The Grid

"I need your help," she whispered, glancing fearfully around as if they might be observed.
"Yes," he replied simply. "I've been watching their transmissions. They're closing in. Be calm, they have no eyes in my place yet."
"I need to get off the grid."
"How far off?"
"Well you said it yourself. They're chasing me."
"Didn't you delete your file?""
"Of course," she sighed, sinking into the empty chair next to his desk. "But they have physical data. They have memories of me. It's too late for simple solutions. I've left it too late."
She sank her head into her hands, and when she spoke next her voice was muffled.
"I need to disappear. It must be as if I never lived."
He watched her for a few moments, and when he finally spoke his answer surprised her.
"Alright. I can help you."
-
The chair creaked as her body convulsed; the machine winred up to her brain hummed as it fed. The measurements it took were relayed into a small, gun-shaped device, creating a map of her essence, of every neurological detail that made her who she was. A second device - running simultaneously with the other, because they were in a hurry - sorted through her memories, printing a list of every person she had ever met.
It was a tremendous strain on her body, perhaps even taking a few years from her life as it fed on her own vitality to speed its processors. He had to marvel at the ingenuity of this feature of his machine. He hadn't programmed it in personally, merely watched as it adapted itself during the testing phase. There was a kind of intelligence to his computers, and in communicating with the infinitely more sophisticated computer that was the human brain, it had learned.
With a mostly-clean handkerchief he wiped her mouth. Her brain was busy elsewhere, and she had forgotten to swallow the saliva that had gathered there. Racked with pain she moaned, and he awkwardly patted her arm.
"It's nearly done," he said.
The final sheet of paper fell onto the pile, and he neatened it before attaching the sheets to a clipboard.
"These glasses have an imbedded microtext reader," he explained, as he carefully disentangled her from the wires. "The names on the clipboard are in reverse chronological order."
"Alright," she said shakily, leaning a little heavily on the chair as she stood. "I have such a headache."
"It will last a few days." He handed her the glasses and clipboard. "Be sure to practise a little. It takes some getting used to."