The worst part of surgery would be the nanobots.

These little fuckers were tasked with re-connecting tissue and nerves, moving all the way from the bottom of your body to the top. They diligently worked in places doctors could not, and the only way to properly administer them was without anesthetic. That, and massive needle with which to give them their launchpad. I'd never been a fan of bugs, and the idea of tiny spiders reconnecting my body was creepy enough as it was. But after hearing how they were inserted, the lack of anesthesia, and the things I'd witness, I could quickly feel any remaining color leave my face. Apparently they created painful air sockets and blisters as they worked, sawing, gnawing and gnashing their way through the body's inner areas, destroying to recreate. Their miniature metallic jaws worked and sawed, testing every pain receptor as they left a slovenly trail behind. Without emotion, they mercilessly would crawl, visible through thinner layers of flesh. If they malfunctioned they could easily tear a hole through a patient, begin devouring them, or cause intense paranoia or psychosis. Internal bleeding, clotting, or severe nerve damage were the other 'minor' concerns.

But when they worked, they saved lives. If they worked.

Before nanobots though, there was much preliminary work to be done. First was the debt that would be charged to my name, or rather, what remained of the Juventus name. All direct transactions between The State and a citizen or service member worked this way, and it helped them retain control over the financial situation someone was in. As a Corpswoman, I'd received much of this hospitality based on time served and battles fought, as well as mission completions and commendations. Eventually though, my merit could not stand alone. I'd have to give up something more appealing - my name. The Estate of Juventus would be charged for my entire procedure, and it would be squarely placed on my shoulders to work my way out of the massive debt should I find myself "capable".

In other words, walking.

The surgery for a lower body transplant was somewhere in the neighborhood of two million mezula. For perspective, it takes a family about three generations of prosperous offspring to generate two million mezula. For a single woman it would be an impossible task, and ensure I do one of two things - work the rest of my days for becoming this way, or attempt an ill-fated rebellion on the hand that fed me.

I didn't have much leverage or room to complain. I'd already made up my mind out of those two options, but these were thoughts that I'd keep locked in my head for just a little while longer. First, I'd have to embrace the pain of the lower body transplant.

I spent the days leading up to the surgery under constant surveillance, a stark change from how promptly I'd been ignored during the past few months. The visits from Ester were more frequent, as were those of Mr. Emotionless and his team of supposed doctor-bots.

If I was a piece of trash to them before, I had become something of an experimental oddity in the current time. Operations like this were rare, and doctors salivated at the chance to embark on the harrowing procedure of building a woman or man again from the halfway point.

They bore smiles on their face these days, the robotic and vacant glances exchanged for something of an adrenaline rush. They were genuine smiles, though they were definitely not for my own good.

I almost pined for loneliness as my blood and vitals were repeatedly checked and rechecked. My once tender skin pricked with thick needles and jabbed with the ends of prickly wires. Shocks traveling through the remainder of my nerves, tubes being drained and refilled, drugs flooding my system and bending my reality into a experimental downturn.

I established in my mind that these non-feeling, empty people had waited for such an opportunity to express their latent sadism, my own personal feelings notwithstanding. If my words had bounced of them before, they surely meant nothing now.

"Just one more test for the day, Miss Juventus." the doctor said, what I suspected to be the blackest of lies escaping his pearly white grin.

A needle entered my thin arm, guzzling a massive amount of blood into the top. I gasped, inhaling sharply. Ester held my arm down, with enough pressure to keep me from struggle, though there was a tender touch that also relaxed a portion of my panic. The blood plodded slowly to its destination, leaving me at a simultaneously belated and agile pace. If my body was it's home, the blood surely seemed to go through a struggle to leave the nest.

I exhaled, and my arm was released. The Doctor did that thing that they do in old horror movies, where he squeezed the empty syringe, unnecessarily and horrifyingly ensuring it was empty. I gritted my teeth and bore him a hateful glare, even fiercer than the ones in months previous. He, per the norm, ignored me; leaving only the serpentine stare of my nurse to look to for comfort or reassurance.

