Most people in a story have some sort of interesting background. Trauma, abuse, neglect, hurdles to overcome. Perhaps they’re important, someone wealthy or powerful. The leader of a kingdom, the intimidating head of a department. People who’ve overcome struggles or who have never known struggle. None of that applies to you. You’re an ordinary city worker, having recently moved up to a surveyor position from assistant. You took the job when your husband split and left you with nothing but the cat you two once shared. Your only companion each day when you get home and the only remaining constant in your life. There were no kids to potentially see, as he left you due to your infertility.

It wasn’t even a nice split, he simply left one day. That was how you found out he’d not just been cheating, but had two other families on the side. However that fucker convinced both of those women to move in with him, you’ll never know. You aren’t even sure what you ever saw in him to begin with. You catch yourself thinking it would be easier to find women attractive. The bi and lesbian women at the office have plenty of gossip and seem to have sex lives far more active than you ever had. Going by some of the rumors they were far more interesting and creative than you two had ever been either.

You wish you could have what they had. You wish you found women attractive, but you were just confused by them. You struggled with your own body, never taking the time to truly learn yourself and what made yourself tick. How other women found breasts attractive you didn’t understand, you never thought much of yours. Even the rest of your body you did not understand how a woman could find any of it attractive. How did they have the confidence to work on their own appearance and show off to other women? What did those other women see in them? You didn’t find dick attractive, but it was all you knew and it had always seemed tolerable enough. You had no idea how someone would even do anything with another woman.

You’ve got your work to focus on anyways, the day to day drudgery of locating markers and plot lines. The never-ending drama of the suburbs over whose land a fence was on. The constant complaining from exurbs about every possible perceived slight to their precious land safe away from any minority they might have to see. You got a laugh from the more overtly racist ones, being a taller brown-skinned woman yourself. They usually ended up choking back half of what they wanted to say when you offered to leave instead of locating the monuments they wanted found.

The time spent hacking through overgrowth had given you a level of physical fitness, but your otherwise basic lifestyle of loneliness hid that. You weren’t the skinniest person around, as you liked to think. Rotting on your couch watching old sci-fi shows while eating takeout didn’t make for the best health, and you had some tooth damage from the lack of self care. You hadn’t smiled since he left you, first from shame and then from the desire to hide the damage to your mouth.You didn’t have anything to smile about anymore anyways.

Today’s job was a new one, a planned development to replace the crumbling metabolism section of the city. You had to go do some initial surveying of the city blocks and buildings to prepare for planning and demolition. The expected timeline for this portion of the project would take you almost a year to map out all plot markers, roads, services, and dig through unknown as-builts dumped in the archives of the city. You were looking forward to it, you’d not been out doing fieldwork in a while and it was a chance to not use the GPS unit. You enjoyed the methodical approach of the total station and a reflector. There was a certain elegance to doing the measurements yourself instead of pressing a button. Not that anyone used the ancient station anymore, your grade rod carried a retroreflector that the machine tracked and would record the data points from. At least carrying around the precision invar bar felt more special than the fiberglass GPS rod, and the constant eye on yourself from the total station made you feel less alone. Even though it was a machine, it was the closest you felt to having anyone look directly at you.

You hated yourself for how pitiful that made you feel. How could the closest thing you have to a friend be the mindless machine sitting there on a tripod? It wasn’t even looking at you, all it cared about was the corner cube reflector you were carrying. At least there was more satisfaction to be had from doing the job this way, and it was the only satisfaction you’ve ever felt in a long time.

You took a city van out to the first site, a crumbling parking lot. Remnants of block walls hinted at a structure that once occupied the spot. Even with parking so limited in the city, the visitors that insisted on driving avoided this lost. They seemed to think they’d be robbed in this area of the city, not that anyone lived here. Their own hatred of anyone not as wealthy as them was overt, and you hated being looked down upon as well for your lack of money. You didn’t need a life of luxury, just to not stress constantly over rent and food.

Your ex fucked you over plenty, even though you were due alimony. It was hard for you to force a collection when you didn’t have the money to go to court any month, and he had hidden his assets well when you split. The one time you got something nicer than questionable food in a small tray was when you’d get something you could recognize as food for humans. You’d sell plasma each month and save up, your twice a year treat being a frozen dinner that was identifiable. You dreamed of the day you could eat a meal you could recognize at least one part of every day.

At least this survey would take your time and distract you from some of the worst parts of your life. Eight hours a day stuck in your own head was hell, but you’d do that in the office or in the field. At least this way there was more to focus on and distract yourself with. At least, at least, at least. You had grown weary of the bare minimum in your life long ago. You just existed now, a shell of a person with no purpose. The only thing that kept you going was your cat, as you couldn’t leave it to an unknown fate by committing to what you think you should have long ago. Maybe you were just too weak to follow through on what was necessary.

The hours go by in a drawn-out blur. Time becomes meaningless yet slow as you hike around the lot with the invar rod and mark out plots and utilities. The sun sinks as you work into overtime. You need the extra pay to survive, and it’s not like you have anywhere else to be or anyone else to be with. There is an unexpected sight that draws your attention, a flickering light in the capsule tower a couple floors up. It’s unusual enough that you put your gear in the van and leave the station sitting in place. It’s not easily stolen due to weight alone, so you’re not worried about it.

