[POV Orión]

  The void ripped apart. The fragments of my memories, the st image of the Celestial Object in the sky, dissolved in an explosion of blue light. My "eyes" opened, but it was neither to darkness nor to crity. It was to an indistinguishable gloom, a total absence of contrast or form. Despite having opened my eyes, I saw nothing. It was as if my eyes were there, but the world was not.

  A new sensation took hold of me, a gentle yet firm pressure around my entire body. I was lying down, but not on a mattress. The surface was cool, smooth, with a slight metallic echo that resonated deep within my perception. The constant hum I had felt in the void was still there, now sharper, a murmur of energy. And the smell: ozone, clean metal, and something else, something chemical, like a suspension fluid.

  Suddenly, a voice resonated in my head. Not through my ears, but directly in my consciousness. It was a robotic, monotone voice, devoid of emotion, but with a chilling crity.

  "Activating light sensors. Initiating visual calibration."

  The sound made me jump. I had no mouth to scream, no vocal cords to gasp, but terror invaded me, a lightning bolt of panic that coursed through me. Who had spoken? What was that voice? And what did "light sensors" mean?

  As soon as the voice finished speaking, it happened. Out of nowhere, without a visible source of illumination, my vision turned on. It wasn't a fsh, but an instantaneous process, as if a switch had been flipped deep inside my being. The world appeared before me with absolute crity, sharp, precise, even in the gloom. I could see the contours of the pce, the fine lines of what seemed to be a sealed chamber. There was no external light, but I could see. Every detail was captured with astonishing crity. It was a perfect, artificial, cold vision.

  The pressure on my body dissipated. I could move. Or at least, try to. My limbs responded to my mental command, but the sensation was... alien. Not heavy, but strangely light, with an almost surgical precision. I tried to lift an arm, and it rose with unexpected fluidity, yet at the same time, I struggled to make a smooth, natural movement. It was as if my brain were connected to a body that knew the mechanics of movement, but not its human subtlety. Every muscle responded with a power I had never felt before, but with a disconcerting unfamiliarity.

  I felt a different texture beneath my "hands" and "feet." It was smooth, polished, like cold metal. I was lying on a surface that felt like a bed, but it was a bed with a shining metallic lid, which was now open. The walls surrounding me were made of a simir material, gleaming and strange.

  With a determination I didn't recognize as belonging to Orion, I sat up. My muscles contracted with surprising ease, my back straightening effortlessly. I raised my right arm to examine it.

  It was not my arm.

  My brain refused to accept what my "eyes" saw. The skin. It wasn't skin. It was a smooth, immacute surface, a soft, milky white, without hair, without pores, without human imperfections. It shimmered with a kind of internal, cold light. It was smooth to the touch, like polished ceramic, but with a strange flexibility that did not correspond to stone. My elbow joint was a marvel of engineering, without wrinkles, without folds, a perfect junction of materials.

  "What... what is this?" The question arose in my consciousness, but there was no voice to utter it. Only the echo of my internal terror.

  I moved my arm. The strength was impressive. I could feel the tent power in every tendon, in every fiber that now composed my "body." It was like having the potency of a machine, but with the command capability of my mind.

  Curiosity, mixed with overwhelming fear, prompted me to look down. My chest. It was no longer the nguid, slightly neglected torso of Orion Winst.

  My chest had grown. It was now that of a woman. Two smooth, firm, perfectly formed protuberances rose beneath the surface of that white, artificial skin. It was a feminine form, slender, with a narrow waist and defined hips. My legs were long and stylized, the same white, smooth skin, without the marks of life, without hair, without the warmth of flesh.

  A cold shiver ran through me, even though I didn't feel cold like a human. It was the chill of horror, of absolute denial.

  "This is not me," I thought, the voice of Orion, my old voice, shouting into the abyss of my consciousness. "This cannot be real."

  The panic, previously muffled, erupted. It was a whirlwind of emotions, a perfect storm of fear, disbelief, and overwhelming dysphoria. A man, locked inside the body of a machine. A feminine machine.

  I tried to move abruptly, clumsily, to escape this prison of metal and lies. My new "muscles" responded too effectively, making my movements more jarring than I intended. I stood up inside the capsule, hitting the top with my "head." The metallic sound resonated.

  The inner surface of the capsule lid, made of polished, gleaming metal, offered me a reflection. I had not expected this. I was not prepared for this.

  What I saw made me stagger, despite the perfect stability of my new body.

  It was the face of a woman. A perfect face, with delicate cheekbones and a fine jawline. I had long, straight hair, a brilliant silver color that cascaded over my shoulders like moonlight. My eyes... were no longer Orion's tired, sunken eyes. They were rge, a brilliant golden color, with pupils that looked like small slits. They were piercing, inhuman, filled with a crity I had never possessed.

  It was beautiful. It was terrifying. And it was not me.

  My mind, which was now a fusion of human confusion and machine logic, struggled to reconcile the image. That face. That hair. Those eyes. They belonged to the silhouette I had seen in my visions. The silhouette that was being "wired" by the strange beings.

  I was that silhouette.

  I was her.

  The body reflected before me, in the polished metal of the capsule, was not Orion Winst. It was a woman. It was a machine. It was...