She shrugged her slender shoulders and pressured the puncture, ensuring the crimson flood didn't drop to the floor any further.

"See, just one more test." She hissed, far more playfully than was needed in such a grim circumstance.
Her green eye traced my torso up and down, before raising her cheeks in a fanged smile.

"You did great. That'll be all for now."

Her hand released, after placing a bandage over the wound. I shifted my head and panted a few breaths. The doctors who had previously surrounded me so ardently had made their exit, while Mr. Emotionless sat near a sink, cleaning some of the equipment. Since these tests had begun, he could be caught humming, something I had previously doubted his emotional capacity for.

A snarl formed on my face as the room vacated, and I reclined in my bed once more.

"Is it even worth it…."

The words escaped my mouth, floating into the air. They seemed to curl around Ester as she adjusted my IV, drawing her towards me on the thin string of doubt and hesitance. She pivoted on her thick thigh and stretched upwards, looking up towards the light, before meeting my once purple gaze with her serpentine eye. The lone light in the room swung above, a singular bulb that seemed to flicker on and off at the most sporadic of times.

"Do you really have to ask?"

She nearly purred, sitting in a chair next to me and rolling up to the side of the bed. She rested her arms on the side of the rail and gently tip toed her fingers up my arm, invoking goosebumps.

"You have a chance to change your life. Again. We don't get many of those. Or…." her tongue flitted in and out, before coaxing itself around one of her sharp incisors and disappearing.

"Any of those. We live in service, we die in service. Whether we believe or not. Life gives us a way, but it is hardly ever the way. You fought their war, now you get the chance to invoke your own."

She took her hands off of me and began to get up, packing her nurse kit up and adjusting the light above.

I wondered briefly who's side she was on, another question that I needn't ask.

This girl just wanted to see the world burn.

I thought about my father again, my heart in the hand of Dice. The things I had lost, and the mental and physical anguish of this dirty, inhospitable place. The tortured cries of those who unlike me never found the possibility of escape, who never drummed up the confidence for a fight. Who ailed and relented, allowing the sweet mystery of death to take them to the great beyond.

If there was a great beyond.

My story was my own to write, it was my own to formulate, and it always had been. I always took charge and did what they said I never could, would, or should do. I exceeded all that was thought of a Corpswoman - and even through my doubts I still proved myself on the field of battle. Cut down and placed into the custody of my own Government, by my own Government, for the sake of my own Government.

I had become dangerous. I had become the woman with the glint in her eye and her name in the paper. I'd become what this society deigned you not to be.

Something.

I wouldn't let a circumstance like this drag me into the pit of nothing. Of eternal service, gratitude to those who would see me as less. I slid up on the bed, changing my snarl into a smile. I looked at my arms, riddled with pricks and bandages, wires and cords. My ventilator, blood supply and hydration support. I cracked my neck.

"Heh. You've got a point. Enough has been taken from me. I need to reclaim whatever I can. However I can."

They can't fuck me forever, I thought.

She hissed in the corner for a moment, eyeing me over with a glint in her eye. I always offered her entertainment, and my statement was nothing short of it. She took the tender flesh of her pinky and tweaked it on one of her fangs, something the youthful nurse often did when she was in thought.

"So ferocious. That's the Cecilia from Day One."

She nodded, tapping me on the arm before heading out the door. She didn't give me a look back, but I could tell she was amused by the sudden determination I showed. Though I silently displayed it during the tests and diagnostics, the feedings and the drainings, I was much more content to never speak on it. Putting words to my disdain and desire motivated and sparked fire in myself and to anyone who would listen.

The depressing portion was always that there was usually few who would. This hospital was hardly a place to live - it was a place for you to arrive in and die. If you didn't come here and die, you walked, hobbled, or crawled out of here with only a small remnant of your life left. Left to believe you were obsolete, less than human. A tremendous debt hung above the name of your family disgracing you from those who were perfect, more impeccable, more obedient.

They hoped I would die here, with honor. Or in a tragic surgery to attempt to regain my life.

