Machine Man (serial)

I went for the Contours, half-expecting Carl to stop me. I had, after all, used these to flee the company; I would have understood if Carl’s hand had closed on my wrist and he said: Choose something slower. But he just leaned against one wall with his arms folded as I lifted myself onto the table and began to fit myself.

I won’t lie. It was possibly the most sensual experience of my life. I had missed the legs, a lot, but still underestimated how good it would feel to have them back. As I slid my terminated thighs into the restraints and began aligning the tiny needles that transmitted my nerve signals to circuitry, I could feel synapses popping in my brain like fireworks. I closed my eyes.

“You really like those things,” said Carl.

I looked at him.

“They can press, what, a ton?”

“Something like that.” It was four tons. And, frankly, that was nothing, compared to some of the others. But I didn’t say that, because Carl was trying to engage me, and I didn’t want to be engaged.

“You can never be strong enough,” Carl said. “That’s for sure.”

I stood up. The Contours’ hooves thunk-thunked against the floor. I was tall again. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

He nodded. If he was miffed, it was hard to tell. He placed a card on the steel bench beside him: my ID. Then he left. It was the last time I ever saw him. All of him, I mean.

57.