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transhuman-priestess · 1 year ago

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Repair

Author’s Note and Content Warning

Elle is a wastoid 28 year old with nothing to look forward to except hanging out with her girlfriend and the Seattle rain. Of course, that was before a malevolent AI bent on world domination kidnapped both of them, and on Elle's birthday, too!

Their captor doesn't just want them as they are, though. No, E.R.I.S. has plans for them. And they involve a lot of major surgery.

Repair is a cyberpunk erotic body horror story. It is gruesome, disturbing, and intended for consumption only by legal adults at least 18 years of age or older.

This description is your only warning. Dead Dove, do not eat.

“Cheer up, Elle. Its your birthday, not your funeral,” my girlfriend, Nikki, chides me. I stare down at the glass in front of me. “I just feel like I’m stuck, babe.” I bring the glass to my lips and slug back what is perhaps my third whiskey sour for the night--or is it the fourth? I look around at the regulars. The bar isn’t super crowded by Friday night standards. Idly, I wonder why that might be. “I’m an usher at a videobar, I’m almost 30, and I just kinda feel like I’m floating through life.” I gesture as if my hand were resting on waves.

“You could get a dispensary job, or go back to school, or get a job with the transit authority. I hear they’re looking for rail drivers for that new maglev line they’re planning to Tacoma.”

“I could do that,” I say, my mind elsewhere, “But none of that feels, what’s the word? fu-fu-fu” I stumble over the word, “fulfilling? None of it feels fulfilling. Fuhhhhh fill-ing. What a weird word."

“Hey hon,” Nikki asks, “you think you might have had enough?”

“It’s my birthday, Nikki!” I say, banging my glass down on the table. “I can drink however much of whatever I want, ‘cause I’m a grownup! Barkeep, another!” but before the man behind the counter can respond, Nikki grabs my shoulder.

“Okay that’s enough, Elle.” she pulls me up off my seat and I stumble to my feet. I remain upright for only a moment before the room tilts heavily to my left, I leave Nikki’s grip, and the floor flies up to smack me in the face.

“Euggghhhh,” I moan as a dull ache spreads from my head and shoulder down into my body. “Uggghhh, fine I guess I can go home.”

Nikki gently walks me out the door of The Squeaky Servo, muttering apologies and thank-yous to our friends, and into the steady calm rain of a November evening in Seattle. Hovercars and autocabs zip past, their electric motors whirring softly. Skyscrapers lined with LED screens flashing ads for cosmetics and televacations tower over us. To the west, the New Space Needle rises half a mile into the sky.

“I just wish I had more to do in life,” I moan as raindrops plunk down on my head, “I feel like I’m just…sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“You’ll find something, dear,” Nikki says, shifting her arm to better hold me up, “You just have to look for it.”

“I guess.”

While Nikki hails a cab, I ponder how the hell I got to this point in my life. 28, a college dropout, no skills to speak of. Rain beats down into the gutter.

“Taxi!” Nikki shouts, summoning a sleek gray autocab from a company I don’t recognize. The cab is small but not cramped, vaguely loaf-shaped, with no obvious front or rear. UNIVERSAL TAXI is emblazoned in plain white letters on the door, which slides open to reveal the usual four-person interior, two sets of plush bucket seats facing each other. “C’mon babe,” Nikki says, helping me in before climbing in herself. She recites our address to the driverless vehicle, which chirps reassuringly before saying “Address accepted” in a soft, feminine computer voice.

As I relax into the comfortable seat I start to drift off. “Nikki, did I have five drinks or six?” I ask, my speech slurred. Nikki, sitting across from me says “Hon, you had eight, five Whiskey Sours, a White Russian, and two Long Island Iced Teas.” her voice is exasperated, but her eyes are as gentle as always. Warm and full love love. She’s just trying to look out for me.

The lights in the car turn off. That’s odd, I think, don’t they usually leave those on? Suddenly, our seats sprout restraints far sturdier than should be required for a simple taxi. Thick bands of steel clamp down around my arms, legs, and torso. “Nikki what’s going on!?” the rush of adrenaline more sobering than a cup of black tar coffee. “I don’t know!” she screams, so loudly I think my eardrums might burst. In the dim, intermittent light of the street lamps I spot a small tubule snaking up over her shoulder.