Or on the way out of the hospital due to sepsis. It wasn't about me living, it was about the publicity of a soldier passing with honor. Attempting to get herself back to the front lines. They'd bleed whatever genetic heir they found of me dry, hanging my hospital debt on them - or perhaps, they'd hike taxes and put the debt on the public in secret.

This hospital was nothing short of a experimental morgue. I wouldn't have my fate determined like this.

Surgery be damned. I'd survive.

I'd been a perfectionist at combat. When I had my wits and legs about me, I could move with unprecedented speed and strength.

I felt sand under my feet as my weight came down from the sky, my blade hacking into the assault dummy with the sort of precision that cut arteries and diced veins. The straw from the mannequin fell to the wayside, the splintered remains of it's makeshift body sprinkling into the wind.

"I missed the heart." I said, wiping the blade off with a cloth. It shimmered in the evening sunset, the cool tides pawing at my boots.

"Did you? I saw a clean shot all the way through."

Mayala Ires, my subordinate and at the moment, my combat partner. Mayala was fascinated with guns, lasers and gadgets, though never being much of combatant herself. She'd been taken under my wing for several weeks to see exactly how a frontline operative moved. She was eager, intelligent, and naturally beautiful. Her hair possessed a wondrously rare gray hue, her eyes nearly white. Her skin tan, born of the Outer Islands - her short and muscular frame a testament to the work ethic of her people.

I eyed her down with my purple glance, the wind blowing my long hair across my vision for a moment. A parted it and set the blade to my side, laughing.

"Corporal...the heart isn't located on the right side." I used the other side of the cloth to wipe the sweat from my head, sitting next to her on the rock formation near the coast.

"Dealing an aerial blow, you need to come straight down on the target. The fucker can't have a moment to blink, a second to move. You slice straight through and impact your…"

I grabbed her arm and pressed it down, chuckling.

"Weight - forcefully on the blade."

She looked at me with wonder. Wonder and innocence that had somehow been lost in how many battles I'd fought and moments I'd discarded. The near white in her eyes shimmered, those light gray irises following me like I was a Goddess incarnate in her presence. She placed her hand the top of my palm and smiled.

"Gotcha. That's beautiful advice Cap."

I found myself wondering if she cared so much about the lesson, and more about the fact it was me giving it to her. I quickly removed her hand from mine and stood up, pointing towards another blade that was stuck in the sand only a few feet over.

"Oh yea? Well get off your ass and show me."

I snickered a bit and twirled the beautiful blade in my hand. These were the days I loved. The rush of combat combined with the flow of the ocean, my hair fluttering in the smooth flow of the passing winds. The ability to feel as if I was imparting something on someone. It brought upon me the feelings of wishing for another chance.

"Huh!? Alright! I'll do my best!" She cheered, hopping off the rock and rushing towards the blade. Her gray hair, cut in a sort of bob, bounced and twirled in the gusts, giving her the most innocent and tender of appearances. I sighed, discarding the cloth into the sands, briefly releasing the blade so that I could tie my hair into a tight ponytail.

She dislodged the blade from the sand and those near white eyes flickered with the intensity I'd begged to see during our previous bouts.

"You can try." I said smoothly, embracing the blade in my hand and moving towards her, my ferocious downswing cutting through the wind. The swiftness on my blade upon her caught her off guard, and the young Corporal rose upwards in a parry, pushing backwards, her knees buckling under her.

"Nngh…." she whimpered, but only for a moment. She pressed back, force channeling through her muscular legs, moving me backwards a few inches as she rained down an upwards slash upon me. A smile remained on my face as I adjusted my posture and moved my blade effortlessly to meet it. I pressed my weight against it, moving her off her feet for just a second and back again.

She responded in kind, and the match begun in earnest. Truly taking to my advice, she moved wisely - but my footwork was superior. My blade twirled with ease and skill, matching her stride for stride. The clashing of blades shone off in the setting sun, the first stars rising into the sky as the day neared its end. Steel offset steel, until I moved into the air, kicking up sand, following the wind. Surprised by my agility, her eyes widened on my descent.