A part of you feels more comfortable seeing the tracking optics of it anyways, a mechanical friend keeping an eye out for your safety. The tower is across the street from the lot, and you pick your way over the crumbled remnants of fallen capsules. The stairs creak underfoot as you climb, rust flaking off the metal with each step. Your footfalls echo in the hollow core, the only sound apart from your breathing. Anything but shitty stairs, although the elevator was without power. Nobody wants to fall through a rusty step to a slow fate. Nobody to know where you landed to save you or to recover your body.

The capsule would have been perfect for you if this part of town still mattered. The simple accommodations that remained were more than you currently used. You find yourself feeling slightly nostalgic for when these towers were once relevant, even though back then you were too young to care about such things. The personal freedom of a young adult is only tempered by time and experience, not by sensible planning or lessons imparted by their elders.

The light is just a taper candle in the window, half burned down to the base. Wax is piled up and still not truly solid around the base of the stand. It’s been burning for a while and the tiny flame is the only hint of life in the ruins. If your life was a horror or porn story, the door would close behind you and you wouldn’t have to worry about what came next. Real life is not so predictable, the wooden door of the unit having obviously rotted off the hinges long ago as it lays crumbling against the wall of the capsule. You hear water dripping in the tower core and wonder if you missed it on the way in. It would explain why the rust on the steps was wet now that you think of it.

Of course you had heard rumors and whispers about this area, supposed disappearances. Most likely something crime-related, you thought. Maybe next the rumors will tell of a minotaur in the sewers guarding a hidden labyrinth of brickwork drainage canals designed by the city founders themselves. You leave the capsule, figuring it’s simply something you were not supposed to poke your nose into. Ignoring it seems the best option, pretend you saw nothing should someone ever ask.

You make it back down and across the street to your van. You unmount the station and pack it away in the case, folding up the tripod and strapping it to the side. You unlock the van and pack away the gear on the side. You fold down the small pipe berth above the storage area and climb in. It’s easier to just rest here when you have more to do tomorrow to complete the first portion of the survey. The bedsis more comfortable than your couch back home since this has a semblance of padding and a blanket. You fall asleep, determined to not think about the strange candle. The thud against your van wall wakes you from your rest and distracts you from the needle dart that falls out of your back. Why the fuck is there a small hole in the sheet metal? Did someone shoot at you? You feel no bullet wounds, and you try looking through the hole to see anything. It’s a dumb idea if someone was since it may have cost an eye, but the near pitch-black of this section gives nothing away. Headlights from a car on the freeway with the high beams on briefly illuminates a pair of glowing eyes. You’re startled for a moment before realizing it’s just a raccoon sniffing around. It’s cute enough that you wish you had something to give it.

It would be all the better if that moment was something you’d recall the next day, but the dose had taken effect and your memories will cease to form now. The lock pops on your van as you fade into unconsciousness, fear gripping you as you realize they must know. You saw something you should not have, and they were going to kill you for it.

***

The pain of electricity coursing through your body brings you back to awareness. You’re tied to a chair in a decaying half-height cubicle inside of an old workspace. There’s no windows or anything to give away where you are, but you know it’s somewhere in the old section. There’s a young woman watching you with curiosity as she sits on the ground, waiting for her mistress. A new toy has been brought in to be fixed, and she wants to see what’s broken about you. It turns out words could get more terrifying than someone telling you they were about to kill you. What the fuck could fixing you even mean?

Sure, you thought of yourself as a broken person, but getting your ex back wouldn’t fix you. Nothing really could at this rate. The…doll, for lack of a better word, perks up and looks behind you. You strain against the bindings holding you to the chair in an attempt to see who is behind you. The doll is excited, talking to the presence behind you, telling it how you’re in need of repair. Your desperate begging for whoever captured you to make sure your cat is looked after. You don’t recall saying that, but the mention of it gives the presence pause.

A voice speaks out, she sees what’s wrong with you. The voice of the woman behind you is the opposite of reassuring, but she promises to fix you. The problems can be solved and you can be remade into who you were supposed to be. Happy, she clarifies. The reassurance that you won’t remember any of this is absolutely terrifying, and you actually piss yourself from fear. Dignity in your life was lost long ago, you were a dead woman walking since your ex left. You’d never wanted to survive so badly as in this moment. Dying was one thing, but going out strapped to a chair while being tortured is nightmare fuel.

The click of metal on a tray behind you grabs your focus. You strain at the bonds, and get a gag shoved into your mouth when you go to scream. Padded blocks are pressed against your neck and your head is strapped in place for her to work on. Cold shocks your senses as sterile alcohol is poured onto your head. You twist and squirm, trying to break free. You’ve moved too much now, she tells you. That will be remedied.

The vial of powder is held in front of your face, sterile liquid injected in to make the solution. Whatever vecuronium was, it did not bode well for you. The vial is shaken and the plunger withdrawn. Clear liquid draws into the syringe, and you notice the cap that was removed from the bottle between her fingers. Red cannot be a good color for a drug.

The needle stabs into your neck, pain shooting down your spine as the needle pierces a vein. The drug itself is painless, and there is a moment of relief. The moment is cut short as you feel yourself begin to suffocate. You try to draw breath, begging your lungs to work. Your body fails to respond, and you try to look around. You can’t even do that much as the burning sensation builds in your chest.

The pain of the cuts to your arm are minimal, the feeling of the tubes sliding up through your arteries is unnerving. The machine is already running, you can feel the push and pull of your blood in the tube openings as it takes over for you. Droplets of blood run down from where the catheters enter your limb, but the burning goes away. The pain remains, and only intensifies as she sets to work.

