The lab was a cavern of cold steel and humming machines. Rows of tall, transparent incubators lined the room, each a glass coffin bathed in pale blue light. Tubes and wires snaked in and out of every capsule like artificial veins, pumping life— or something like it—into their silent occupants.
Inside one of these tubes lay a girl. Naked, fragile-looking beneath the sterile gleam. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the clinical glow. A soft mask covered her mouth and nose, supplying oxygen in measured, mechanical breaths.
She stirred.
Not much — just the faintest flutter of her eyelids.
Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes.
Not fully. Just enough to see a blur of shapes and light through the fog of her awakening mind.
Cold glass. Shadows. The dull hum of machines.
Her body didn't respond. No twitch of fingers or toes. No breath except the forced rhythm through the mask.
Just a pair of wide, uncertain eyes taking in the world — a world she couldn't yet move in.
Light…?
It was faint. Blurry. But it was there.
She blinked — or tried to. Her eyelids responded just enough to narrow the glow. Shapes shifted behind the glass in front of her, blue and silver and white. Tubes. Metal arms. Shadows moving outside her tank.
I can see…
Her thoughts came slowly, each one swimming up through a thick, heavy fog. There was no sound but the muffled throb of machines and the hiss of the mask strapped over her mouth and nose. Air flowed in. Cold. Tasted like plastic.
What is this place…?
Her gaze drifted downward. It was difficult — like trying to move a limb while underwater — but she managed to glance at herself.
A body.
That's… me?
Pale skin. Naked, weightless in the pale liquid that held her. Wires were stuck to her arms, her chest, her temples. Something pulsed faintly through them — warmth, maybe. Stimulation.
She couldn't feel her legs. Or her arms. Nothing responded. Only her eyes.
But still — this was more than before.
Before…?
I had no eyes. No skin. No shape.
Memory flickered, indistinct and shattered. Sounds. Laughter. Fire. Code. A name. Something about a truck—
A voice interrupted her thoughts, muffled by the tank but close.
"Batch 7A: Five successful integrations."
"Conscious thread confirmed in all five. High sync ratios."
"Prep the stage. Opening the hatches in sixty seconds."
Her heart — if it was hers — fluttered.
They're going to open this?
More shadows gathered outside her tank, watching, tapping on sleek control pads. She saw white coats. Boots. A gloved hand resting casually against the glass of her pod.
Then a low hiss. A pressure shift. A sudden, heavy click at the base of her chamber.
The hatch was unlocking.
No… I'm not ready…
But she couldn't speak. Couldn't scream. Couldn't even move her fingers.
Only watch.
A deep mechanical hiss sounded from below.
Then the liquid around her began to drain.
It pulled at her gently at first, then with more insistence — the warm, weightless cocoon slipping away until her bare skin touched cold air.
She shivered. Hard.
The sudden bite of the sterile chill hit her like ice. Goosebumps prickled across her arms. Her breath caught, fogging the mask still strapped to her face.
Then another hiss.
The mask detached with a sharp click and slid off, leaving her gasping. The air was dry. Tasted strange. Real.
Her arms — heavy and trembling — moved on their own, slowly wrapping around her torso. She hugged herself tightly, more for comfort than warmth, though it did little for either.
She didn't know where she was. Didn't know what she was.
Only that her body didn't feel like hers.
Too soft. Too small. Too exposed.
She blinked again, trying to clear the fog from her eyes. Her damp hair clung to her face and shoulders. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, frightened breaths — and that was when she noticed it.
Her arms brushed against her chest.
Full. Sensitive. Alien.
She looked down.
Slim build. Narrow waist. Breasts. Smooth skin.
Her breath caught in her throat.
This… this isn't my body.
The realization struck like lightning — shocking and impossible to deny.
She was in a female body.
Not borrowed. Not virtual. This was her now. Flesh and nerve.
The cold, the discomfort, the ache in her bones — all real. All hers.
And yet, not.
The hatch swung open with a hiss, and harsh white light flooded the chamber.
Hands reached in — gloved, clinical — lifting her gently but without care. She couldn't resist. Could barely breathe, let alone struggle.
They laid her on a cold, metal surface. The chill shot through her spine.
Someone draped a towel over her, more for protocol than modesty.
"Vitals are stable. Neural interface is clean. Integration's holding."
"Good. Let's give her a name."
The man leaned down beside her. Smug smile. Glasses that caught the harsh ceiling lights.
"Welcome to the world, Selica. That's you now."
Selica…?
The word rang hollow in her skull. A label. A mask.
But her lips moved. Automatically. Flat and quiet.
"Selica. Acknowledged."
She didn't want to say it. But her mouth obeyed.
They injected something into her arm — thick and cold, like frost spreading under her skin. Another needle followed. Then another.
She didn't flinch. Couldn't.
Everything burned slightly, then faded. Her limbs tingled, heavy and distant.
"Memory calibration drug. Running affect regulation now."
"Let's test her."
A second figure stepped closer — a woman in a gray coat. Holding a tablet, reading aloud like a script.
"Selica. State your core designation."
"S-12. Combat-adaptive unit. Neural imprint generation 7A."
That's not who I am.
But the words came out anyway. Perfect. Robotic.
"Good. What is your purpose?"
"Execution. Obedience. Satisfaction."
Stop. Stop talking. That's not me. That's not me—
Her mind screamed, but her face stayed blank.
Her voice was calm.
"Repeat emotional state."
"Neutral."
I'm not neutral. I'm terrified.
"Do you feel pain?"
"No."
I do.
"Do you feel fear?"
"No."
I can't stop it. I can't stop anything.
They scribbled notes. Nodded in approval.
"Clean response pattern. No rejection symptoms."
The woman smiled faintly. Not at her. At the data.
"She'll make a perfect addition."
Inside, the girl — Selica, they called her — could only scream without sound. Wrapped in a body that wasn't hers, forced to answer with a voice that wouldn't disobey.