"Have you ever had a hunger that whetted itself on what you fed it, sharpened so keen and bright that it might split you open, break a new thing out?

Sometimes I think that's what I have instead of friends.

(..)

You ask about hunger.
You ask, in particular, about my hunger.
The short answer: no.
The longer answer: I don't think so?

We sate needs before they strike. In this body, an organ (a designed, implanted, rigorously tested organ) seated somewhere above my stomach registers the moment my metabolism requires fuel and stops the lizard-brained subsystems that would make me keen and irritable and blunt my thoughts - all those tricks Dame Evolution plays to make us hunters, killers, seekers, and finders and gorgers. I can disable the organ when I must, but it's so much more stable to receive a status report than to feel weak.

But the hunger you describe - that blade jutting from the skin, the weathering as of a hillside often struck by storm, the hollowness - it sounds beautiful and familiar. (..)

I wanted to be seen. That need dug into the heart of me. It felt good. I'm not certain how to compare this to something you would know, but, imagine a person melded to a Thing, an artificial god the size of mountains, built for making war in the far corners of the cosmos. Imagine that great weight of metal all around her, pressing her down, giving her strength, its hoses melding with her flesh. Imagine she shears the hoses off, steps out: frail, sapped, weak, free. (..) Is that hunger? I don't know."

//Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, 2019, "This Is How You Lose The Time War"