XX
Already Dead
North Atlantic Airspace, 2077
Sofie wanted to scream. The lyrics burned as they bounced around inside her mind. It was taking every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep herself from following Eurodyne’s instructions.
She couldn’t tear her eyes from the shining chrome and blue and white plastic of her new prosthetics. For over an hour, her biomon had been giving her warning after warning regarding her elevated heart rate and respiratory cycle. She hadn’t spoken since they’d boarded the flight.
She would have ripped the arms out of their sockets if she could. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the voice of reason was desperately trying to remind her that not only was it to use the new arms in this state, but they were exactly the same as her old implants, just without the RealSkinn. Sofie hated that voice.
She hated the arms. She hated the reminder they carried. She hated Tyler Montero for forcing her to use them. She hated him more for that than for putting her brother in the hospital. That revelation terrified her.
Sofie sat in a luxurious real leather seat on a private spaceplane owned by Ymir Skandatek, but she barely noticed. She was preoccupied, staring at her unfamiliar palms, as her husband and sister reviewed the plan of action.
“Once we land, we go straight to Ma?l,” Astrid said. “Then you can worry about Prosopon.”
“Okay,” Ares said, nodding. “We’ll go to the HQ next, check out the damage and see what we can learn. Then we’ll go to Nástr?nd.”
Their voices faded into the background as Sofie stared at the wintry prosthetics that had replaced her hands. Deep down she knew that her hands had not been for fifteen years, but at least she had recognized the ones she’d worn before.
The last thing Sofie felt was “real.” She didn’t even look it.
The cabin lighting dimmed as the plane settled into a steady cruise, the world outside reduced to darkness and cloud and the distant, subtle curve of the Earth. Sofie barely registered the change. Her shoulder twitched—just a fraction of a millimeter—and the arms answered instantly, smoothly, perfectly, as her fingers curled into a fist.
Too perfectly.
The sensation wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. The feedback was clean and precise, every movement came without lag or resistance. The cyberarms did exactly what she asked of them, no more and no less, and that obedience made her stomach twist.
The lyric slid through her thoughts uninvited, the rhythm aligning with the soft hum of the engines. She reached for her ring. It wasn’t there. Her biomon chimed again, a gentle warning she didn’t acknowledge.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
She tried to breathe.
Sofie screwed her eyes shut, wringing her hands together. It didn’t help. With her eyes closed she could no longer see the metal fingers, but she could feel them. The Dynalar somatosensory fibers layered across the surface of the implants were even more receptive than before. She could feel the synthetic materials in overwhelming clarity.
The words sank deeper this time, dragging her down with them into the ocean of her thoughts. They slid under, threading themselves into the tight knot of fear in her chest. Sofie’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened, metal against metal, the faint whisper of synthetic contact ringing far too loudly in her ears.
Burning.
The Dynalar fibers translated pressure and texture with ruthless fidelity, mapping every contour of the armrests, every minute shift in her grip. She could feel the seams beneath the plating, the subtle differences in material density, the way the feedback loop corrected itself faster than her thoughts could keep up. She could feel it all.
Her chest constricted as the realization took hold, sharp and suffocating. The cabin felt smaller, the ceiling closer, the hum of the engines pressing in on her from all sides. She dragged in a breath that barely reached her lungs, then another, each one more shallow than the last.
Her ring.
She reached for it again out of reflex, her thumb brushing bare metal where familiar warmth should have been. The absence hit her hard, a hollow ache that sent her pulse spiking anew. The biomon chimed, insistent now, its concern bleeding into the darkness behind her eyelids.
Stop.
She needed to stop.
Sofie folded forward slightly, elbows braced on her knees, hands clenched together as if she could grind the sensation away through sheer force. The metal didn’t yield. It never did. The feedback stayed perfect, relentless.
No.
Her jaw trembled as she swallowed hard, a soundless breath tearing out of her. She pressed her forehead briefly against her knuckles, eyes screwed shut, trying to anchor herself to something—anything—that wasn’t this alien clarity that was making her head spin.
She could feel herself slipping, the familiar pull of panic dragging her inward, walls slamming up around her thoughts as old instincts kicked in. If she stayed very, very still, and very, very quiet, maybe it would pass. Maybe she could ride it out like she always had.
Suddenly, she was suffocating. Hands were wrapped around her throat. She grimaced, unable to scream as she reached up to rip and tear at her attacker’s arms.
“Sofie.”
Her eyes flew open. Ares knelt before her, reaching up as he fastened something around her neck. She gasped and lowered her hands as she glanced down. Her husband withdrew as she gently grasped her wedding ring now dangling from a silver chain around her neck.
Ares didn’t say anything at first. He stayed where he was, close enough that she could feel him there without crowding her. The plane hummed around them, indifferent.
“Breathe with me,” he said at last. A simple invitation.
Sofie’s fingers curled around the ring, the only metal she had ever to be a part of her. She drew in a shaky breath, then another, forcing air past the tightness in her chest. The world didn’t snap back into place, but it stopped collapsing quite so fast.
“I don’t—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “I don’t recognize them. I barely recognize myself anymore.”
“I know,” Ares said quietly.
He reached for her hands, giving her time to feel his before wrapping his fingers around hers. He rested his thumbs against the backs of her fingers, carefully and deliberately.
“But I recognize you,” he continued. “I always will.”
She shook her head, a small helpless motion. “It feels wrong.”
“It’ll take some time to get used to.” He whispered. “But it’ll take longer if you keep running.”
The song was still there, muttering at the edges of her thoughts, but it had lost its teeth. The words blurred together, rhythm without meaning.
Sofie closed her eyes again. Not to hide this time, but to stay.
She focused on his words. On the steady warmth of his hands around hers. On the familiar weight of the ring resting against her chest.
She wasn’t whole. She wasn’t ready.
But she was still here. Alive. Herself.
And for now, that was enough.
It would have to be.