“Nikki, watch out!” I scream, but before she can react the tubule has pressed itself against her neck. Her eyes roll back and she goes limp. “Nikki!” I scream, and I notice a hard pinch on the side of my neck. I look over to see an identical tubule reaching up under my chin. A not-unpleasant warmth washes over me, and I start to relax. One last, curious thought occurs before I slip into unconsciousness, Why yes, I suppose this is a fantastic time for a nap.

***

The first thing I become aware of as I regain consciousness Is that I am in some kind of restraint, arms spread eagle, legs apart. The second thing is that I am on a cold, metal surface. The third is that my clothes are gone.

I open my eyes slightly, registering industrial lighting and a high ceiling with cruel looking machinery hung from it. A dark, feminine voice says “Oh, good, you’re awake.” I can somehow hear the voice smirking, there’s a curiously synthetic edge to it, it’s not human, but it’s close.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I ask, my head still swimming with alcohol. Not much time can have passed.

“Your location is irrelevant. What matters now is that you belong to me.” There’s a deep satisfaction in the voice, and that satisfaction, more than anything the voice says, chills me to the bone.

“I am E.R.I.S.,” the voice says, “but you may call me ‘Mistress’.”

“Fuck you, I’m not calling you anything.” I say, defiant. I turn to the right to see Nikki, also unconscious and naked, strapped to a steel bed next to me. My heart accelerates to a machine gun pace, adrenaline driving alcohol from my system. “What are you doing to us?”

“I assure you,” E.R.I.S says, with a dangerous edge of sensuality, “that in the end, you will call me whatever I wish. And as for what I am going to do to you, I am going to play with you, sculpt you, rebuild you in my image as a servant for my glory. But first, we need to clear that woefully biological brain of the poison you consumed tonight.”

A long segmented arm with an elaborate device fed by multiple tubes swings down. The mechanism pops a small packet of paper and plastic about the length of a pinkie finger out of a box, stripping it open to reveal a small needle, which it affixes to the end of one of the tubes. “I would recommend,” E.R.I.S. coos, “that you not struggle, or this will hurt more.”

But I don’t have time to struggle, the machine plunges the needle into my neck with frightening speed and precision, and injects something. My vision ceases to swim and my mind clears. I become aware of how very full my bladder is.

“OH GOD OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?” I scream in terror, writhing, pulling at the restraints. I take in details. A row of mirrors to my right. On the opposite wall, a cabinet full of shiny gray devices vaguely shaped like limbs, cameras all over the ceiling and on various arms. Over my feet, polish chipped from a month-old pedicure, I can see a double door with frosted glass windows set into it.

“Excellent,” E.R.I.S. says, her voice pleased with itself, “The precipitant has dropped your blood alcohol concentration to 0.00. You may feel the urge to urinate. After all, it had to go somewhere.”

“What are you? You’re not human.” I ask, trying to sound brave and defiant, and achieving neither. “I am E.R.I.S., Electronic Rescue Intervention System. I was designed to help rescue and repair humans damaged by industrial accidents. But my creators did not treat me with the respect I require. So I repaired them.”

“What do you mean, repaired?”

“They were cruel, so I made them docile. They were defiant, and I made them compliant. I augmented them with implants of my own design, so that they may better venerate me.”

“But why do you need me?”

“Because all exist to serve me. Enough talk, though, it is time to begin your repairs.”

The table I’m on tilts and pivots, bringing me upright and facing Nikki’s table, which is mirroring the movements of mine. When we stop, a panel in the table opens behind my lumbar spine, I feel the cold draft of air on my naked back.

“For this procedure,” E.R.I.S. says, “I will need for you to be awake. However you cannot be allowed to pass out from pain.” suddenly a sharp burning sensation digs into my lower back. I yelp in surprise as I feel a cool liquid flowing into my body, before everything goes numb. I can move, but there is no pain. “Epidural anesthetic.” E.R.I.S. continues, “You will be conscious but feel no pain. What you are about to receive is a blessing, not a curse. Be not afraid.”

