《Sara's Imago》


 Sara

    It was nearing the end of trash day on the south side of town, which meant that Sara had been fed well that morning. The gifted meal of five fresh doughnuts and two cups of hot coffee fueled her focus. The spike of sugar and caffeine made the artificial plasma around her spinal column tingle with potential. Her coworkers hardly ever touched her Monday breakfasts from friendly waste management customers, but two dozen specialty doughnuts was too much for a thin little woman. Her coworker begrudgingly decided to take one of the boxes home to his roommates.


    She watched him leave the truck again and picked beneath her nails. Not even a little grime? she wondered, disappointed. Collecting foul dust and mold spores in her long purple hair for a living was near-inconceivable. Though she was perfectly capable of deadlifting 400 pounds, none of her coworkers allowed her to lift a finger if possible. She wouldn''t admit it, but she enjoyed the preferential treatment society offered her. So, patiently, she''d sit in the truck and ponder that question she''d been asked so many times as a sanitation technician: What''s a pretty girl like you doing here?


    She''d think, silently of course, because I want to work. Was there anything else to it? She''d always had a vague interest in garbage disposal, and the process of turning all manner of trash into fuel. That didn''t suffice as an answer to the strangers. Because people who care enough to notice me give me coffee and doughnuts every week. She managed to smile, but that wasn''t the reason. Because I chose to work in a field I''m passionate about. None of the customers believed her when she said it. She''d giggle, if she didn''t feel so insecure after their reactions. There must be something about passion I don''t get. She chalked it up to the common issue of cyber-anhedonia. She must have had her dopaminergic wires crossed when she went in for modding. Yes, she knew that was it, even if not literally. The old "home" she used to live in with her "sisters" reigned through some tricky ideology she couldn''t put pictures to. Only clinical descriptions of those old scars remained.


    She sighed, discontent and demoralized by the question. Her mind was too muddy to summon the answer. I don''t know how it''s my fault. I''d feel a lot better if people didn''t ask me those things she thought as she sank back into the driver''s seat and wrestled her tear ducts.


    Shuttle rides back to town kept her sane. She loved staring out the window and zoning out while wildflowers and old, abandoned houses whizzed by. But as she entered the city, she preferred to look at her external phone. Mindless scrolling through empty commentary on who got what''s-her-face pregnant, cat videos, and the latest dances soothed her restless mind as she drifted to her apartment room. Seconds of mild amusement became hours spent sitting in the bathroom, kitchen, then bed. Only 6 hours of screen time had her ready for the rest of the night.


    Sara dimmed the lights and played rhythm and blues through dusty old speakers. She knew each song well enough to glean lyrics from the muted expressions. She hummed along quietly as she opened her closet and looked through dozens of pleated skirts, polka dot-covered blouses, dark dresses, and towering high heels. She was proud of her collection, meticulously sorted by hue and shade. She opened her clothes drawer and fingered through nylon stockings and velvety leg warmers. There were so many memories between the old threads. Each remnant of perfume summoned a mirage of clattering plates, chandeliers in bars, and late nights on city rooftops.


    She picked one of her oldest garments: a worn and velvety white thigh-high sock. It shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow when she held it up to her little white desk lamp. There was something about it that made her recall voices. She wondered if they were the whispers of an ex-lover, or an old forgotten friend. A glance at her semitransparent pink pumps reminded her that she''d forgotten something important. Putting the sock to her lips , she shuddered.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    She remembered a man half-mumbling, half slurring, "I really quite enjoy seeing a woman who can take control." He giggled like a child. "I''ll be thinking about this night for a long time, sexy Sara love." His name was on the tip of her tongue, but in a moment it was lost in the lyrics of the song. She shook her head, convinced that it was a stray daydream. There''s no need to be. You are, you are she almost sang along with the music. She dried her tears with the sock, but most of them rolled right off onto the rug beneath her shins.


    It was about time she did her new year''s cleaning, and the witching hour never failed to motivate her. Two weeks late is better than never, she figured. Decluttering the shoes was her least favorite part of maintaining her closet; it was more convenient to space them out, then slide them on when she was ready to wear them. "Shit, how''d that paper get there," she mumbled, moving her black boots aside. She took the old manila folder and plucked off the dust bunnies. "Owlet Files?" she mouthed. Her old sisters used to call her that name. Their affectionate tone when calling her Owlet was one of the few things she could replay in her mind from those days. Despite that, Sara couldn''t identify with the name at all.


    As she opened the folder, an old and yellowed card fell out. It must have been her ID, since it said her name and birthday: "Sara Jean Whittaker, 29 Jul 2095". The image and other information didn''t match at all. She was too tall, and too heavy. If it weren''t for her near-identical teeth, she wouldn''t have recognized the square-faced brunet in the photo. That''s me, in 2122. What a goof, wearing horizontal stripes with those athletic shoulders and smiling for the photo. She couldn''t help but smile back.


    She didn''t think twice about thumbing through the stack of papers at the back of the folder. The first page was simple, and only read "Owlet". She idly flipped through the mostly blank pages. "Owlet. Contents. Identifying diagram 1." The same teeth she saw in the mirror, the old ID, had been plucked out of her jaws laid out bloody in rows. She dropped the papers and jumped at the sound of their wobbling flop onto the floor. It was time to call her best friend.


    "Nan, I need your help and I need it as soon as possible," Sara quavered as she paced around the kitchen. "I just found something fucked up in my closet, some kind of stalker diary or planted files or something! Should I call the police? They even put my old ID in there, and my teeth and¡ª"


    "Huh," Nan yawned, then took a sip of water. "Sara, you''ve called me about this thing before, remember? The manila folder behind your boots... Is that it?"


    Sara stood in place and took a deep breath. Nan was right; they''d discussed this same exact thing with her before, at the same hour of night some time in the past. She settled into her kitchen stool, relieved. "Oh, oops." But it was long ago, and it''d since gathered dust. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I was just cleaning my closet when I noticed it, and I saw this picture of all my teeth pulled out and it was called the Owlet Files and I panicked. Like a nightmare."


    "It''s okay," they said, nodding along to Sara''s familiar script despite the lack of video chat. "It''s spooky for sure. Are you going to throw it out?" And then she''ll say, "I don''t know, it''s so creepy. I don''t even want to touch it. Can I come over and sleep at your place? Nan predicted as their head slowly dropped back into the pillow.


    "I want you to look at it with me," Sara said, thrusting Nan into the waking world.


    "You what?! Oh, this is huge!" they squeaked. "Bring it in, first thing tomorrow."

 Nans Library

    The grounding scent of fresh coffee both exhilarated and calmed Nan as they brought their whiskers and fuzzy lips forward to the mug. "Mm," they hummed before smiling and grinding their copper-tinted teeth together. Twitching their whiskers and wiggling their nose, they swiveled their head around in search of their glasses. Neon blue-green, bottle thick glasses with ribbons fit snugly on their muzzle and weighed down on their nose just enough to ease its tingling absence. The glasses were more than necessary: an accident in the facial reconstruction process from human to mouseman had left their eyeballs elongated. At least, they thought with a smile, they make me just as cute as I wanted to be. They couldn''t be less bothered about the operation and its consequences. A quick twirl in front of the mirror revealed the extent of the changes they''d undergone. A flat chest was neatly hidden beneath a brown and white dress. They resembled a ginger bread woman with large false pearls and faux satin strips trailing down to the waist. Brown nylon stockings were custom-fitted to the toes of their bottom paws. Most exciting of all, Nan''s tail was adorned in studded steel bracelets. And now to see about those files, they nearly squealed to themself in delight.