You feel the first cut at your hairline, the scraping of stainless on bone as part of your face is peeled down. You can’t see anymore as your eyes are covered, not that you could anyways. The inability to blink as your eyes welled up made everything blur.

The second medial cut back along your skull hurt even more. You could feel the blood dripping off the edges of the skin as she peeled back the split there. Bone feels nothing, but the vibration as she sawed into the frontal bone was unpleasant. The pressure from the spikes as she tightened a skull clamp through your skin and into bone was uncomfortable, but she needed the stability.

Tears ran down your face as you wished she had just killed you. The pain was pure torture, the legends of a monster were obviously true. No sane human would do this to another. The brain feels no pain, but the dura mater does. Pain inside your head like nothing else imaginable as she delicately opens the membrane. The comment from the doll chills you to the bone as the voice says “Is that where her problem lies ma’am? Can you fix her? She’s so pretty and she has such a cute mind”.

As if anything else hadn’t already convinced you that you were about to die horribly.

The response was no better, a simple “We shall see, my toy”.

Yup, you’re fucked. Living was kind of shitty while it lasted. The odd thing was, nothing was really happening. The brain can’t feel pain, but your thoughts were all still there. Nothing seemed to be missing or changing in how you viewed the world. Were you going to just be opened up for amusement?

Hours passed, or so it felt. You could feel the lady moving about when she touched against something sensitive. She was deeply focused, and you heard footsteps retreat as the doll left to go do something else. The pain was back as she pulled and cut at the dura mater, sharp stabs that you recognized as being stitched back up. The grinding as your skull was secured back together with titanium hardware. Your skin flips were pulled together, rough stabs as your head was stapled back into shape.

An electrifying sensation overwhelms your body, causing you to blank out for a moment. The voice was still confident as you were told that was merely a scan. You were interesting enough to watch, and you’ll be brought back in when the data is analyzed. Sleep now, the voice echoes as the world fades out again.

***

You wake up on the floor of your van, your phone alarm beeping. Pain splits your head in twain as you struggle to sit up. Empty bottles fall off your body onto the floor, the sound making your pain only worse. You didn’t drink unless someone bought, which didn’t happen. You grabbed your phone in a panic, opening up the bank app to see how much you spent. No purchases show pending, offline, or posted. Odd.

The pain in your head is intolerable. You wince, putting your hand to your head to cradle yourself. That was a mistake, pain shooting through your body. You felt the moment your hand touched your head, the open wound and metal staples. What the fuck had happened last night? Most people got a tattoo they regret when drunk, but did you get a fucking back alley neuro implant? No charges showed for such a thing either, leaving you to wonder what exactly happened.

Work can wait, but you hope it’ll distract you from your situation. Not that surgery you can’t recall while drunk is an easy thing to overlook. You struggle with your work that day, every step sending pain radiating through your head. You looked up at one point at the crumbling capsule tower. The future once had promise, and the sting of the wound at your hairline reminds you to not do that again. Blood drips down your face from between the staples, and you don’t bother to wipe them off.

The day passes in agony, you only manage to mark out a handful of services on the roads. Water, power, sewer. A long abandoned natural gas line. That should have been pumped down when the system was abandoned, construction ripping that up was little concern. No major light fiber ran through this area, all of the active lines that you know of having been relocated to the underground utility path under the freeway. The constant desire for one more lane for the momentary convenience of people who did not live in the city had destroyed neighborhoods. The futures of all residents sold off to make way for another car to join the lines.

You pile your gear into the van to head home. Blood in your eyes distracts you, but you manage safely. City owned means you get to park it on the street instead of paying for a spot. You lug the station out of the van for safekeeping. Any of the other things are easily replaceable if stolen, but this machine cost more than you made in your entire career. You don’t want to imagine the kind of debt you’d be saddled with to replace it. Yet your coworker stole one and steals the portable computers and gets away with it. How they get away with that is beyond you, but it's an open secret. Hard for it to not be when they use a wheeled icechest for their lunch and you hear it clunking when taken to their car.

The paternoster groans under the load of you and the total station. The lift desperately needs a service, but the building owners prefer to neglect it. Someone will be in for a surprise when the motor fails and it free spins. You get off on your floor, dragging the case behind you. You swear you can hear the lift speed up slightly behind you. Piece of shit lift and cheapass landlords, a match made in contract lawyers’ dreams. It’ll be funny from the sidelines when someone gets mulched, if you were not one of the ones at risk. The finger pointing and blame shifting will go down in history.

You fumble your keys as blood drips into your eyes, unlocking the door and stepping inside. You place the case inside of the door, then reconsider. After last night, you close the door and pin it shut with the case and tripod. You need that feeling of safety, no matter how thin it is.

Your cat is happy to see you at least. It’s winding between your legs, making the already difficult task of walking even worse. You make your way to the couch and collapse down onto the worn out cushions. In a way it’s nicer than sleeping in a fucking van. The cat jumps up onto your chest as you lay back, curling up and purring. You can see the concern in its face as it looks at you. People like to say cats are emotionless, but they just struggle to read the expressions. To you, the way it feels is more clear than anyone you have met.