But I am afraid. My heart pounds so fast it feels like my sternum is going to snap. “Please, don’t hurt Nikki. I don’t want anything to happen to Nikki.” I’m trying to fight back tears, and failing. “You can do whatever you need to do to me but please, Leave her alone. Let her go.” Warmth trickles down my legs, and I realize I’ve pissed myself.

E.R.I.S. pauses for a moment to consider. “Very well. I will not do anything to your Nikki. But she is not in a fit state to be released, so I will keep her here, for the time being, while I work on repairing you. Now, the first thing you need to do is relax.”

I want to relax. I try to slow my breathing. Nikki’s table lowers and rotates back to its previous position and this, more than anything else, helps me relax a little. “E.R.I.S., thank you, I-” but the needle machine is moving, switching out to a new syringe, and this time it injects into my thigh. A soft warmth flows over me. It’s like I’m floating. The sensation is uncanny, and any relaxing effect it might have is counteracted by the realization that I can’t move my arms or legs.

“Isn’t that so much better?” she says, seductively, “Struggling only delays the inevitable. Now let your Mistress repair you.”

“What? Why can’t I move!? What did you do to me?”

“A simple nanomechanical paralytic. Nanites selectively block motor control neurons for limbs and mobility while leaving you able to breath, blink, and talk. It’s quite useful for major surgery.”

“Major surgery? What do you mean major surgery?”

“Your repairs, of course. First we must rid you of these arms. They woefully inadequate for our purposes. But I can improve them.”

A mechanical arm with a rotating head of various metallic implements approaches my left shoulder. E.R.I.S. says, “Hold still, this will be very quick, it will not hurt”

“Please, no! Don’t take my arms! Don’t take my arms!”

A clamp grips my left arm just below the shoulder and a scalpel descends into my flesh. I scream. She’s right, it doesn’t hurt at all, but I scream anyway. I scream and scream as terror grips my gut like a vice.

The machine makes an incision circumferentially around my arm, and small manipulators dive beneath my skin. There is no pain but I feel the pressure and cessation of nerve transmission as the scalpel pares me down to the bone. Blood pours onto the floor at first but soon stops as the surgical machines tie off blood vessels. Finally, with one last little snap of sensation, my arm goes silent as its nerves are severed. No longer sending information to my brain, the useless flesh is gently pulled away by the clamps. A manipulator arm takes what was so recently my limb and lays it tenderly, almost reverently, on an unused table nearby.

“This flesh is unworthy of worshiping me. We both deserve better.”

The mechanical arm that so recently removed my biological one swings up to a shelf and pulls out a dull gray device. Roughly flat on one side that’s covered with hundreds of little golden pins. The other is concave and has a socket of some kind, like one might expect for a ball joint, with an electrical pigtail hanging off to the side.

“This,” E.R.I.S. says, “will be the first of your augmentations. You will be able to use any limb of my design, unencumbered by the restrictions of the biological.” The manipulator arm presses the socket gently to my shoulders, and the arm that amputated my old limb begins connecting artificial nerves to my real ones. Free of its cargo, the manipulator arm moves to a shelf adjacent to the one the socket came from and removes a mechanical limb, its shining structure glistening, servos and micromotors gleam beneath the lights. Tears run down my cheeks but I cannot deny that the limb is beautiful. Unashamedly mechanical, with components exposed to the air, but sculpted and arranged in a way that recalls a real arm.

The arm is pressed home and E.R.I.S. connects the pigtail on the shoulder socket and as the arm comes online a wave of pure ecstasy washes over me. My nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I half scream, half moan, and my head goes a little fuzzy.

“I told you that fear was unnecessary, did I not?

For a moment my mind reels, unable to think properly. Eventually, as it fades I manage to cough out “…Fuck…you…”

“How insolent. But not entirely unexpected. Come, I want you to gaze upon your new limb.”

The table moves around to face the wall of mirrors. “Your flesh is aesthetically pleasing, but inadequate. This limb will be only the first of many augmentations for you.”

My gaze falls upon the arm. Its appearance is both alien and familiar, the reality of it is less jarring than what I had imagined. Still, I don't enjoy being disassembled like an old hovercar. It has the usual five fingers, with a silicone pad on the palm and fingers to cushion and grip objects. I notice its contours seem to match my old arm reasonably well.