    Nan locked the door and stepped carefully downstairs from their living quarters to the library below. The metal staircase had become delightfully tactile since the surgery 5 years ago. They felt joy from the cool railing and mesh beneath their paws. "Good morning Piper!" Nan squeaked as they entered the front lounge. The redhead was too busy addressing work emails to respond. Neighbor Duchesne, in for his morning coffee, waved halfheartedly before returning to the physical newspaper that they''d ordered for library records. Nan didn''t want to dwell on their irritation from the poor responses. Besides, they understood that just about everyone was in their library for peace, quiet, and solitude.


    They were careful to scour the labyrinth of computer desks and bookshelves for sleeping customers. Overnighters in the nap room were allowed, but they hoped to never deal with customers waking up panicked and late for work or school. They never found one, to their relief. They were glad that most, if not all of the visitors were sober and clean. Several students taking online classes started to gather in study rooms. The odd conspiracy theorist, author, and comic enthusiast preferred the soundproofed rooms where no talking was allowed. Old man Odie was plugging away at his daily blog about the urban permaculture revolution, while journalist Aliyah was debunking claims from his last post.


    Circling back to the bean bag area of the main lounge, Nan spotted a familiar and petite frame shrouded in dark hair. Not sleeping or conscious, Sara was sitting by a corn tree. Her deep violet hair reflected pink highlights from cozy lamps. Her stillness was robotic. Over the years, they''d picked up that Sara''s brain and cybernetics didn''t always agree on what to do with her thoughts. Patiently, they waved at her. "Hello friend. Good morning!"


    Sara''s large eyes didn''t blink. They were completely still, void of an idle wiggle. Her pale skin was smooth and soft but didn''t hold any peachy blush or fuzz. Nan took the moment to ponder how her semi-synthetic skin was the opposite to their own furry, chocolate pelt. "Sara, wake up. It''s me, Mousey Nan. And it''s eight in the morning on a Tuesday."


    Sara''s heart began to pound, making her whole body quake. Listening closer with big, round ears, they could detect soft clicking and bubbling. The bio-compatible computers inside of Sara were working hard. Infrared sensors in Nan''s face alerted them to her fever. They waited patiently, looking into Sara''s blank, gray pupils. Her apertures were fully widened, leaving a dull grainy shine from within. Nan decided to get some coffee and a snack for when Sara would come to.


    It wasn''t too unusual for her to be ''buffering'' like this in the morning. While assembling a sandwich from a bagel, an egg patty, bacon, and cheese, Nan reflected on the moments where they saw Sara dissociate or freeze in place. The episodes were shorter and less frequent than a few years ago, when they first met. After several surgeries, therapies, and the passage of time, Sara started coming into her own. Returning with a hot mug of black coffee and sandwich, Nan sat patiently across from Sara, hoping that the smell and sight of food would help wake her up.


    "Hey, breakfast?" Nan whispered gently, offering the dense meal on a paper plate.


    Slowly, Sara''s pupils constricted and her indigo irises shone with life. She blinked, her eyelids catching briefly from dehydration. The events of the past 20 minutes replayed quickly in her head. "Shit. I''m so Sorry Nan, I''m back," Sara said, taking the coffee in her hands. "Thanks for breakfast again, and good morning."


    "Good morning again!" they squeaked excitedly. "How long were you out for?"This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "Only twenty minutes this time," she smiled briefly. Part of her wanted to crawl back into the tunnel of motionless contemplation, seeking what shut her down. But Nan''s fire for life always had a way of rubbing off on her. "I figured I''d just spend the whole day here, today. This is my safe space, after all."


    "Oh, something happened last night," Nan stated, remembering what drew Sara to their warm den of paper and computers. "Do you remember?"


    "No, nothing happened last night," Sara thought she corrected the mouseman. "Oh, last night, when I was cleaning! I remember now." She gave a courteous and anxious chuckle. "I put on some music, and I was trying to clean my closet. Well, the shoes in my closet. But I saw a vision. There was some guy... I don''t remember a thing about him, except he was a guy and he was sitting." She went quiet again, trying to find the words that followed her recollection.


    "Ah, I see! Would you like a notepad and pen?" Nan offered, rushing to get ahold of Sara''s old ID. They always wanted to know what she looked like before her mods.


    "Just hold on a second Nance, let me explain it all," Sara insisted, acknowledging their desire to control situations before they even unfold. "I do want a pen and paper, thanks, but I was thinking: What if it has something to do with my past life? Like, the time before I was Sara."


    "Ohh," Nan murmured. "You know, I was thinking that all along, but I didn''t want to say it to be rude. I think you''re onto something. Don''t you have other documents from before the transition?"


    "Yeah, I do. But I think it might also be things that happened during. It really ate me up last night and I couldn''t sleep, but I couldn''t remember either." Her smokey eyelids drooped as she frowned. There were too many words to choose from and too many trains of thought to board, rendering her silent. Nan decided to listen anyway. "I think something happened before and during the transition, that was connected. One continuous event that spanned between those two eras of my life, and stopped a couple of years after I was in that transition program."


    "Ah, I see," Nan said, trying to put the pieces together despite only having abstractions and secondhand memories to work with. "Is that program still around? Do you know anyone else who attended it?"


    "Well," Sara smiled masochistically as the words returned, "it was a cult. I guess, cult is the best word for it. So everyone who went was sworn to secrecy, until the bust happened 14 years ago. So witness protection hid away a lot of ex-members. Plus, we were all given pseudonyms. I was called Owlet. I remember," she chuckled, "there was one called Witch and another called Plume. Witch and I were friends, I think. They called us all sisters... Anyway, we had to wear costumes with wigs, and all kinds of crazy shit. I bet I''d recognize someone from the program if I ran into them... But I haven''t, yet." She couldn''t picture Plume or Witch, but she couldn''t fathom losing some sense of familiarity.


    "Mm," Nan hummed and wiggled their whiskers. "If you want, I can do some sleuthing. It''s my thing, after all. I can probably help you find all your old docs and maybe those ex-members."


    "Yeah. I think I''d like that, I guess," Sara smiled. She savored the sandwich and coffee, her mind wandering back into the waking world. Anxiously, Nan picked a dictionary and thesaurus to thumb through. No, no, that''s not right at all, Nan thought, and ground their rodent teeth together to sooth themself. They grabbed extra copy paper from the recycling bin and a pen from a cup on the table, ready to scribble anything that came to mind.


    "What should I look for first?" they asked, tempted to nibble their claws or the scratch paper.


    Sara put her purse on the table and pulled out a wrinkled manila folder. "It''s been giving me a headache. I can''t force myself to open it up again, much less find clues. But maybe you can look through these for me, find out what I might have left behind in my old life."


    Nan opened the folder and examined the shiniest of the documents first: her old ID card. Sara looked completely different. A square face, brown hair, and piercings framed dark eyes and a wide smile. Her height was listed as 191 cm, and weight 63 kg. Sex M, Gender F. "Sara Jean Whittaker," Nan read, probing for Sara''s reaction. "Do you still go by that full name?"


    "I do," she mumbled between bites. "This one I do remember reading. Look at when it was issued."


