“Hm, it seems that the blood coagulator is not working as well as expected. Make a note of that, Amelia,” the doctor hummed, ignoring the glob of black, gooey blood that had splattered onto his surgical mask and goggles.

  Really, considering his whole ass outfit, the comparison between him and a butcher had never been more apt.

  “It could be related to the startling discovery we’ve made regarding his blood. We’ll need to make a proper study of it later, but for now, I’ll tentatively say that it is the same thick liquid the shadows have as a blood substitute. I wouldn’t have thought his corruption would reflect itself in this manner on his physique, but I suppose it is fitting.”

  I tried to focus on his words, no matter how much they irritated me. It was the only thing I could do. The alternative was paying attention to the slow process of metal biting through my flesh. Or the phantom limb that sent thunderous pings of agony through the right side of my body, where I didn’t even have a wiggling stump to remind me of the arm that used to be there.

  “Perhaps that’s why the coagulator is not working as well as it should? Because this synthetic substitute for blood is simply not as efficient at spreading it through his body? I wonder if that is due to this shadow-blood’s thickness, or because it has some sort of filtration system built in… What is this doing to his blood pressure? Can he even survive long-term if left alone? More tests to run, regardless. Ah, do quadruple the blood coagulator dose we’ve given him, just in case.”

  “Doesn’t that raise his chances of blood clots to unacceptable levels, Doctor?” Amelia cautiously ventured.

  The man operating on me briefly stiffened, then relaxed in a way I could only describe as systemic and reluctant.

  “His ‘blood’ is already of an unacceptable thickness. If he was going to expire, he would have done so already. I am unsure, as of now, what’s keeping him alive, but it shouldn’t falter quite yet. Perhaps it is the Essence… it does have odd effects on divergent physiologies.”

  Amelia said nothing in response to that. She merely typed away at the console in front of her, and another four syringes emerged from the chair on thin robotic limbs before jamming themselves into my neck, two on each side.

  I would have screamed on a normal day, but with how much agony I was in already from getting my limbs chopped off, I barely even noticed the syringes. Instead, I was keenly aware of the slow progress of the saw through my flesh, and the occasional scrap of meat that hit the side of my face.

  I giggled against the gag as my mind went into some sort of delirious fugue state. I saw a video from Terra, once. Made in some ancient past of my people. In it, a man took an electric saw to a wooden block, sending up a whole cloud of wood chips and… ‘shavings’? I was pretty sure that’s what they referred to those as, and —

  I lost the battle and screamed against the gag as the saw finally hit the bone. My body fought to edge the tiniest bit away from the fucking torture implement and the madman wielding it.

  Obviously, I failed.

  I lost myself in the agony until the saw finally finished its slow path through my bone. My arm was hanging on by just a strip of flesh now. It might have come loose and torn itself off, if every bit of me wasn’t so thoroughly fixed in place by the metal and leather restraints that had closed around me on the doctor’s orders.

  Finally, even that final fleshy link was severed, and I sagged. I fucking luxuriated in the feeling of the persistent ache where my arms used to be, as opposed to the relentless floods of pain produced by actively chopping them off.

  “There we go,” the doctor declared gleefully, eying his handiwork. “Some might call what rippers do ghastly or crude, but it takes a lot of work. To remove just the right amount of muscle, to work around the bone, to sculpt the future connection points between the cybernetics and the rest of the body’s natural systems… Oh, we’re not done yet. Not at all.”

  He sounded perfectly cheerful as he laid the saw to the side. Leaning down, he examined the cut he’d made more closely, humming at something.

  “See? I now need to properly remove the rotator cuff’s connection to your arm bone, extract the rest of the humeral head — that’s the top of the humerus you see — and remove the cartilage as well. Then the task of properly adjusting or replacing the glenoid and the capsule and all the moving bits there, and — Oh, you can hardly appreciate my artistry, can you?”

  Maybe I couldn’t, but I sure could guess what it would mean for me. A whole lot of pain incoming. Again.

  I really, really wished they had knocked me out for this part.

  “You’re lucky, in a way. Setting up proper connection points for cybernetics is costly. Finding a good ripper is even worse! And I don’t have access to the low-end products on the market. I wish I could avoid it, really, but I’ll have to use some of my own personal prototype stock. Far higher quality than slum brats like you could ever afford.”

  The man sighed, like the thought of putting his premium tech inside of my undeserving body actually pained him. I wanted to remind him that none of what was happening was my idea, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate that sort of feedback.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  He was already getting a 0/10 review from me for his bedside manner alone, in addition to a long raving paragraph about his practices, if I somehow made it out alive.

  No one was ever gonna let him operate on them again!

  As it turned out, my suspicions were correct: somehow, the next bit of surgery was even worse than literally getting my arms cut off. Probably on account of the fact that he practically flayed a whole section of my shoulders and then went about delicately detaching muscles, ripping out bits of bone, and a whole lot of other sketchy shit.

  I actually passed out once or twice.