Our blades met once again, but this time, my force proved too much. The downward assault cracked the steel on her blade, whiffing over her gray locks. A small bit of hair was lopped off, while the remainder of her practice sword fell to the wayside, staggering itself into the sand. Soon it was washed away into the sea of grains, sinking as the sun shone only a minor glint of light from it.

Standing nearly face to face, she below me, the girl panted. Sweat dripped her face, her near snow white glance locked with my deep purple gaze. A drop of sweat glided down my face, and our eyes continued to lock. I saw in her all the things that I had seen in myself as a young soldier.

Fear. Doubt. Uncertainty.

Acknowledgement.

She dropped her pose and stood up, and I relaxed my shoulders.

"You move so quick...I could never get airborne on you." She chuckled, staring up at me with a mix of admiration and disbelief.

"Footwork."

I spoke calmly, brushing a stray bang from my face as I look away from her and into the sunset. The sun now sank below the ocean, its parting wave giving the sky the slightest hint of a deep red.

I began to turn back.

"Now if you'll jus-"

I turned to find her arms around me. Grasping me, lightly and warmly holding my waist. Her tender fingers palmed the small of my back, her gentle features nuzzled underneath my breast. The warmth of her breath, the reality of her tears, they sunk into my neoprene combat suit.

"I can never be that strong."

As she nuzzled into me, my eyes opened up. The sun set.

"You…" I mumbled, trying my hardest to remember the last time someone had looked to me for embrace, safety, or true security. I drew blank in the moment, my hand reaching around and patting her on the head. A feeling spread throughout my body, one I can only imagine that is similar to a mother embracing a child.

I lifted her disappointed head up with a singular index finger, looking at the younger woman in the eyes. Deeply.

"You were born strong."

She wept, retreating her head into my breast yet again.

I bore a stare out to the rising moon, and wondered if my time in the Service has began to mean something.

Corporal Mayala was dead six days later.

It looked nearly perfect. Though there were scars running up and down the legs, quite a few stitches, and a missing middle toe. It was about as near a match as I could ever ask for. The same with these preliminary reports was that they didn't show any of the functional uses of the body - muscles, nerves, more personal parts. That would be some of the gamble going into the operation.

From the exterior however, it wasn't the worst thing I'd ever seen. The person I received this donation from was a frontline Corper just like myself, and the brief bio sheet read like one. Though name and gender were not disclosed, the injury history was included.

I flipped over the sheet of paper on the clipboard and looked at some of the information.

"Gunshot wounds, lacerations, cuts."

I could sense eyes beating on me impatiently as I read the vague details.

My eyebrows raised as I continued on, the looming shadow of the operating surgeons hanging over me.

"Tears, pulls and apparent strains."

I placed the piece of paper down and looked quizzically at the surgeon.

"I'm guessing this is a 'no' on a full report?"

I squinted my eyes, wanting more details than the vague descriptions this two sheet bio gave me.

The surgeon, his yellow eyes filled with impatience, only stared.

No it is, then.

One of the surgeons removed the clipboard from my hand and sat me back, relaxing the operating table in the dingy room. I could swear I heard a rat crawling up the walls as the chair reclined into a prone position.

I found myself in the position of wondering about everything that had gotten me up to this point. I could hear the new portion of my body being wheeled in, placed on the surgeon's table as restraints were tightened on my arms.

It wasn't as if I could run off.

Again, a singular bulb was all that illuminated the dark, dank room.

If I wanted my life back, this was what I had to do.

And the first step to doing what I wanted to do.

I could look over to my side and see Ester. In the flickering light of the bulb, her orange hair bounced vividly. It shone as she pulled it back into a hasty bun, slowly reaching down to find the syringe.

I couldn't see everything, but I could hear the skittering of the nanobots as the syringe inhaled them. Their tiny legs skittered inside of the containment, sounding frenzied and starved. The surgeons around me, four in number, mumbled lowly, ensuring all the necessary tools were in place.