    "January 19, 2122. That was exactly 18 years ago!"


    "Mhm," Sara nodded. "I don''t know if the surname is original. I did change my name a few times before that, but Sara Jean''s stuck."


    "Right-o," Nan whispered, copying the contents of the card onto the paper in beautiful loopy handwriting. They tapped their pen against the table, contemplating the address. Washington was a main road not far from the library. If Nan remembered correctly, which they were almost certain they did, 2501 Washington Rd. was just a few bus stops away. "How about the address listed on the card? Have you investigated that at all?"


    "No, I haven''t," Sara mumbled. Before she could say anything else, Nan placed the paper and pen, then her plate and coffee mug onto the thesaurus and dictionary.


    "Bring your docs to the computer room, not the quiet one. We''re going to get to the bottom of this immediately!"

 The Pieces of the Puzzle

    Nan was proud of their murine navigational instincts. Sara Jean''s old apartment building was just a few blocks away. After checking a maps app, they wrote down "Plessy Apartments" and directions to 2501 Washington Rd. They slid the note between them and Sara. "Before we head over, let''s take a look at those other documents," they said. "Are there any you''re uncomfortable looking at?" they asked, unsure if the papers held any triggers that Sara didn''t want to deal with.


    "I don''t know. Can you read or describe them before you show them to me?" Sara requested, feeling brave.


    Nan nodded. "Of course. I''ll go slowly." They discreetly took the document beneath the old ID. "This is a photo of a white cat. It''s fluffy and has a collar. The tag is visible but I can''t make out the words or numbers."


    "A cat? I''d like to see it." A pompous ball of long wispy hair had glanced at the camera with blue gray eyes. "It looks so fancy," Sara smiled. "Was this my cat?"


    "I know as much as you do," Nan tittered and shrugged. "You''re right. It does look fancy. It''s got a flat face, and there''s no way it''s not getting brushed daily. An indoor pet for sure."


    Sara zoomed on the tag and carefully increased the contrast of the symbols with her internal computing systems. Through the circular spots of ink, she could make out some impressions. Grabbing a pen and the paper, she copied: 756-3190. A phone number, of course! The reflection of two people in the eyes and tag were too dark and distorted to make out, but she made note of their presence in the room. After Nan motioned for the paper, Sara slid it to them. "The breed might be important," Nan muttered as they scribbled down a description of the cat and the room. There was a door and a sofa in the background. The floor was covered in a bland, blue carpet with specks of bright color thrown in for mild interest. "I wonder if the carpet will match the apartment building," Nan mumbled.


    "I guess we''ll find out if we visit it," Sara replied just as quietly.


    "You mean when we visit it!" Nan grinned. "I think that we''ve written down everything we can about this photo. Ready for the next item?"


    After a bit of thought, Sara uttered, "Sure." Nan repressed the urge to ask her to give a more pleasant reply.


    "Alright. It looks like an envelope. There''s something inside." Feeling around with their fingers, they detected the general shape of the object. "It feels like a key."


    "Let''s have a look," Sara permitted Nan to show her. Nan opened the envelope. They took out the metal key, and a small paper note. "The ink is faded," they said, trying to decipher the scribbles on the small square of line paper. "But the key seems familiar. I can''t say what kind, but I feel like I''ve seen one before." Sara gestured for the note.


    "A 6 digit code, my name, something with my name in it, and... password?" Sara turned the paper around. "TCB 2122, 325. This has got to be for something called TCB. The something bank. The City Bank? An account made in 2122? It would line up with my name change."


    After transcribing the details, Nan slowly scribbled a spiral into the paper. "It''ll come to me later, I''m sure of it. The key has a number on it, too: 325." Sara watched intently as the little mouse spun the wheel in their mind. "I need breakfast," they sighed. "Are you jacked in? Maybe you can use item search."


    "I''m not. I''m 100% offline as far as I know," Sara smiled, taking some pride in it. But she wasn''t certain.


    "Alright, I''ll just make Jeeves do it for me. Jeeves!" Nan shouted, drawing a loud sigh from Odie down the hall. "Jeeves, come here and look at this key. Identify its origin for me," they called. "I''ll be back in a second, Sara."Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Almost silently, Jeeves crawled into the room on tennis ball feet and found a clear space to settle. It was a walking desk. Sara was unsettled by its appearance and motions, but it was Nan''s beloved assistant. She grabbed the key, note, and envelope and set them on Jeeves'' glass tabletop. After sensing that the area around the table was clear of fingers and stray hairs, it flashed the keys and paper from above and below, then rotated its scanners to generate a 3D image.


    "Would you like me to scan the other objects on the glass?" it inquired.


    "Yes," Sara whispered. It remained motionless and waited for a response. She spoke louder. "I said, yes."


    Nan stepped back into the room with a cream cheese bagel. "Oh, go ahead Jeeves. Sorry, Sara, he only listens to me." The scanners blinked again.


    "Okay!" Jeeves alerted, making Sara cringe. "I''ve identified the key as: safety deposit box key. I''ve identified the other items as: line paper, coin envelope. I''ve interpreted some writing too. Would you like me to relay it to you?"


    "Yes, Jeeves, tell me everything AND give analysis," Nan said between bites.


    "Okay! The text on the key, keychain, and coin envelope is 325. This refers to the box that can be unlocked, likely at a bank. The text on the paper is¡ª"


    "Skip to the analysis," Nan ordered Jeeves.


    "Okay! TCB is probably short for the name of the bank. Allow location to search for nearby banks?"


    "Not yet, hold that thought for later! Keep analyzing," Nan urged. "I hate robots sometimes," they whispered to Sara. "Especially their managerial systems and user interfaces."


    "Okay! The number 2122 could refer to an address, pin, password, or year, among other 4 digit codes. Would you like me to list other possibilities?"


    Sara was amused by how short Nan was getting with the robot. "No, that''s fine! Is there any other text?" She watched as their tail raised and twitched with each irritation. How is it controlled by Nan''s emotions? They smiled at Sara upon noticing her gaze.


    Jeeves kept its hopeful, inoffensive tone. "Yes, there is more text. The text on the other side of the paper reads: 760918, Sara J. Whittaker, 21AngelSaraPrimrose22, ... And what looks like a password. Would you like me to read it aloud?"


    "No, but print me a label for it. And print a list of all banks nearby, listed in order from most to least relevant. Us humans have got the rest handled for now." Nan collected the items from Jeeves and returned them to the desk. "I think we should try this at a nearby bank or ask someone there if they can ID it for us. And try to log in at a physical site."


    "Right," Sara nodded. She tried to imagine the process. First walking into the bank in person so she could retrieve whatever items were in the box, then asking if the details of her account matched the key... Wait, I should ask about the key first? she thought. Go to the bank, ask about key, then... if key is from bank, try to verify identity with pin? Or my old ID? "Nan, how are they going to know it''s me who opened the account, and understand that I''m not a hacker or fraudster? I look very different from eighteen years ago."


    "I''m sure there''s some other method," Nan reassured her. "There''s other biological information like a fingerprint or maybe a cheek swab or something... There''s gotta be some sort of record. Don''t worry about it right now. We''ll find a workaround."


    "I don''t have fingerprints," Sara despaired anyway. "The only thing that might be human about me is my stomach."


