The medical bay reeks of antiseptic and fear. Three other women wait in curtained cubicles. One cries quietly. Another stares into nothing. The third fingers her neck, rehearsing for a collar she doesn't own yet.
We don't look at each other. Eye contact makes it too real.
“Behind your left ear.” The tech's voice is flat. “Neural integration takes three seconds.”
The injection gun looks like something for livestock. He presses it against my skull, and I think about dogs being microchipped. Tagged for return if lost.
Except we don't get returned.
The needle punches through cartilage. Fire, then ice, then a bright crackle that makes my teeth ache. Sound splits into two streams—English and something guttural, like stone grinding.
“Test phrase,” the tech says, but I also understand:Keratha nu slavek ti?
Both languages. Clear as water. The implant doesn't translate—it lets me comprehend. Like the alien words were always there, waiting.
“I understand.”
“Nu slavek.” The acknowledgment slips out in their tongue before I can stop it.
“Strong integration,” he notes. “You'll do well.”
Do well. Like this is a job review.
The prep room is last. White walls. White floor. A drain in the center that makes my stomach clench.
A female tech hands me a vial. Clear liquid that moves wrong—too thick, resisting gravity. The smell is cinnamon, copper, and something that makes my instincts scream.
“Preparation tonic. Drink it all.”
“What does it do?” I know, but I want to hear her say it.
“Enhances responsiveness. Increases resilience. Promotes compatibility.” She hesitates. “The changes are permanent. You'll heal faster, live longer, but you'll also… need things. Earth can't provide what your transformed body will crave.”
Makes it easier for them to use us. Makes our bodies betray us. Makes us dependent forever.
The liquid burns going down—not heat, but something alive unfurling in my stomach. My skin prickles. Every brush of fabric feels raw. I grit my teeth and endure.
“Normal response,” the tech says, already stepping back. “Portal room through that door. You have two minutes before it closes.”
Two minutes to change my mind. Two minutes to run. Two minutes to tell Lily I can't?—
The portal shimmers like heat mirage. Beyond it: black sand glittering like broken glass. An orange sun. A sky the color of old blood.
Pyraxis.
One minute.
Lily in her hospital bed. Machines breathing for her. Machines that won't matter in six hours when the credits clear.
Thirty seconds.
I step through.
MARA
The heat hits like a wall. Air so dry it pulls moisture from my eyes. But the sand is worse—obsidian grains flood my boots through every seam. Sharp as glass. Hot as coals.
The portal snaps closed behind me. No sound. Just gone, leaving a circle pressed into the sand like a scar.