Ester placed the syringe on the operating table and gently unwound the bandages that covered my lower half. I winced, breathing heavily as the air contacted my flesh, moving and weaving past cauterized skin to what remained of my living areas.

I felt the cold of the lower body touching a few of my dull nerve endings at the bottom of my torso. It was a disquieting and uncomfortable experience feeling the nearly dead body of someone else colliding with yours. I could only guess the cold, lifeless flesh that was pressed against me was my new waist.

Ester walks over to me and gently massaged my cheek, her green nails nearly digging into the soft supple flesh that my face provided.

"Just relax, Miss Juventus." she cooed, using the other hand to place an oxygen mask over my face, my rapid breathing being slowed by the infusion of light drugging. Her hand began to wobble and move, the flickering light hanging above becoming slower and slower.

She removed it just as I heard the words "Syringe" escape from the mouth of Mr. Emotionless, the unfortunate lead surgeon of this procedure. His hair beneath his scrub cap remained perfectly gelled, his eyes dull and hauntingly absent.

Gone was the fun of poking and prodding, experimenting and testing. Now he had to make an earnest attempt to rebuild my life, and he didn't seem to feel much of anything about it. No deviant smirk, no words of comfort.

He really did like to let Ester do all the work on the bedside manner piece, hmm?

The mask made my vision stuffy, but I realized there would be no further drugging. Mr. Emotionless held the syringe in his hand, squeezing it much like he did during earlier tests. A nanobot crept out, skittering onto the floor and away into the ratty corners of the office.

My God.

He neglected to make eye contact with me. He nodded to Ester, and then to the other surgeons, and before long, my restraints had been tightened. I could feel the cuffs pulling my arms towards the bare and uncomfortable table, suffocating the blood flow to my hands. The fabric was taut and sandy, causing me to wince my eyes in discomfort.

"Mhmmgfffmf!"

The humid air from the ventilator and the light drugging made it impossible to bitch and complain.

Moments later, I felt a sharp jab into my side. A metallic rush burst through me, the feelings of thousands of small feelers running up and down my body. Something like a jaw sawed into me. I cried a muffled scream as a tear drained from my eye.

Ester petted my purple locks, her serpentine eye wavering in the drug induced haze.

"Mmff.."

Another jab. The metallic creatures moved from the top of my shoulder and through my chest plate, supposedly connecting nerves and repairing tissues. They gnashed and sawed away, each bite feeling as if it was ripping off a piece of my insides. I could feel blood shifting and flowing, veins stopping and starting. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as the tapping and skittering of the nanobots dominated my hearing.

I tried to scream, but it proved impossible, as my tears were choking my very voice as the thing wiry bites of the bots began to weave the lower half of the body on to the torso of mine. If a bone was too long, they filed through it, grinding, sawing, cutting, sanding.

The intensity of the pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. Ester slammed my head against the pillow and dug her nails into my forehead. I snorted and panted through the machine as my blurred vision canted left and right. Two surgeons held me down as Mr. Emotionless grabbed the Stitch Machine, firing painful needles into selected and marked parts of my new lower half.

The needles jabbed the flesh, causing the other nurse assistants to run quickly for cloth, my blood pouring at regular intervals as the machine punctured and connected what would be my new body. It felt like I was being sewn together, both inside and out.

The metallic sound continued, the intense pittering and pattering of the little spiders devouring and reshaping parts of my body. Tears streamed from my eyes as I attempted pathetic whimpers and cries, the serpentine eye of Ester looking down at my face.

She leaned in close, her beautiful complexion looking nearly nightmarish in the light.

She pecked my cheek with a genuine kiss, licking up a saltine tear from my weeping eyes. I could only look at her with a pained expression as the Stitch Machine wound back, the needles slowly moving and weaving as the surgeon moved it back and forth, painfully taking blood and dead tissue with him as he did so.

After excruciating minutes, the sound of the spiders stopped.

My world warped around me, Ester's face becoming an unidentifiable blur.

Shapes and colors swirled, shifting, moving, coalescing.

"She's ready. Anesthetic."

Only blackness.

Help me.