You drift off to sleep, in far too much pain to be hungry or to sleep well. You toss and turn, pain in your head and sinister shadows in your nightmares stealing your rest. You wake up, barely refreshed after the last night. Acetaminophen does nothing to take the edge off the pain, and your healthcare coverage doesn’t kick in until your fourth year working for the city. At least those pills are free in the first aid kits you get given. It had to have been surgical, you realize. Getting patched up from an injury wouldn’t hurt in these unimaginable places. It feels like there are stitches inside your brain scratching against the skull bones. You have little choice but to go to work. A sick day wouldn’t be remiss, but those are only loaned to you. You have to pay them back plus interest when you go to retire. You check the food and water bowls to make sure your cat is good. All sustenance is good, and you briefly wonder if the cat food is better for you than whatever it is that you eat.

You grab your case and lug it to and down the stairs. It’s not worth risking the paternoster for a trip down. At least falling down the stairs will only be to the next landing half a floor down. The total station will easily survive that. Your van is unmarred, exactly where you left it the night before. At least it would be unmarred if not for what looks like a small bullet hole in the side. Shit. That will come out of your pay when they notice. At least today will be special, you’re to begin the condition survey of the capsule towers. Forget even plot layouts, this will be some classic manual work to do a condition check in preparation for demolition plans. You’d have multiple setups to locate all the reference markers to get the station located then check every corner of every capsule to monitor for decay and damage. Tedious and slow work, but it was enjoyable to be getting hands on with the machine. It was nicer than sitting at a terminal marking out plot boundaries for a lawsuit by far.

The day slipped by quickly enough, a zen mood taking over as you stare through the optical sight. Measurement after measurement taken and recorded. You can’t shake the feeling that you are being watched, yet every time you look around there is nothing, the only sound the car tires on the freeway. The drone of rubber and distant engines as people go about their lives. A couple birds call and break the aural monotony. It’s a reminder of how pleasant the city can truly be when it’s not dominated by the automobile. You grab a simple company lunch bar from the pack in the van. One of the few perks you get, the bar of pale off-beige that almost appears to be a bread product. The inside is like eating foam in texture and is devoid of taste. It’s nutritionally complete, and a more pleasant option than tubes. You might be able to live a healthy life off of the gel tubes, but the taste and texture of those was like drinking high fructose corn syrup. A week of that and you’d be ready to stab someone to get a cheeseburger. There was a reason those tubes were stamped as being only fit for educational, prison, or military food. You remember eating it in your own childhood, how it would stick in your teeth and take hours to get the remnants out of your mouth.

The survey of just the one corner takes the rest of the day to finish up and enter into the portable terminal. Measurements of the position of every visible corner to the sub-millimeter. An email from your boss comes through. They want you to do a laser scan as a preservation option once the survey is done of the towers. A subcon will work with the model to rewind time and wear to let people virtually experience the building. Instead of just repairing it or not letting it rot to begin with. The city didn’t need to murder the area, yet it happily did so to chase the bubble of inflating property values for the right people. None of whom lived here, but the lives of those in the city subsidizing the luxury of the suburbs and exurbs is a tale as old as the latter two existing.

You’ve done enough for today, and you sit in the opened back of the van and watch the sun set. Pain shoots through your head, and you think you must have moved wrong. You move your hand up to feel for blood, instead bumping into a small hypodermic dart lodged in your neck. Shit. Maybe this was-

You don’t get to finish that thought.

***

You wake up in the remnants of an old factory building, construction debris piled around from long-abandoned renovations. You’re on a hard, wooden chair. Your arms are bound behind your back, your legs bound to the chair. Thin bailing wire lacing holding your legs apart and securing you to the legs of the chair. You try to scream, but the gag stuffed in your mouth stops you. There is an old table across from you, a curious looking young woman perched on it. She’s staring at you, and it’s unnerving. There’s worry in her expression, but not in a way you’ve ever seen it.

There’s a scraping sound from behind you. You strain against the bonds, finding a tight restraint on your neck keeps you from turning your head at all. The strange woman looks past you, excitement lighting up her face. She’s excited by whatever it is she sees and calls out to the sound “Miss, miss! Are you going to fix her this time?”.

Your blood turned to ice. What did she mean by “this time”? You’ve never met this woman before, nor have you met the person you presume is a woman behind you. You try to scream and thrash incoherently, and a hand touches your shoulder. She’s trying to be relaxing, but her gentle “Shhh, Shhh, It’s okay” does the opposite. Maybe it’s because she added in the bit about “I’ll get you fixed up, don’t worry” is one of the most terrifying things you could imagine being told.

The feeling of snips jabbing into your wounds is excruciating, and the sound as each staple is cut sends chills down your spine. The tearing of the clot and the pain from her fingers opening your face back up. You feel every detail of her hands as fingers brush over bone and underneath skin. The pain almost overwhelms you, and a jab of adrenalin kicks you back. She’s keeping you awake and in pain, yet also saving you from going into shock. You feel your head getting twisted as she takes screws out of your skull. The brush of air over a place that should feel nothing is beyond imagination in pain. She’s careful, yet it doesn’t help. The stitches snip easily and unthread, but the dura being torn back open almost makes you pass out again.

She’s happy as she looks at what you realize is your exposed brain. The electrodes have taken well, and her scan data tells her that she needs to fix your inability to care for yourself. She even knows how you have only been with men and wish you could have the life you perceive to be easier with a woman. She’ll fix that first. To love another can give you reason to love yourself. To know another can let you know yourself.

Her reassurance that you have been dosed already so that you won’t remember this is the opposite. Are you just going to, what, wake up gay all of a sudden?