    Nan sighed. "That''s not true, you''re mostly human parts. Let''s worry about that later, and take a look at the other docs you have." A glance at the next documents had them realize why Sara might not have fingerprints. "Oh dear, the medical documents." They skimmed through the compiled imaging, labs, and reports cautiously. "I think this is way out of my league to interpret. It''s a mix of cybernetics, blood tests, surgery, things I can''t even understand. It really shouldn''t be formatted this way either." They twisted their face in confusion. "I can''t quite place it, but this format is familiar. It''s some kind of paper to be read by students, or what have you. Not doctors performing on a patient."


    Sara was hesitant to look at the Owlet Files again. "Let''s save that for later. I want to go to the apartment first."


    Nan smiled reassuringly and put on a pair of walking shoes from Jeeves'' drawer.

 Tinkerbell

    Shiny brass doors and gilded pillars adorned the bottom floor of the apartment, and the clacking of Sara''s heels echoed on the marble tiles. She whispered to Nan, "I think with that cat and this apartment, I must''ve been rich back then."


    "Maybe you were," they shrugged back before leading Sara to the receptionist. "Excuse me, Julia," Nan read her name tag. "Did you ever have a tenant named Sara Jean Whittaker?"


    "Hm, long time ago," the pale, thin woman replied absentmindedly. Her voice was decades older than her face. "Jean Whittaker? I remember him. Why do you ask?"


    Nan gestured to Sara. "Here she is now. We were wondering if you could give us any information about Sara''s time at Plessy."


    Julia grumbled as she looked at the old ID, the documents on the screen before her, and the new Sara. "Boy, do you look different! Shrank two and a half feet and sprouted neon pink hair." They scowled at each other. "You sure you were called ''Jean'' back then, and it''s not this hairy tall fellow next to you?"


    "My name''s still Jean," Sara shot back, showing her current ID alongside the old one. The name and birthdate were the same. "I just want to know what happened to any items I might have left here." Sara held up the photo of the cat to the glass. "Is this the inside of one of the apartment rooms?" she asked.


    "You still have that manly temper of yours!" Julia guffawed at her own ''joke''. "Just a moment," the woman grumbled through lipstick-stained white teeth, pulling up old records. "Oh, we still have that cat in the same room where you left her. I''ve had to watch that little brat a few times. She''s a joy to be around, but she''s so sassy and demanding."


    "When did I leave this place?" Sara asked. Nan jotted down everything on her notepad. "I have amnesia from a health incident."


    The woman swayed in her chair. "It must have been 16, maybe 17 years ago? It''s an old cat. Geriatric!" The woman cackled. "I''ll call the new owner and ask if you can see her again."


    Sara squinted at the receptionist. "Thanks for taking care of her," she muttered with a deeply sarcastic tone. Oops... I didn''t meant to lay it on that thick.


    "Took you long enough to come back for your pet," Julia grumbled through a smile as she waited for the call to go through. "Hey, Tally? Oh, you''re at work. Is your son home? ... Yeah, Tinkerbell''s old owner wants to stop by and say hi. Alright." Julia turned back to Nan and Sara. "Room 704. You''re welcome."


    Sara didn''t feel thankful after that exchange, but any glimpse into her past was appreciated. The two headed upstairs as quickly as they could.


    Nan rubbed Sara''s back as they rode the elevator upstairs. "I hope the tenant isn''t as rude as Julia."


    "I hope," Sara repeated. She grew tense, recognizing the patterns in the carpet. "This is the place," her voice trembled.


    After Nan''s knock at the door, a gruff, "Who is it?" startled them.


    "I''m Nan, and this is my friend Sara."


    "I used to live in your apartment and own the cat known as Tinkerbell," Sara explained. "I''m trying to piece together my past." She held up the picture of the cat to the peephole.


    "Come in," the massive man greeted them through the zigzag gap in his aesthetic mask. He was easily a whole ton of fat, muscle, and machine. His head, tiny in comparison, was covered in little more than a short mohawk.


    "Thanks for letting us in," the mouse peeped, terrified. They glanced at Sara with an anxious smile.


    "You''re welcome," he growled softly, closing the front door with the softest click.


    "What can we call you?" Sara asked.


    He became still. "You can call me...call me Jim," he decided. Nan was convinced that he was lying, but Sara didn''t give it a second thought.


    "Nice to meet you Jim," Sara said, extending her hand. He was hesitant to shake the dainty little thing within his metal mitt, but obliged her. Sara was surprised to feel a normal-sized hand meet hers as the hulking gauntlet folded away. Nan settled for awkward glances. The small hand retracted back into the metal palm, and the large external fingers folded back into place.


    "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Jim offered.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "Water would be nice," Nan nodded.


    "Nothing for me, thanks," Sara whispered, settling into the couch. "This all feels familiar," she noticed, feeling the worn leather beneath her palms and dress. A finger trailed along the armrest. "I feel like a kid at grandma''s house," she chuckled. She was whisked away by visions of that tall brown-haired person she used to be looking out the window with a short, black-haired man. "Nan, there was a wonderful man I used to live with, before... before..." She tried to finish her thought, but found it impossible to speak another true word. "I don''t know, before something."


    "Tinky, come out," the man whistled from the kitchen with a couple of glasses of water. He handed one to Nan. As he squatted into the seat across from them, a fluffy white cat strutted into the room with a tall tail to greet the strangers. "She''s sweet," he commented. "She likes new people, so don''t be afraid to pet her."


    Nan''s fear of Jim shifted to concerns about long white fur sticking to their dark stockings and Sara''s black velvet dress. The fluffball cautiously sniffed each of their feet and gave a raspy meow before jumping onto the cushion between them. Sara rubbed the cat''s silky soft chin and smiled. "I''m sorry I couldn''t take care of you," she told Tinkerbell. "I can''t believe I named you that either." The cat crawled into Nan''s lap and meowed, demanding their attention.


    "Oh," Jim cleared his throat. "You didn''t name her that. She was called Mountain Mama. She was renamed once we moved in."


    "What else happened?" Sara asked. "Did I leave anything here before you moved in?"


    "Furniture, clothes, a broken PC, no personal documents. And the cat." He took a towel from his back pocket and dried his forehead. "A long time ago, we tried calling you. The number on the tag was for a physical only cell that you left behind. Took her to the vet, and the chip led us to some guy across town who would hang up on us." Jim closed his eyes to better envision the moment. "Went knocking on his door once; he had his address listed. Knew it was him since his mother recognized the cat. He didn''t come out but she said he was home. I saw him peep through the window."


    "What did he look like?" Sara asked, trying to remember that guy she used to share coffee with every morning at the exact table they sat around.


    "I don''t remember. It was a long time ago. My mother knows more, but she''s at work right now. I can give you our contact info," he suggested reluctantly.


    "Sure, I''d appreciate that," Sara smiled and nodded. "I''ve missed this place. It''s different, but I can sort of see it now." The walls were repainted, and metal posters for musicals hung on them. A few photos of Tinkerbell and Jim''s relatives sat on a table around a vase full of old roses. "Mind if I take a look around?"


    "You can see the kitchen," Jim said, silently rising from his seat. "Did you want to look around too, Nan?"


    They shook their head. "No thanks. I''m grounded right now," they grimaced. Their ears twitched indecisively as they ran their fingers through a purring Tinkerbell''s satin fur.


    "Sorry, I''m not used to guests," Jim chuckled. "And I don''t let anyone into my room."