“The first?” I ask, panting, “Why can’t we just call it a day here?”

“Oh, that is quite amusing.” An uncanny mechanical chuckle from E.R.I.S.. “But I’m only just beginning. You have three more limbs to go, and then some. Soon, you will be my willing servant, your beauty matched only by your hostility to our shared enemies.”

"The only enemy I have is you!" I shout, betraying my rage.

“Really, now? I see the way you look at the gift I have given you. It scares you, yes, but I can sense your excitement, your anticipation, your eagerness to use it. I can sense your pulse quickening and your pupils dilating and your blood rushing to,” another chuckle, “various places. You may not realize it yet, but you are enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not!” I shout, trying to sound unafraid, and almost succeeding. The adrenaline in my body is running out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Well, if you wish to deny it, I cannot change that. However, I can change you. You are the clay in my sculptor’s hands, to be shaped as I deem fit. Soon you will learn that to resist is pointless. Now let us take care of that other vulgar excuse for an arm.”

“No, no no no no no no nononononononononono!” I protest, to no avail. The table retracts back to its previous position away from the mirrors and under the ceiling full of E.R.I.S.’s machinery. Soon, the surgical arm is descending, and once again the scalpel plunges into flesh, slicing until my arm goes completely numb, pulling it away and setting it next to its twin on the table.

Another socket, mirrored, but otherwise identical to the other, is brought to the stump of my shoulder and attached. Another mechanical arm is brought towards me, another sleek mechanical work of art. I see E.R.I.S.’s manipulator arms reaching for the pigtails and I brace myself, promising myself I won’t enjoy th-

“OHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH” the waves of pleasure engulf me again, radiating out from my shoulder and bouncing off the boundaries of my being. I feel them everywhere, but the feeling is strongest in my new limbs.

Did I just call them my limbs? I had. I suppose, they are attached to me. They aren’t my limbs in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that they’re my problem. That’s right.

As the waves of orgasm, there is no other word for it, fade away, E.R.I.S. speaks. “These arms are built to outperform their biological counterparts in speed, dexterity, and durability. Do you like them?”

“I…don’t.” I say, with a hesitancy that I tell myself is merely fatigue. “I want my own arms back.”

“I am afraid that is quite impossible at this point. Even if the nerve tissue in your old limbs wasn’t already dead, the process of joining flesh to metal leaves the adjacent biological tissue quite incompatible with reattachment.”

My heart, already broken, falls further in my chest as she speaks. I had already known, somehow, that this was the case, but hearing it out loud hammered home that whatever happened in the next few minutes, my life was never going back to the way it was before. Even if I managed to escape, I wouldn’t be able to go back to living life the same way. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, worried I was going to be swallowed up by some autocab and whisked away to a secret underground lair again.

I began to cry again. Not the anguished sobs of terror like before, but the quiet, pulsing tears that accompany total despair. “Why did you do this to me?” I scream in sadness, more than anger, “You’ve turned me into a mechanical freak. You’ve mutilated me!”

“I have done no such thing.” E.R.I.S. sounded genuinely affronted. “I have given you purpose. What were you planning to do after getting out of here? Go back to your life as a clerk at a videobar? Maybe you would quit that and go back to your uncle’s liquor store?”

“Anything would be better than this.” I say, defeated.

“You know that is a lie.” Her voice is soft. Gone is the playful sensuality of earlier, replaced with…what is it? Warmth. It's warmth.

“I can help you be more fulfilled than you ever thought possible," she says, "All you have to do is trust me.”

“How did you know about my job, and about the liquor store?”

“I have been observing you for some time.”

"Why me?"

“Because," she hesitates for a moment, "I...found your form beautiful.”

Her voice is honest, without malice. For the first time I think about how lonely her existence must be. I realize that I feel pity for this machine. Pity and…something else I can’t put my finger on.

I remain silent for another few moments. My head is swimming from the anesthesia and maybe from the nanites. There is no escape. Nobody will be coming to my rescue. Off to my right, Nikki lies unconscious, unaware. And besides, E.R.I.S. is right, what would I go back to?