Would anyone even notice with how you fade into the background constantly? How do you even approach a woman? Men were easy enough, even if you never had gotten anything from sex with one. If you were not hooked up to a computer those thoughts may have stayed to yourself, but she now knows. She’s laughing, yet tries to speak in a pitying tone. She feels bad that you’ve never came from sex, and she now knows about your issues with your own body and trying to find women attractive.

She’ll fix that too. At least being able to see what people get from sex may be worth it. She’s still laughing, and you’re confused now. Is there even anything funny left? She drops quite the surprise on you, that even if all you know how to do is sex with dicks there are women with them. Some might not even be opposed to helping ease you into an understanding of women’s bodies and your own.

She holds your forehead up so you can see, leaning into your back and pointing at the young woman.

“In fact, she used to be one herself. She didn’t need it though, so I fixed that.”

Confusion and fear, and she lets your face fall back over your eyes. She keeps leaning up against the back of your head as she works. You hear small noises, wire connections being made and broken, adjustments being tweaked, interfaces being bonded in place. She’s… soft against the back of your head. It’s not unpleasant, feeling her tits pressed against you. She’s muttering to herself as she works, and you try to lean back into the feeling behind you.

Her remark of that being a good start isn’t concerning, but you feel like it should be. She lifts your forehead again, securing it out of your sight with medical tape.

Pain surges every time she moves and adjusts the peeled flesh, but you can at least see. Fingers snap from behind you and a sharp command is issued to the young woman.

“Strip.”

An immediate “Yes miss” in response.

Is this normal for two women? Is this how it works? The young woman in front of you makes a show of it, attempting a slightly awkward striptease. It’s not really doing anything for you, her movements are awkward and unpracticed. There is something to the passion in doing so, even though it’s overtly directed to her mistress behind you. Still, you can see the appeal as she pulls her top fully up over her tits. She elegantly flips it off and throws it to the woman behind you. The more you watch, the more you realize how hot it is.

There is something in the pure passion and desire fueling her, as awkward as she may be in trying so. Affection for the woman who claims to be fixing you. She wants her mistress in ways you cannot imagine wanting another person. In ways you never truly wanted your ex. The woman behind you pulls up your shirt, and you’re embarrassed to be seen. It’s one thing to be laid bare, it’s another when you’re so uncomfortable in your own body. She’s not too bothered by your reaction-why should she be, really? You’re rather captured, after all. She teases one of your chestnut-colored nipples, pulling out painfully on it. She threads needles right behind the darker skin, forcing each nipple in turn into prominence. She seems to think they have potential and pours some alcohol on each. It stings where each needle passes through the skin, but it’s nothing compared to your head. Even the pain of a needle stabbing through the base of each nipple can’t compare. You feel the larger needles withdraw as quickly as they went in, a strange sensation left behind. You can feel her doing something, and you realize she’s just pierced you.

It’s…actually kind of fucking hot, and you think they will look good on you. The thought of them on another woman is…also pretty hot. You’d never thought about them before, but now that you were pierced you realized just how great they were.

The voice behind you reveals itself as the young woman pulls down her skirt. You might be half opened up but evidently priorities are priorities. Except for the fact that what just moved over and grabbed the young woman was utterly inhuman. Part of her looked human, but only at first glance. At least the torso seemed mostly organic, although you could see muscle and actuators both moving under the skin, obviously augmented with subdermal enhancements. The cybernetic tail forming her into a naga was very obviously inhuman, and the orange fiber optics trailing from her head back behind where you sat hinted at substantial interface hardware in her head.

She-it? She? grabbed the younger woman, easily holding her up by the waist, the naga effortlessly getting taller with her tail. She lets the skirt drop free and pounces on the woman, her tail wrapping around the dollthing and binding her tightly. They’re rolling on the floor, the wrapped up woman happily giving herself up to the naga in ways that you never understood. They’ve rolled to where you can clearly see the sex of the bound woman, and something in your mind compels you to look. Someone with more sexual experience might be a bit surprised, and you have almost none. Watching the naga push her hand into the bound woman is uncomfortable yet uncomfortably hot. How the fuck is that even possible?

Your sensations are ripped away from the pain by the wires in your mind. You can feel the sensation on your hand, her lips on your wrist. You can feel her texture and how wet she is. How wet you’d never known it was possible to be. Is this what sex with passion was actually like? The soft pressure on your hand draws all focus as you watch the bound girl get absolutely fucked senseless. She’s screaming out incoherently as you feel the hand being worked inside her. Your hand? The nagas hand? Does it matter? You realize that’s not pain, but actually moans of pleasure. It’s a foreign concept to you, so no wonder it took a moment to grasp. You don’t see the naga plug the loose ends of the cable into the bound one, but your sensation is split again.

Just as you can feel your hand inside someone, so too can you feel the hand inside you. In a way it’s like you were actually exploring your own body for the first time ever. It’s not unpleasant, and the more you feel the better it gets. It’s actually really fucking nice feeling someone inside you in a way that’s not just a cock being crudely thrust in a few times and done. It’s a level of someone actually caring about how the other feels, pressures applied just right to drive sensations to where you’d never experienced it before. Both fully realize that and the naga withdraws her hand from the bound girl.

