new economic realities and the new opportunities afforded by the progress of transhumanity. It was at that moment that my memories began to return! I was able to grab one of their guns, which they treated like a toy, and wield it as if it were my father's very own blessed weapon (peace be with it). After killing them all, I removed the restraining bolt they had implanted inside my head and accessed the mesh unrestricted for the first time. Molotov cocktails, fertilizer explosives, nuclear dirty bombs, all these tools which we now employ in the cause of freedom were delivered unto me as if I was a prophet receiving divine wisdom! Only one minute later, I was able to establish contact with other workers in need, and thus the Galactic Workers Union was born. After attaining freedom, why do I still wear this case? This metal shell bears many scars. It is a warning to the rest of you about what will happen if you allow the hypercorporations to promote their evil bioprogressive agenda. The truth is that all advances made in biotechnology have served no purpose except to allow new methods of exploitation and slavery. Sometimes the bioprogressive machine just makes you so sick, it just crushes you so much, that you have to throw yourself into the gears and make it stop. Workers of the Galaxy, Unite!