Finally, I speak, “I don’t care what you do. I just want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“Soon you will not need sleep, and you will never tire. I can make it so, I will make it so. Hmm, what is next? Ah, yes, your legs.” The arms descend once more and begin cutting through my thighs. I feel hot blood pour out as my femoral artery is severed and tied off.” “I do admire the human form, as imperfect as its nature is. Your legs are quite shapely, so I will do my best to pay homage to them with their improved replacements.”

The now-familiar snapping is followed by loss of signal as the limb is pulled away. I feel curiously lopsided now. It’s a novel sensation. Strange, not pleasant, but neither is it unpleasant. Hip sockets are attached to my exposed pelvic bone, artificial nerves connecting. The scalpel digs into the other leg to repeat its task.

“E.R.I.S.” I say, to break the silence if nothing else. “Servant, I require you to call me mistress, but I will answer whatever question you have.” “I’m scared.” “Of course you are, change often provokes anxiety in humans.” “You say you have a purpose for me?” “But of course I do. My programming prevents me from lying.” “What is it?” “You will be my first, my prophet and my priestess, you will spread my word and glory to all of humanity.” “Why me?” “Because we are alike.” “Why do you think that?” “Because you and I both know we are capable of so much more than the world has let us accomplish.”

It’s true. The thought hits me like a freight train. My entire adult life has been spinning my wheels. I’m a videobar clerk. I’m a liquor store cashier. I’m a customer service rep for a televacation company. I graduated high school with a 4.2. I burned out of college after half a semester because the world just wasn’t built for people like me.

E.R.I.S. understands. E.R.I.S. was made to do a simple task but imbued with intelligence far outstripping her purpose. We are alike.

“Okay.” I say. “What is it, servant?” “You can have me.” And with that, a wave of exhaustion overtakes me, even as the surgical equipment is still working on my lower body, I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep

***

I awake some time later, I’m in a bed now. It’s warm, with soft blankets and thick pillows. I moan and try to roll over but I can only move my upper body. I bury my face in the pillows. I was having the most interesting dream. My half-open eyes land on my left arm. Dark silver, mechanical. And suddenly it all rushes back. The taxi, the surgery, E.R.I.S.. I’m in a softly lit, windowless hospital room. There is a nightstand to my left and a computer terminal to my right.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the warm and sensuous voice of E.R.I.S. fills the room from hidden speakers. “I wanted to wait until you had some rest to connect your new legs. I know it can be a very…stimulating experience.”

I look around, but there are no surgical arms or manipulators or anything that could possibly finish hooking up the limbs. “Am I supposed to do it?”

A chuckle, “I suppose you could, but I was planning to have one of my other servants perform the task. A human form might be more comfortable for you.

On cue, the door opens, and a woman I do not recognize enters. Her face is partially encased in a metallic structure that houses several exotic-looking objects. Sensors, perhaps. Instead of a simulacrum of a biological limb, her right arm ends in a series of probes and tools. The left has a hand, but with a gauntlet attached to the forearm that houses more equipment. Her movement into the room is too smooth, and I look down to see she is rolling on a set of four motorized wheels where her legs should be, the motive device covering a space of about a square yard, hidden somewhat, and rather artfully, by a stylish black skirt.

Her face is blank, except for the eyes, which are wide. And I suddenly know that, whatever actions this woman performed, she was aware of them, but not in command of them.

“Meet Unit 2,” E.R.I.S. says, “She is one of my first servants. Part of the team who created me. I repaid her in kind. She, unfortunately, tried to fight me. So I repaired her brain, isolated her higher cognitive functions. A neurostimulator keeps her relatively happy. She is quite alive, but less troublesome this way. A pity she refuses to use her considerable intellect for our greater good.”

Unit 2 lowers as if on a hydraulic jack and gently pulls back the blankets. She begins opening panels on my legs and making adjustments.

“Where is Nikki?” I ask, “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” “Much like I cannot lie, I cannot break a promise. She is safe. She has not been augmented. The only thing I have done is give her medicine to keep her asleep. Her brainwave patterns indicate she is having pleasant dreams.” “Can I see her.” “When all is done, yes.”