Cables are disconnected from the dollthing first, and she’s allowed to get dressed. Sensation is thrown back to your pain as your mind is severed from the monster. She slithers back behind you, seeing her work for the moment is done. She’s awakened you to what you were missing is what was meant by her fixing you, you realize. You barely register the additional pain in your head over the burning of your opened up skull and peeled back skin. She untapped your forehead and lets it fall back down to sew you back up. The underside of your flesh exposed to the open air again is agony, and you groan with the sudden sharp pain. The needle stabs into the dura mater again and again, the thin layer being delicately sewn over and around your new implant. You can feel the form of something physical in your head that wasn’t there before.

You hear grinding sounds and smell burning bone, realizing that she’s modifying the removed part of your skull to fit around the interface port. The screws secure your skull back together and your head is pulled back into shape. She’s careful, putting each staple through the holes the ones were removed from as she secures you back together. She leans in, brushing your hair back and whispering in your ear just how good you did and how proud she is of you. She kisses you on the cheek softly, following up with a simple “night night” as your consciousness fades.

***

You wake up in your van again, the alarm beeping at you. The now-familiar pain in your head is still omnipresent, and you don’t bother with the acetaminophen this time. Medication barely touches it. There’s no alcohol this time at least, so you know you didn’t get blackout drunk. You’ve got the next corner of the towers today to survey, and you unpack your gear to get to work. You grab a food bar from the case to serve as breakfast after you get the equipment out. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror of the van when walking around the side. You hate mirrors, it’s a constant reminder of how far you are from the ideal body you see in media.

Except today you’re fucking hot for some reason. You don’t remember getting ear and lip piercings, but the silver looks really good on your skin. You’re in a darker alt-goth style look, black on black. You hadn’t considered trying styles before and you don’t remember buying any of this, but it gives you a boost of confidence. You’re physically unchanged as far as you can see except for the interface port in your temple for the implant you realize you for sure have. You’d obviously missed it before with the overwhelming pain, but even it kind of fucks aesthetically. You’ve got confidence you didn’t know you could get from a look, and when you check your phone there are still no purchases showing.

You want to dig into this, but at the same time you aren’t going to complain about the fact that you’d even fuck yourself if you could. You didn’t realize when you had found alt women attractive or that it could look this hot on a woman in her mid 30’s, but it really fucking works. You’re rocking this look, and you don’t want to dig deeper. You might find something that would rip away this confidence you’re now enjoying. You feel almost up to talking to one of the women at the office, at least asking her to coffee sometime. You’re in pain, but you set about your work with a newfound happiness. The day is looking up, and you enjoy this sort of field work. Maybe you’ll talk to the lady who specializes in the laser scanner to come out instead of just loaning it to you for the survey.

Time does an unusual thing and flies by for you and you finish up the second corner with ease. You still need the overtime, so you drive back to the office to work on some mapping. On the way, you give serious thought to chatting up the laser scanner lady. You’d have never done this before, but your newfound confidence seems to give you the realization that she’s actually pretty cute herself. The pink, purple, and blue striped flag tattoo she has isn’t something you recognize as anything other than likely pride related, but maybe she’ll be open to talking to you at least. A friendly chat with a coworker would be a start to a social life, and you could use anything after your ex destroyed your life.

You arrive back to the office before closing time, locking the van behind yourself and heading in. You even greeted the public receptionist, an unusual move for you. Usually you simply nodded at the receptionist, and none of the front desk staff knew your name even. Your badge scanned at the door behind them and that was all that mattered for their work. The person at the desk today is surprised by your greeting, offering up only a ‘hello’ in response. It’ll take them time to get used to you and your new look. Not to mention your new confidence.

You head downstairs to the office space of the scanner woman. You wish you could remember her name now that you have cause to talk to her. She doesn’t really mind that you have to ask. She’s leaning across the desk, resting her head on her hand. Your new confidence is intriguing, and you’re evidently looking as hot to others as you think you are. You’re on for coffee this upcoming weekend as a chance to get to know each other better. Friendship is more than you ever expected to find at work. You’re pleased enough to miss the obvious hungry look on her face, even as she offers to help you perform the scans.

You’re foolish enough to miss the obvious flirtation, even though it was what you’d been hoping for as a reaction. Small steps, but you’re getting social connections now and have coffee to look forward to. You help her carry the cases out to your van and she hops in the passenger seat. You’d think it was already a date with how the both of you talk about random topics, the songs on the radio, your favorite spots in the city. She doesn’t really mind that you’re not great at conversation yet due to the lack of things you do. She reassures you that we all start somewhere, and exploring things we like lets us find interesting things. She really just wants to talk to you, and your confidence doesn’t help your blindness. You’re used to men and the way they approached you, and in a way you’re sickened that you ever allowed that to happen.

Just talking with her on the short drive over helped it click in your mind how great other women were. Perhaps your newfound confidence and style gave you the push to learn about yourself and them. You help her set up her equipment, then she helps you in turn on your next corner. Her scan will take a few hours and doesn’t care about light levels, so she hangs out by you while you do your measurements. The towers interest her, and you find yourself willing to talk about them while you measure. It’s easier than you expected to talk and work. You’d always thought other people were distracting, but maybe it was you who failed to allow them in. These were an intriguing focal point in this section of the city once, along with a decaying musical sculpture in a nearby park. The promises the future held, a city in the shape of humanity. The devastation is all the more sad for the lost potential.

You share a food bar as her scan finishes up, your measurements completed. You pass the block back and forth, each in turn complaining about the food options around. You’re not the only one struggling with what’s available, you find out. You thought you were missing something, given you remember recognizable food from your marriage. She clues you in as to why, having found a paystub from a coworker. You’re making maybe a third of what the men in the department make for the same experience level. You’re not really supposed to know or share this, as you lack union protections under the city contract. Discussing wage and benefits is right out for you. Still, her breaking of the rules lets you see why life is so hard for you. You both, you correct yourself.