  Well, okay, more than once or twice. I couldn’t really turn my head to watch, since it was fixed in place too, but the thorough descriptions he insisted on including in his commentary were enough to make me dizzy.

  And the pain. Wasn’t. Helping.

  I caught sight of Amelia looking green and suspiciously wobbly on her feet, but I also had the feeling that this wasn’t her first time watching her father operate on someone. When our eyes met, she looked away quickly out of shame.

  Or disgust. In the moment, I couldn’t really tell.

  The security guards, or private militia, or whatever they were, were another matter entirely. They looked incredibly freaked out, as was only right. In their shoes, I’d be wondering if my demented employer was planning to put me on the chopping — sorry, operating table next.

  Finally, the connectors had all been shoved or ‘delicately attached’ to the right spots. A whole lot of wetware had been put in place. My shoulders were thoroughly ravaged.

  Only then did the doctor pull away from me. He was beaming with pride.

  “Perfect. Well, this is my work, so of course it would be, but it still bears acknowledgment,” he hummed to himself. Then he caught sight of my my former arms. They were still hanging there, attached to the platform by the restraints. “Hm. Not usually something that needs to be done, but I want you to preserve those limbs, Amelia.”

  “Of course, Doctor.” His assistant hurried to obey, though I caught the flicker of confusion on her face.

  Evidently, so had the good doctor.

  “I see your doubt. We have little use for human remains here, of course. We are not common roadside butchers, like rippers in the slums and outer city. However, consider the value of those limbs! Even the marrow is different, let alone the blood and the blood vessels. Imagine what we might learn studying them. Or transplanting them onto someone!”

  The doctor already looked lost in his own imaginary world at the prospect. I fought to repress a shudder of disgust at the thought that my arms might be attached to someone else one day.

  Of course, they weren’t exactly mine anymore. But it was still a shock to my mind and system to acknowledge that, so I was trying not to.

  I received a second, smaller shock while Amelia worked to free my arms from the restraints.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to me, as quietly as she could. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to curse her or try to reassure her. Not that it mattered, since I couldn’t say a thing.

  I just closed my eyes and waited for whatever came next.

  Then the doctor suddenly cut off his rant, making me snap my eyes open. He was staring at the pair of cybernetic limbs I was soon going to have attached to me.

  “I assume you are done with the adjustments?”

  “Yes, Doctor. They are ready for you.”

  “Excellent. This should not take too long, then. We’ll soon be able to observe his reaction and the potential rejection issues between our new brands of cybernetics!”

  The insane butcher gremlin picked up the right arm and approached me. I would have tried to fight and inch away if I wasn’t so fucking tired. And if it actually would have done anything. Sadly, I’d already been forced to accept there would be no running for me. Hard to avoid letting that message sink in while you’re being literally dis-armed.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting as he set about connecting the arms. Immediate pain, maybe? Some kind of grand light show and flashing notifications ringing through my head?

  As it was, when he was done with my new right arm, what happened was… nothing. I just blinked in confusion as he moved on to the other limb.

  It was only when he wrapped up his work there that I understood.

  “Excellent, everything is in place now. Cybernetic activation in 3… 2… 1…”

  My breathing picked up. My heart began to beat much faster. Pain had long since chased the fear away, but now —

  The counter hit zero. My new arms activated with a quiet, reverberating hum that fell silent a moment later.

  For just the briefest fraction of a second, I hoped that would be it. That all would be well, and I’d just get to own a new pair of arms.

  Of course, that was when agony I could only describe as ‘soul-deep’ ripped through my being.

  I heard an enraged shriek inside my skull. My eyes heated up, my veins burned, and my mind rebelled against what was being done to my body.

  Then a message flashed into my view:

  I heard no coherent answer from my new arms to the demands and demeaning remarks of my eyes. I could feel something, though. Something lurking under my skin, making the muscles in my shoulders tense up and then writhe.

  Every inch of my flesh felt like it was melting away and turning into sludge. Yet it still hung onto my bones, rather than dripping onto the floor in steaming drops of wrongness.

  Not melting… corrupting. Changing.

  I felt smug satisfaction echo out of my very skin.

  In response, my eyes raged ever louder. The text transitioned into shrieking words that echoed and bounced around in my skull, sank into my skin, and crashed against the sensation of sloughing flesh that was creeping past my shoulders.

  But that sensation just kept spreading. I felt a few tendrils of corruption slip partway up my neck, and a few surge down my chest.

  As the two eldritch creatures waged war over my body, I was left gasping for air that refused to fill my lungs. My vision was as keen as ever, but I was increasingly unable to make sense of it. My mind kept insisting there was a different way for me to process information. A better way.

  Except I was failing at it. The world was a fractured mess of panes and angles and so, so many different incompatible dimensions and —

  One last enraged scream echoed in my skull with such force that even the other people in the room with me must have heard it. My flesh cackled in response.

  Then my poor mind threw in the towel, and I passed out.