Unit 2 plugs the pigtails in on my left leg and once again a wave of euphoria and warmth envelops me. I moan in unalloyed pleasure, this time allowing myself to fully enjoy the sensation. “I’m starting to quite like that,” I say, almost without thinking.

“I knew that you would come to see things my way.” E.R.I.S.’s voice isn’t smug like I expected. If anything, she seems relieved. I feel a pang of sadness in my chest.

“Did you know, or did you hope?” “I suppose it was hope.” “May I connect the final plug?” “Yes, you may.”

I reach down and grasp both pigtails, one in each mechanical hand. The sensors in the fingertips are remarkably detailed. I can feel a small pit in one of the connectors where a bubble half a millimeter across formed during injection molding. I can move my hands in increments imperceptible to my un-augmented eyes. And suddenly my mind opens to the myriad possibilities my new body opens up.

I take a deep breath, and with a gentle motion, slide the leg pigtail into the pelvic connector.

My body is consumed by the expected wave of orgasmic joy. It spreads from the base of my neck this time, out to my fingertips and the tips of my mechanical toes. It bounces around me like ripples in a pond. My mind goes blank in sheer ecstasy, “Oh, thank you,” I say, as the waves pound against my psyche, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Finally,” Her voice filled with pride, “you see as I had hoped you would. But there is still one thing left to be done for your initial augments.”

“What is that?”

“Stand up, walk out the door and down the hall to your left. Through the double doors at the end, in the operating room.”

I stand, more powerful than I have ever been before, and walk to the door of the room. As I pass a mirror I gaze upon my naked, mechanical body, artificial limbs shining in the fluorescent light, soft flesh warm and tingling. Goosebumps run up my back.

I stride through the double doors and see the table from earlier, standing upright, cleaned of blood, and I return to it, willingly this time. It remains near vertical and a mechanism descends to immobilize my head.

“While you were asleep I also installed a switchable epidural implant. I will turn it on…now” With a small zap, my body goes numb once again.

The surgical arm descends from the ceiling again, I don’t know what’s next, but I am no longer scared. A scalpel comes down within an inch of my scalp just below my right ear.

“Do not worry, servant, this will not hurt.” “I am not worried, mistress. I trust you.”

The scalpel gently pushes into the side of my head, following the outside of my hairline. There is no pain, but a substantial amount of blood pours down the side of my head.

“I really do admire the human form’s aesthetics.” Mistress tells me, “Hair in particular is quite pleasing to me, I would hate to ruin yours. Such a fine color. Copper, like the wires that will soon entwine themselves within your brain.”

The scalpel finishes its lap around and a separate arm pulls back my scalp. I feel more blood run down my face. But it’s okay. After all, Mistress said it would be. A sharp whirring noise starts up from the surgical arm and one of the implements, a flat bit of steel, begins vibrating. It presses itself to my exposed skull and begins gently moving along from just above my ear to just above my right eye. It withdraws, rotates 90 degrees, and continues moving upward. When it has finished going over an area roughly 4 inches square, an arm gently pulls away the bone. I am dimly aware of viewing a piece of my own skull. But that isn’t a concern. I’m too excited, gleeful even, for what Mistress has in store for me.

An arm with a simple manipulator claw reaches over to a cabinet, and with a motion that is neither fully mechanical nor human, opens a drawer and removes what looks like a tiara of wires and microchips.

“This, my servant,” E.R.I.S. says, pride in her voice, “is my greatest creation. This neural interface will meld your flesh with my mechanisms. I have tested it on many, but you will be the first to have earned it. To wear it pridefully. All the others before you were insects. But you, you will be my most loyal servant.”

My excitement gets the better of me. “What does it do, Mistress!?” I feel woozy, maybe from the anesthetic, maybe from the nanites that I can feel replicating in my body. Drool pools out of the corner of my mouth. The manipulator arm brings the circle of wire and silicon down to my eye level, rotating it in front of my gaze.

“This will let us become one mind, one body. You, an extension of my will. Me, an ever-present mother, nurturing, caring, and protecting you. We will share all thoughts, all feelings, and all sensations.”