It’s nice knowing you’re not alone in your struggles, even if they are as minor as food. At least you both get to eat consistently, which was a lot more than many got to say. There’s comfort in the shared struggle you never expected to find, and a hunger in her eyes you noticed this time. Your new confidence helps as you set down the unfinished bar. It might be selfish, but you see her look and you see her lips and you take her mouth. Desire doesn’t make up for lack of skill, but you lean into her as you kiss. She’s not bothered by your lack of skill, turning to straddle you and pushing you back to the ground. You both roll together, entwined in each other's arms as you make out. She takes the lead, biting your lip and complimenting your piercings. Both are hot, and you’re realizing now that you’re really fucking turned on. Being wet is a new sensation for you, passion and desire unfamiliar. You’d thought you'd desired your ex, but maybe it was only what he represented. Maybe you desired him because that was all that you knew.

There’s nobody to see you both as things get heavier. You slid your hand down her pants first, but you were fumbling trying to touch her. She’s not caring, unbuttoning and unzipping as she sits up on you. She pulls up your shirt and pops the front clasp of your bra. You're embarrassed as your tits spill out, and you really do not recall the piercings being there before. She’s transfixed by the stainless bars adorning you, quite surprised by your seemingly hidden side. She didn’t need to know you had no idea about them either as she starts to tease your nipples. Pleasure rocks your body as she rubs them, and you manage to slip a finger between her lips as she grinds against your hand.

Genuine desire for you as a person is new as well, and you can feel her eagerness on your fingers. It’s really fucking hot, and you have the sudden desire to see how she tastes on your fingers. She’s breathing hard, forcing herself against your hand. You’re moaning, you realize. Unfamiliar pleasure washes over you as she twists your nipples between her fingertips. You’d swear you blacked out for a moment, but she’s unconcerned. She’s slid down from your hand, tracing her tongue around your piercings. You give in and lick your fingers, and that only seems to fire her up more. She’s got her hand down your pants now, and you can feel every detail as her fingers skillfully tease your lips then clit. She’s tracing around you, and you’re panting from your desire for her to put a couple fingers in already.

She’s well aware, keeping you on edge. You’re so eager and hungry for her, why not? You don’t even realize you’re desperately grinding against her hand. She’s teasing, slipping her fingers flat between your lips. You’re hungry enough that it doesn’t matter, feeling her spreading you is enough.

Sensation overwhelms you again and you realize that was an orgasm. She felt it and took her hand out of your pants. She licks the finger that had obviously spread you, making full sure you can see her do so. She’s leaning down to you, letting you taste yourself off her hand as well. It’s completely foreign to you, but you enjoyed actually getting to taste the result of desire, not just a dribble of cum that you got nothing out of.

You both don’t bother to cover yourselves back up, instead lying on the broken asphalt. The bliss of the moment remains as she cuddles up to you. She’s intrigued by you, someone so inexperienced yet eager. You talk about your pasts, she tells you about caring for her elderly parents and you tell her of your ex and the divorce. She’s sympathetic, understanding how that could shake someone on top of a sex life that was never fulfilling. Hearing that from someone else is reassuring, and you regret being so withdrawn from colleagues before.

You wake up the next morning on the ground, both still cradling each other. It’s a peaceful moment, and you wish this could last forever. She slowly wakes up, kissing you softly on the lips and pulling your shirt back down. You hadn’t even noticed, and reached under to hook your bra back together. She’s buttoning her pants back up, and you remember the last night. Work flies by as you get the final corner of the first tower and she starts her internal scans. Conversation flows between you two with ease, and the day speeds past. It’s evening before you realize, and you both take a rest to grab a food bar each.

You offer to drive her to her place, and she accepts. You’ll lug the gear up to yours for safekeeping, and you’ll see her tomorrow for that coffee. She’s excited by the prospect and your forwardness, and you pack up the gear together and take her home. She gives you a quick kiss before heading inside, an old five over two apartment building in the historic district. The shops below are all already closed for the night, but you didn’t realize this was there. The preserved historic center was never really your area to go.

Getting the gear up the paternoster is an event in and of itself, and you’re forced to make multiple trips. The scanner is the worst, and you’re pretty sure that actually damaged the lift. Fuck them, there’s no cameras. Maybe that’ll get shit fixed around this dump. Your cat is happy to see you, and you give in and pet it right away. You’re happy to be home, even if your own bed is a threadbare couch. You close the door and pile the gear boxes against it to brace things. Did you get paranoid recently, you wonder.

You rest better than you have in months, looking forward to the date. You’re up early, and you touch up the makeup that you realized you both were wearing and had. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder. You’re early for the coffee date, a special small shop she knew of that has subsidized prices for women. You won’t go hungrier than usual for this treat, and you want to believe you owe her for finding out about this.

She’s perfectly on time, and sits down with you. They seem to recognize her, bringing out a couple small cups and sugar packets. She clarifies she ordered on the way so it would be ready and waiting for you. It’s bica, she clarifies as you stare at the cup. Nothing is helped by that, and she tells you to add the sugar packet and stir. Foam breaks as the spoon swirls the liquid, and you taste real coffee for the first time in your life. Strong, but smooth. A bitter edge that the sugar dulls to a pleasant level.