    "I understand. That''s perfectly fine by me," Sara sighed between stretches. Jim didn''t think he could become any more flustered. "I do like this color on the walls," Sara commented. "Olive green, but not too strong. I think they were plain white when I lived here."


    "Um, that''s right. They were," Jim stammered. "That shelf you''re looking at used to have plants in it, and it was in the corner by the window. We don''t have the plants anymore."


    "Plants, huh?" Sara muttered. Flashes of pink polkadot plants, pothos, and prayer plants raced through her mind as she examined the patterns in the wood. Her mind used to wander staring at the shelf and its contents every mid-afternoon. "They were cute little plants. I remember one had purple flowers, a long time ago. My boyfriend would never water them," she chuckled. Damn, what was his name? It felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn''t find it.


    "Great remembering," Nan encouraged and wrote down their observations. "How about the window view?"


    Sara took a moment to gaze outside. The sky was bright gray with a thin yet impenetrable layer of clouds. "I remember the building across the street. One of my friends lived there. We''d see each other in the window sometimes. But most nights I''d just enjoy the lights from the city. I was lonely then." Sorrow started to weigh in her chest. "Even with Todd around, sometimes." Tinkerbell crawled off of Nan and nudged Sara''s leg with her fuzzy face. "Hello, Mountain Mama," Sara whispered to the cat. She stroked its warm back and exhaled. "This is a lot to take in. Jim, can I come back another time?"


    He scratched his head with gentle precision. "Sure. If you give me your phone I can give you my contact info." All Sara needed to do was hold her purse up to Jim''s fist. The phone within picked up the number, email, and physical address in an instant.


    "Thank you for your help." The two exchanged polite smiles, though both were painfully aware of their mutual discomfort. "I know it''s awkward, and the circumstances are strange, so I really appreciate you letting me and my friend in to chat."


    "It''s okay," the giant said, opening the door for Nan and Sara. "I can handle strange. I''m just not used to people at my home."


    As Sara and Nan entered the hallway, Tinkerbell started meowing.


    "Oh, no, Tinkerbell. You have to stay," Nan sang in a baby voice. "We''ll be back later." They were immediately embarrassed.


    "She can follow you out," Jim said as the cat came out to rub her face on Nan and Sara''s legs. "She''s allowed to roam the building. As long as she''s indoors it''s fine."


    Sara contemplated the meaning of it all as they walked to the elevator. The winding carpet was woven with a long story she couldn''t quite piece together: a hairy boyfriend, gift plants, new furniture, a fancy cat, a friend who lived across the street. It was a whole life that she left behind. But part of her didn''t feel like she could have left them of her own volition. There was something very ugly and despicable about what happened. What if it''s me? What if who I am is the root of this all? Her knees wobbled as the elevator descended. "I don''t think I should look into my past anymore," she whispered to Nan.

 Gasoline

    "What do you mean you don''t think you should do this anymore?" Nan whimpered.


    Sara hesitated. "I don''t know... It just feels wrong. Like I shouldn''t have begun looking into my past in the first place. I forgot all this for a reason."


    "That''s true. You do everything for a reason, but that doesn''t mean it''s always a good one." Nan sighed. "We can come back to this later, Sara. Whenever you want to. But I don''t think you should drop it completely."


    She went silent. She thought that maybe it was the right thing to pursue the truth about her past. But it was daunting. All her efforts felt futile, or mistaken, if not both. It seemed like such a silly idea to learn about who she really was, way back when. She remembered the exact moment that she started to wonder and found those documents from the bottom of her closet.


    These shimmering thigh-highs have to come from somewhere, but I can''t place it. She must have had them for almost two decades, despite their good condition. It was wear for when she wanted to look cute. For herself, of course, but there was a time when she''d put on the fuzzy opalescent gloves and socks, and a shiny black sheath dress, for her ex-handler''s rotten exploits. Maybe for that mumbling man in her vision too.


    A hazy year of wary gazes and salacious rumors about Sara''s age gave way to deadly intrigue. The Underbelly clubs were familiar with questionably legal characters, but she and her handler had developed a reputation of severe professionalism. The opulence of a well-groomed doll that played hard-to-get was unmatched. Even more tantalizing was her deference to the older men at the parties.


    The handler, whose name she could not recall, was satisfied with how easy Sara was to train in that regard. "Pick a few that you really like," he''d whisper from behind. "Let''s give them a night on the town." Sara almost always opted for lone men. They were mostly silver foxes, addicts, and latecomers to the dream of degenerate, youthful exploration. Sara could smell a loser from a mile away, and her sympathies drew them in like flies to honey. Their ''look, but don''t touch'' policy proved effective when the strangers thought they could compete for her favor. She and the handler would suggest ever-so-quietly, though not so covertly, that Sara''s affections could be bought. Most nights, she''d only have to pull her skirt up a bit higher, or pat the unlucky bastard''s hand for a bit longer. The fancy coats, purses, and myriad tacky, shiny gifts were promptly returned the next day for cash and more fashionable items.


    Sara was torn between pity, empathy, and disgust. The confusion of never knowing what she''d feel next kept her engaged. So did the money. Regulars became her and the handler''s piggy banks. Every once in a while, Sara would go behind the handler''s back to get money for a coffee or trinket. Her least favorite customers were the most obliging, but a few grew on her. Out of all the little piggies, Rutger was the sweetest, most loyal, and most obedient. He kissed the ground Sara walked on. One of the earliest things that Sara remembered regretting was having Rutger lick the bottom of her signature pink platform pumps. She didn''t know that he''d become a regular passerby at the time, and if she had, she wouldn''t have even allowed him to ask for that treatment. Eventually, it was too late to shy Rutger away from the handler''s humiliation, and the delusional hope that he''d have his day with Sara.


    Short "hellos" and shy glances became grand presentations of affection. Rutger would often try, and fail, to give Sara a bouquet of flowers, candies, and plushies. The empty suggestions of a future date occupied his mind for years. "You know, Sara, I was thinking about you again." He''d grin from ear to ear as she nodded passively. "Well, I had the most devilish thought," he''d start to snicker between the fuzziness of his limp tongue. "I thought that it would be nice if you gave me a kiss." He''d point to his cheek and smile wide as ever. "And I don''t mind at all about those other boys you like. It''s no problem, really. I love you dearly, you know that, right? You''re the most special girl in the whole wide world." And Sara would nod again, throwing him into a fit of giggles and smiles. The handler wasn''t jealous, but he did worry that Rutger was distracting and ruining their image. Even then, the handler couldn''t resist torturing and humiliating him.


    "Step on him again," the handler would demand Sara in his relaxed tone. "Where it hurts most, this time." The handler loved to watch men squirm beneath her feet. Her stomach sank. She knew the poor boy would accept the worst treatment from her, if it made her ''happy'' and prevented her from ''going without a bite to eat at night''. She took off her shoes, then the socks. She was wearing those same thigh-highs, and her toenails were painted to match their colorful sheen. She remembered being frustrated with how the socks and pink shoes clashed with her dress. As the pain deepened, the vision, the memory, and her consciousness as a whole seemed to jump to the present.