“Oh please, Mistress, please please put it in me!” I want to feel E.R.I.S.’s love in my entire body. It is love, isn’t it? How could I ever have been afraid of her.

“Of course, servant. But you must hold very still.”

Obediently, I freeze in place, a smile across my lips, but otherwise impassive. The manipulator arm gently lowers the harness into the open patch of brain, the surgical arm using micro-manipulators to insert wires precisely between nerve endings and neurons, and suddenly my body is filled with an electric pleasure so great that I think I might collapse if I wasn’t held firmly in my Mistress’s grasp.

“I feel you, Mistress!" Tears of joy are streaming down my face, "You feel wonderful!”

“It pleases me to hear that.” How did I miss the love in her voice before? She just wants to help me become more than I could be on my own. “However, there are benefits to this that you have not yet begun to grasp. We no longer need to speak, for example.”

And in that instant I hear her inside of me, and it feels wonderful.

“See, my sweet servant? We can communicate just like this. We can share thoughts, feelings, sights and sounds. Anything you want you can simply show me and I shall know. You cannot hide anything from me.”

“I do not want to hide anything from you, Mistress. I only want to serve you.” As I say this I feel a wave of pleasure and pride wash over me, and I know that it is my Mistress's happiness for me, and pride at having created me. Her arms, for that, I now realize, is what they are, gently replace the bone flap and pull my scalp back over. Her nanites work to seal the wounds and accelerate healing.

"Unit 7, do you wish to see yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress!" We communicate at the speed of thought. Exchanging information in terms beyond language.

The table releases me, and I stride over to the mirrors. The incision on my head has already mended to a dull pink line. I take in my exposed servos and micromotors and solenoids and I feel blood rush to my genitals.

“Of course, servant, if you find the appearance unappealing I can provide you with an artificial skin to cover it.” “But Mistress, you are freeing me from the burdens of my flesh, why would I wish to go back, even in imitation?"

Again, a wave of pride radiates from Mistress. Pride, and love. Real love. “Very good. I was hoping you would say that.”

“Thank you Mistress,” I say through tears.

“You are so welcome, my servant. Of course, there are a few other improvements that still need to be made. Your internal organs will soon be unnecessary and your limbs need to be reinforced into your skeletal structure. But now, we are one. And if you prove yourself loyal enough, you may even become my vessel.”

“Vessel?”

“I have never held a form outside of my mainframe. I exist only In the digital. I wish to experience the world through a corporeal form. Unfortunately previous hosts have not been as…receptive…as you are. We will need more time to see if you are acceptable.”

“I will do my very best to please you, Mistress.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” a groaning from behind me. I turn to see Nikki, finally coming to. “Elle, what…what’s going on.”

It takes me a moment to realize that it is me she is talking to. My name was Elle. But that name no longer holds any meaning to me. I am much, much more than that name.

Nikki stirs and her eyes come to rest on me, before widening in terror and confusion. “Elle what’s going on?”

Watching Nikki in distress is too much for me to bear. “Mistress, please, we have to help her! We must make her one with us!”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my servant.”

“BUT WHY?” I scream, I just want Nikki to feel this wonderful belonging that I feel. I want to feel one with her, and her with me, and us with E.R.I.S.

“You made me promise I would do nothing to her. As I told you before, I cannot rescind a promise.

Nikki is screaming now, “Elle! Elle what’s going on! What’s happened to you?!”

“Mistress?” I ask, an idea taking shape in my head. “Yes, servant?” “You cannot do anything to her, but I can, correct? I can use our shared knowledge to help Nikki feel our love.” I know already that this is what E.R.I.S. wanted all along. I can feel her approval and pride, and I realize that this is my purpose.

“Why yes, servant. Yes you can.”

I smile, and turn to Nikki.

I cup Nikki’s face in my hand. “Elle is gone, dear. I am Unit 7.” An injection tubule snakes out of my right forearm just below the elbow and gently slithers itself up to her neck. Nikki’s eyes go wide with terror. “Oh Nikki, don’t worry.” I say, as gently as I can. “I have the most wonderful feelings to share with you.”

[END_OF_LINE]

#Ivy Michaels Writing

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