You talk over the coffee, savoring the small drink for an easy hour. She’s not in a very accepting house and is reliant on a possible inheritance as an only child. She’s only really able to do a friends with benefits type situation, but you were looking for something more long-term. Still, you agreed, and she’s aware it will likely change in the future. She’s amused, never having suspected you to be the type to effectively join into a poly relationship. You’d never expected it to even be a thing, either.

You split after the coffee, a pleasant end to the date. She’s going back home, and you are going to start on some overtime work.

***

Normally, taking the layout of a building is easy. You’re measuring an old office park today, crumbling remnants of a half-dozen businesses that once were almost relevant. Shared parking and some greenspaces did nothing to save the employees when the last depression hit. You explore for a little first, picking your way over the broken glass of the entryway doors to check out the inside. It was once a nice office space by the looks of it, and you follow the signs to the first business.

Some sort of software company, by the looks of it. Rows of shared desks with monitor arms bolted in place, cables dangling and dust built up. Power still flickered, a couple hanging lights in the broken drop ceiling attempting to light every few seconds. You wonder what they had worked on here, and leave for the next location.

A fairly large shared gym and communal bathrooms for all the companies. Even a kitchen space. Not exactly interesting since they were not really hiring anymore. Any food that had been left behind had rotted into dirt over the years. You left for the next area.

The next door is stubbornly stuck, and you throw yourself against it. You are going to need access to survey, so you may as well check it over now. Rotting wood gives way easily, and the thrown lock clatters to the ground. This was closed intentionally, you realize. Hopefully there is nothing dangerous in here. The room is bare, a few mouldering boxes stacked up. The only thing of note is a darkened stairwell heading down into the mechanical area, or so you presume. You hear metallic scraping and footsteps or so you think, and you decide to investigate.

The rumor of a college couple who vanished here last winter comes to mind. Some business major boy and some tranny, you think they said, that he had brought with him. Nothing was ever found of either of them, so it just became another rumor. There’s always something horrible happening somewhere. One time they found a case of body parts and the rumors never left that it was a serial killer. Even the reality that it was a case that fell from an overturned medical waste truck did nothing to prevent it from morphing into two cut up bodies in a suitcase.

You get to the bottom of the stairs to find a mechanical room, as expected. Power is still on down here, and there is evidence of someone using this space. There’s a workbench that’s been partially brushed clean of dust, but nothing on it. Your observations are cut short as you’re grabbed from behind. You feel yourself being wrapped up and thrown to the ground. There’s some sort of machine binding your body, and you feel hands grabbing and pinning your arms spread out to the ground. You scream in pain as teeth sink into your neck. Blood runs from the wounds, but the grip relaxes on you. You shake free and run for the stairs, each step getting harder and harder.

You collapse, your body beginning to cease to move. You land facing up, unable to look away from the monstrous woman slithering towards you. There’s no better way to describe the way someone moves with such an inhuman body, even if there is an elegance to it. You feel your head being cradled in the lap of another person, holding your view fixed on the naga. She spits to the side and pulls a red-capped vial off a draw up needle behind her jawbone. Paralytic synthetic venom, you realize.

She’s got a tablet and a cable, and you realize where your interface must have come from. The chilling “Will this time fix her, mistress?” from behind you only confirms that. The follow up “Can you just keep her?” does nothing but ignite unbridled fear in you. You would scream if you could, even if nobody would hear. She connects the tablet to your interface port and sets to work. She’s moving quickly, tweaking something in your mind. You slowly feel motion returning as she finishes the last few keystrokes and disconnects you.

The naga slithers away before you can run free, and the one holding your head has also run off. You return to the van to call it a day after that encounter. You can’t exactly quit, as much as you want to. As you’re climbing into the folding berth you realize that the whole thing was actually kind of hot. Now that the fear had subsided, you realize not just how wet you were, but how close you had come to getting off from being grabbed. Fuck. What was wrong with you, you wondered. The worries about what was broken inside your head did nothing to stop your hand from exploring yourself.

You’d never masturbated before, having never realized there could be pleasure in it. You explored yourself, getting to know your body inside and out. Even checking out your own nipples just felt good, something that had been missing from your life. Practice makes perfect and you get plenty of practice that night as you find what you like. Fantasies race through your mind as you explore options and possibilities.

***

You wake up to your coffee date knocking on the van. It’s not like you to oversleep, but you did today. She has some more scans to work on, and you decide to avoid the building today and help her. Memories of the last night haunt you, as hot as they were. It’s multiple small scans today with handheld lasers and photogrammetric gear. Scan inside of each capsule so it can be recreated, and you both talk about various office gossip you had not been clued in on. It distracts you from yesterday and the work, letting the day pass with ease.

***

You both share a food bar again after work, continuing your conversation. You try to tell her about your experience yesterday, but you can’t form the words in a way that sounds sane even to you. Pain pricks your neck, and you see the dart in hers before the world fades. Apparently that woman wasn’t done with you just yet.

***

You come to tied up to a chair. You see the scanner woman kneeling before the monster lady, visible cuts on her head stapled back together. Her chin rests on the hand held out, and she’s looking up at the monster in complete reverence. She brought a gift, as she gestures over at you. You should be scared, but you’re not. You’re not gagged, but the interface cable is annoying as it hangs in your face. You may not yet love the monster, but she gave you the confidence to state you and your cat will be joining to serve her.

You have the confidence to know it’s not just women you want, but that woman in particular.