    Her mind jumped from that party, to her bedroom. After a deep breath, the images all faded into reality. Sara was sitting beside Nan at the bus stop as the torture receded into plain words. She knew that honesty was the best path to her peace. "Last night, I remembered the most terrible thing," Sara recounted to Nan as they boarded the bus. Their big round ears shifted towards her with calm curiosity. They nodded, encouraging her. Sara sighed. "When I was looking at those white rainbow socks, it was just so familiar that I remembered a different time I wore them, maybe 10 years ago. There was this sweet boy named Rutger I used to party with." She bit her tongue, unsure about sharing such an embarrassing moment. "I was wearing the reddish pink shoes too. There was this other guy I used to date, sorta. He had this stupid hat and shoulder-length blond hair... He had me walk all over Rutger. And Rutger just...took it lying down. I broke his nose. He never told me to stop."


    Nan rubbed her back. "I''m sorry that happened."


    She sniffled. "I remember so many other things about those nights in Underbelly. But I don''t remember where those old socks first came from. Some of my old outfits are... Well, I''ve had them for longer than I can remember. But now I want to throw it all away and forget that I ever did those kinds of things."


    "I understand. Want to grab lunch to take your mind off of it?"


    "Yeah," Sara agreed, finally taking a seat. "Where to?"


    "Whatever looks good from the window," they smiled as the bus chugged along.


    Sara couldn''t help but wonder if Rutger was still around, somewhere in the city. She wouldn''t be surprised if he was already dead, or had moved to live someplace cheaper and more peaceful. Dead? Come to think of it, something bad did happen to him last I saw him. Nan put their paw over Sara''s hand. "Thanks. It''s just now I''ve started, I can''t stop remembering ''Rutty'', Rutger."


    Nan smiled. "That''s okay. Maybe even good. Did you want to talk about it more?"


    "No. Well, sort of," Sara chuckled. "Rutger was a special guy. People would try to take advantage of him. He got into trouble often, but he''d always wiggle his way out of it somehow. He liked me a lot." Part of her screamed out for his calm oasis in the hell and chaos of her emotions. "I guess I liked him too." Sara leaned her head on Nan''s arm. "I kinda miss him now."This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "That''s okay Sara. I''m sure he''s out there somewhere," Nan tried their best to reassure her. "I can help you look for his contact, if you want."


    "No," Sara whispered. "I don''t know if he made it after a fight he got into with some hassler." She took a deep breath. "That guy I used to be under loved seeing Rutger suffer. He staged a fight between him and some guy with gigantic hands. Sausage fingers. He had the big-handed guy grab me all over, and being uncomfortable, Rutger wanted to help me. So he threatened the big guy, and got his skull shattered. The club was just going to throw him out on the street or in the dump, but I got him to the hospital. I never saw him again."


    "Oh, Sara," they whispered as they hugged her. "That''s awful."


    Hot lunch and another bus ride back to the library gave Sara some ease through distraction. She drifted in and out of sleep with each shake and bump. Nan, antsy as ever, ruminated on each of the clues through anxious bruxism. Big-handed man, like Jimmy? they wondered, watching buildings and bus stops recede in the back window. Nan decided it was best not to disturb her with more questions; she''d been through enough today.


    "Alright, let''s go inside. You can sleep here," they said, taking her hand and guiding her to the nap room. Sara shoved her bag to the end of the bed through the circular entrance, then took off her heavy shoes. She laid down and breathed in deeply. "If you need anything, let me know," Nan added. "I''ll be in the computer room."


    The phantoms of Rutger at the club and her ex-boyfriend Todd at Plessy Apartments danced behind Sara''s eyelids as she tried to sleep lying down. Oh, Todd! she smiled. Todd, that silly little fool, she would have chuckled to herself if she had the energy. She didn''t remember much about her ex-boyfriend, aside from his stature, dark hair, and the most delightful smile. She deduced that he had rented at Plessy Apartments with her, and took care of their cat, Mountain Mama. But there was something poisonous about being with him that she couldn''t place a finger on. She doubted that he was her handler, but there was no guarantee in her mind.


    As she drifted further into sleep, she felt her body quake. Her cybernetic components buzzed from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Curious about the anomalous readings and alerts, she sat up. The world was silent. She crawled from the bed into the hallway. It was almost completely dark. She took her bag and put on her shoes, then looked around. Only the computer room was lit.


    "Nan?" she called. "Nan, where are you?" She tiptoed into the computer room. As she approached the desk with her files, the lights flickered. She opened the manila folder, curious about the fresh stacks of paper that had been added to it. She thumbed through hundreds of pages medical documents, each crowded with jargon that was familiar yet incomprehensible. NCC, surfactants, CSF-H she strained to read. Surfactants, like soap? she wondered, trying to parse meaning behind the letters. Lacrimal expansion, matrix-bound titanium osteogenesis seemed so relevant yet out of her reach. All of her biology lessons had been decades ago. Nan''s dictionary and thesaurus weren''t on the desk, to her dismay. Aside from an eerie tingle in her nose, the only thing she was certain of on every page was her old name: Owlet. Slowly, each page started to depict an image or two. A large array of veins unfurled into rectangles filled with hydraulic fluid. Then, images of Sara''s eyes overlapped each other. Everything from the shape of the lens to the color of her irises was written in tiny, clear print.


    Unlike the night before, she found peace instead of fear in knowing. Sara took the folder and rolled it up in her purse, then returned to the hallway. "Nan? Anyone?" Only faint chattering from beyond the darkness replied. The wider her apertures, the blurrier the image. It was unnaturally dark, but she didn''t want to dig her phone out from the bottom of her purse. She followed the chatters through the restroom to a door at the back. "Hello?" she asked, entering the carpeted hallway behind the bathroom door. It was like going down the aisle of a theater. Thin strips of light illuminated the walkway. The lights grew brighter and the chattering grew louder the further she traveled down the winding ramp.


    She could finally make out the muffled words of men. "She''ll be out any moment now," a calm voice penetrated the wall.


    "She''s a doll, isn''t she?" a deep, clear voice asked the first. "Who built her?"


    The coastal voice shifted and replied, "Eh, some kind of pro-grinder." Arrogance dripped from each glottal stop and chilled consonant. "Probably ex-surgeon. Military, former CIA, foreign expert, who knows. You seen ''er specs? She''s got the whole 9. SRY tissues, minimal chimerism, but you''d''ve never guessed by the way she walks."


    "My kind of girl," the deep voice chuckled lecherously.


    Sara stepped from the hallway into a saloon. The big-handed man and her old handler were discussing her over whiskey. They leered at her expectantly. She glanced over at the others in the club. Familiar faces stared back at her. In the back, Jimmy and Odie were playing billiards with forlorn faces. They set their eyes on her for far too long before silently returning to their game. Two women smoked tobacco at the barstools.


    She recognized them as old sisters Plume and Witch. They wore small hats, low back dresses, and harshly judgmental eyes. The two were built just like Sara: petite, wiry, with a slightly big head housing large, shining eyes and a small nose. Plume was smaller and thinner than Witch and Sara. She wore a skimpy feather boa, and white tufts on her hat. Her silver irises, seamless skin, and emaciated frame were a showcase of their architects'' holistic vision.


    Witch was the tallest and eldest of all their sisters and brothers. She was also one of the most fashionable, and had a knack for finding iridescent clothing. A frosty yet dark strip of gloss covered the middle of her pursed lips. Witch''s gaze lowered to Sara''s knees. They were covered in the shimmering socks. Witch''s thigh-highs. She said I could borrow them. The sisters turned back to their drinks and smoking.


    Sara looked below the table with the handler and big-handed man. There was Rutger in his signature patchy brown jacket and blue jeans.


    "Rutty, what''s wrong?" she asked and approached him. His head, nose, and mouth were bloody. Red eyes with large, soulless pupils followed her. "I''m so sorry," she cried.


    He gurgled through the blood in his mouth and whistled through the gaps of his teeth. "Don''t be. I''m still around, love," he wheezed. "I just need some rest." The big-handed made a boulder of a fist, threatening to crush them between his elephantine knuckles.


    "Stand down," the coastal man uttered from the back of his throat. "Let ''em have their moment. She''ll come to once it''s over and done with."


    Sara glared at them. She reached from behind her dress pointed her handgun at the big-handed man. My gun? The coastal man couldn''t contain his laughter. "Oh, Sara, are you going to teach him a lesson?" he taunted them both. Something about his tone made her hesitate. "Remember: never point your weapon at anything you don''t want dead and gone." She pointed the gun at him, deeply annoyed. He only smiled wider. "You turn me on, my killer queen. Drive me downtown in your dark dreams. Light my fire with gasoline."


    "Who are you?" she demanded. "Who are you!" she shouted herself awake, bumping her head at the top of the bed space in Nan''s library. "Shit," she muttered, and crawled into the pleasant warm glow of the afternoon sun. She''d been asleep for two hours.


    Nan passed through the hallway to empty the recycling bins. They greeted Sara with a smile and wave. "Did you sleep alright?"


    "I don''t know," she frowned. "But I want to look at the Owlet Files next."

 An Old Mans Advice

    Odie stroked his dark beard as he gazed at Sara on the way back from the restroom. He wondered if she could stand up without her oversized heels, which lied beside the opening of the bed area. She resembled a little girl''s toy shoved into a cubby hole after play time. If he hadn''t ever overheard her speaking, he would have thought she was some sort of toy. Perhaps an advanced plaything that had lost her owner. Despite that, there was a persevering independence he noticed growing in her. After four years of submissive silence, her avoidance began blossoming into casual greetings to him and other visitors in the hallway. Returning to his seat in the "quiet, soundproofed" work room, he stared at Sara. She walked back to the computer room and continued her earlier chat with Nan.


    Eavesdropping wasn''t rude if the speech was impeding on his silence, he reckoned with himself as he packed his tea, keyboard, and tablet into his bag. A few words about whole-body skeletal reconstruction drew his ear closer to the door. Sara''s case was starting to feel too interesting to listen in on, especially while Nan was toiling with the clues of her story in the computer room, aloud, with Jeeves.


    "Jeeves, look up CSF-H," he could hear them chattering in the other room. He rolled his eyes. That rat-girl-thing doesn''t know what hybrid cerebral-spinal fluid is, he scoffed. Furfags should have compatibility aids on the top of their minds. Though she might not be a mechanical beast in any capacity. Nan''s ignorance made him groan, but he found their excuses acceptable the more he thought about it.


    Odie''s face twisted into a scowl as soon as Jeeves responded, "SCF-HS could refer to the hybrid solution of cerebral-spinal fluid, developed specifically for the health and wellbeing of grinders with spinal modifications. Would you like to know more?" the robot asked.


    "No. Jeeves, what is NCC reconstitution?" Nan asked. She really doesn''t know! He strode to computer room.


    "Thinking..." Jeeves said, scanning the Internet. "NCC reconstitution might refer to many things. Most are related to biology, but other fields use similar terminology. Would you like me to list them?"


    "Obviously it''s related to biology," Nan clicked and turned to look at the man.


    Basking in the sheen of the moment, Odie shouted, "Neural crest cell reconstitution!" and set his kit onto the desk beside Nan. "I''m sorry, but your library has become uncharacteristically loud, lately. And I couldn''t help but overhear you talking about mods. Presumably your friend Sara''s cybernetic and biological modifications. Am I correct?"


    Nan was dumbfounded. Sara came out from behind Nan and nodded.


    "If you want me to help you, tell me. But please, if you don''t, keep quiet. I was here to focus in silence, but I don''t want to move to the solitary rooms."


    "Um, yes, Odie," Nan almost blurted out like a question. "Wait, you could hear me?"


    "I sit by the door you insist stays open in the so-called quiet room," he growled. "So, do you want my help or not? Because I''m going home if you don''t."


    Nan nodded. "Sure, but ask Sara first. This is about her."


    Sara frowned. His presence in her dream made her cautious, but he didn''t seem malicious. "I''d like your help, Odie," she finally decided. "Thank you for your offer." She walked to the other side of the table to get a better look at him.


    "Oh, so you can stand without those cinderblocks glued to your feet," Odie grumbled. She started to regret her decision.


    Sara grabbed a thick stack of unstapled black sheets from the folder. Faint markings in the corner were her first clue. Page 1 of 4? She turned it back over. Figure 1. Each page was dovetailed on two perpendicular edges. Taking one of the sheets, she realized that there were many transparent, yet faintly colored sections between spots of darkness. "Nan, can you tell Jeeves to turn on his light?" Sara asked. Nan nodded, eager to assemble Sara''s puzzle. Odie scanned the dark sheets for some sort of pattern. His eyes, untouched by cybernetics and sharp despite his age, flashed between Sara and the images discerningly.


    "Jeeves, backlight," Nan ordered and helped Sara put the puzzle together. "Is it an X-ray?" they asked.


    "CT scan," Odie was quick to correct.


    "It kind of looks like a lung, or a brain," they cringed. Each of the four top sheets fit as a corner in the whole image. "Should I make a digital copy of it with Jeeves?"


    "Um, I think yes," Sara said, trying to interpret the blobs and myriad colors. "This is incredibly familiar to me," she mumbled and focused on one color. "What if I use a filter?"


    "A filter?" Nan repeated, confused. "The borders say scans of Owlet, year 2122? But it hardly looks like you at all, does it?" Nan said, adjusting their glasses. "It looks like some kind of abstract watercolor. That whole cult operation must have been unprofessional."


    "How about these," Sara said, assembling the bottom four sheets into another image. "Owlet 2127."


    Odie pursed his lips. "That''s her. The listed dimensions for her limbs and skull are exact, unless this composite imaging depicts a different person with the same build." Nan shook their head. "You see," Odie continued, "the proportions are unique. I''ve never seen anyone in town with these extensive mods. Hydraulic mechanisms especially." His concerns steeped into a deep sense of dread as he deciphered the scan. There was no way any normal person, much less a sanitation worker, could afford such extensive surgery over 5 years. And "cult operation"? Surely, this was done by a group with a lot of resources. Legal or mafia especially. He snapped his fingers. Homosexuals! he figured, but he dared not voice his speculation so early with Nan around.


    Sara took images of both scans through her left eye camera. She digitally altered the photos to hide all colors but red. A blob branched off into five sections, which branched off into many more smaller ones. The pattern in the 2127 scan became obvious to her: major arteries of the human circulatory system. It looked the veins had been untangled, snipped, and rearranged. But the 2122 scan revealed a more placental arrangement.


    "The red areas are for blood," she stated. Odie and Nan helped assemble the other three scans over Jeeves'' light. Rapidly and systematically, Sara sorted each of the body''s systems as represented by the colors. "Let me show you," she said, standing on top of the desk full of notes. She unraveled the overhead projector cord and inserted the loose end to a socket in her nape. It was never comfortable jacking in, but it was never intolerable either. She labeled each image as she waited. It only took seconds to assemble a slide show of the filtered images and a few of their combinations through her internal computing system.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Nan''s jaw dropped in disbelief as Sara projected the changes in her circulatory system and the dates accompanying it. "Wait! Pause," Nan squeaked. "Can you make a composite of the 5 slides?"


    "I did that, here," Sara said, switching to the overlay of each snapshot of her circulatory system. "You can really see the height difference from before and after the metamorphosis."


    "Metamorphosis?!" Nan''s jaw and whiskers lowered and receded in disgust, and Odie''s hands trembled. The first slide chronologically displayed nothing more than a mass of undefined tissues. Sara examined her bones next. They watched as a skeleton of a tall Caucasian male was shaved, shattered to bits, and replaced with titanium cells. "Sara, I don''t want to look at this right now¡ª," Nan moaned queasily as she zoomed in on the fissures in her skull and reconstruction of her eye sockets. Lacrimal and orbital expansion. "I''m going to grab some water, tell me when you''re done!" Nan shouted and ran back to the kitchen.


    Odie had no coherent explanation for the dizzying overlay of Sara''s broken ribs, untangled guts, straightened arteries, an enlarged spleen, and half a liver. "Shit!" he gasped and whipped his head back to the original screens. "Where''d you even find this?"


    "I don''t remember," Sara mumbled back to the bearded man. "Do you know what these images depict? I''m trying to figure out what it all means."


    Flabbergasted, Odie stepped closer to the projection. "Zoom out," he demanded. He did know. But did Sara? "Like you said, metamorphosis," he sputtered.


    Sara stammered, unsure of how to respond. A laugh escaped her lips. "I''m just a grinder like anyone else, I just didn''t know it went this far," she said, turning off the projection and promptly unplugging herself. "I don''t know where these documents are from, really, they were just at the bottom of my closet. I found them yesterday," she tried to explain. "I mean, I guess they were there a long time since they were dusty and¡ª"


    Odie held up his hand to stop her talking, and exhaled sharply. "I need to think." He paced frantically, then put an unsteady finger on the scan. Whose signature is here he muttered to himself. Heart looked normal, brain was anomalous but not his expertise, proportions were a dead giveaway if he had cared to mentally catalog them all... but he didn''t. "Where did you get this?" he growled. Sara frowned and stepped off of the table.


    "Nowhere," she whimpered, holding back tears.


    He was shocked that he could believe her, despite his better judgment telling him to leave town, maybe the planet, and never return. Odie figured that he might as well let his curiosity be the end of him, if he felt that way. He kept chattering to himself. "What time... 2122... Who was active then... That wasn''t 20 years ago, docs likely censored." I still think it''s the homosexuals and their mafia. But that doesn''t sound right. I can''t think in this state. Who am I kidding? He planted himself in Nan''s seat before all the clues that they and Sara had laid out. "Sit down with me, Sara." His exhale was shallow. "Take a deep breath," he told himself calmly. "And exhale slowly." He fingered through the Owlet Files. "This is the accompanying text, isn''t it?"


    "Yes," she nodded, ruminating over the handler''s words about dolls and the makeup of her body. Why was Odie in my dream? The churning of her stomach was dampened by a regulatory chip lodged in her upper small intestine. Her awareness of its presence offered a new level of discomfort that seemed leagues worse. She watched Odie''s eyes scan the files like a machine. Every divot of her skull, facet of her iris, and crease of her skin was recorded meticulously. But the machinations of its design were covert. A genetic test and keen eye would be the only way to decode her being.


    "Sara, how old are you?" he asked in as candid and gentle of a voice as he could manage.


    "Forty-four," she answered, matching his tone.


    "Can you tell me about your last job?"


    "I''m currently working in garbage disposal," she murmured. "Before that, I''m not sure. I might have been an escort."


    He figured that her memory was shot from the operation. Perhaps cyber-amnesia. Psychedelics, improper cerebral-spinal fluid injection, or a total restructuring of her neurons and their arrangement could have been the cause too. Whoever designed her had detailed knowledge of the etheric and epigenetics beyond what was currently accepted by the greater scientific community. They were toying with the morphics of Terran humanity. "Can you tell me your earliest memory?"


    Sara shifted in her seat. "I''m not sure which is my earliest... I guess in 2121 or so, looking out the window of my old apartment. I was¡ªwell, I was a man¡ªtall, with brown hair. Like in that card," she gestured to her old ID. "I lived at the address there. The room still exists. I remember having plants, a little bit about my boyfriend at the time, my old cat, that''s all." Odie excused her for the shoddy recollection and delivery. He realized that folks who''d been through less would have cracked under the pressure long ago.


    Careful to repeat her language, he asked, "When did you undergo metamorphosis?"


    "It was 2122. From then to 2127."


    "So you were about 26 when this started. Can you tell me how you know that?" If she underwent total brain restructuring, her newest memories should be the ones that are gone, unless something more insidious is happening. Odie''s mind jumped from gay mafia to supposedly defunct intelligence agencies.


    Sara felt trapped. It made sense for the memories to have occurred in 2121, but how could she be certain? All she had to go off of were images. A deep sense of dread and doubt set into her bones. "Um, I guess I don''t know for sure, but it just makes sense. It was all before I met Plume and Witch and all those other people from that cult I was in... I remember that I wasn''t thinking of them, then."


    "Right," Odie bit his tongue, resisting harsher words as Nan returned. "You''re incredibly unique. Do you have any idea who designed you?"


    "That cult, I guess. But I don''t remember who ran it. Everyone was in frilly costumes and had these code names. My ''sisters'' looked a lot like me. Not exactly, but very similar. Large eyes, permanent lip color, slender, mo¨¦ build. A while back, after 2127, men would call me a doll. I wasn''t entirely sure what it meant. It feels too layered."


    "That is a layered word. I appreciate you sharing all this. It''s difficult, no doubt." Odie snapped his fingers as he thought. Sara was some sort of fetish. Fetish, a fetish doll? A thing of worship, or embodying a thing to be lusted after. He anxiously ran a couple of fingers through his gray and silver hair before glancing at the scans again. Metamorphosis, doll... This reeks!


    Nan offered her friend tissues. They glared at Odie, unimpressed with his shameless curiosity.


    Though conscious of the effect he had on the two, he knew he couldn''t live with himself if he kept his mouth shut. "I''d try to figure out who designed you based on the stylistic choices they made," he advised. "Anime face, your whole entire skull quite frankly, hip and femur angle, hair, lips, nails, anything that stands out. Hell, visit a doctor or talk to a grinder. Pro-grinder if you know any. Test the spinal fluid, look for genetic signatures and tags. Maybe your sequence is on the black, or even clear market with that missing liver of yours. Look for print and patent numbers on your titanium, hydraulics, muscles, and guts." He shrugged, at a loss for comforting words. "I''m sorry. I wish you the best."


    "Thank you." Sara sniffled. She was doing her damndest to remember what happened, and what to do during these occasions. Maybe there was no answer for what could be done.


    "I''ll be in tomorrow and Thursday, eight to four," he offered, then looked at his square-faced analog watch. It was already 4:30 p.m.


    "Goodbye, Odie," Nan hissed through their incisors.


    "Nan, Sara," he dismissed himself as unceremoniously as he arrived.