Human Metal

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[[Don't move|Don't Move]]. <<set $foot to false>>

The fan <<link "buzzes">><<replace "#buzzes">>The vent <<link "whistles">><<replace "#whistles">>The doctor whistles idly across the room, the sound muffled by his mask.<</replace>><</link>> as the breeze passes through them, filling the room with synthetic air-freshener. Is that lavender?<</replace>><</link>> above you. One, or maybe a couple of the spokes hang loose, hitting off the outer cage with every rotation. <span id="buzzes"></span> <span id="whistles"></span> Don't [[move|Move]].

You start to move your [[arm|Choose Arm]]. The doctor's soft touch firmly presses you back down to the table. The cold of the metal sends chills down to your [[feet|Choose Feet]].

The place where your hand used to be aches. The hologram replacement shudders in and out of focus as you watch. Its eerie blue glow lights up the doctor's human hands as they work. The human fingers grip a metal syringe which grips your skin. The onslaught of metal against your own flesh begins, but the [[drugs]] pumping through your system dull the pain.

The place where your foot used to be aches. The hologram replacement shudders in and out of focus as you watch. Its eerie blue glow lights up the doctor's human hands as they work. The human fingers grip a metal syringe which grips your skin. The onslaught of metal against your own flesh begins, but the [[drugs]] pumping through your system dull the pain. <<set $foot to true>>

Down, down, down. The knife spins, cartwheels. It slows and speeds up. The knife lunges. <<if $foot is true>>Slipping out of reach. The handle almost grazes your fingertips. It dives towards the floor, towards your feet frozen in place. They don't move [[again.|Aftermath]] <<else>>Spurred on by vindictive momentum, far too agile to be entirely inanimate. Your hand reaches out instictively. It doesn't do anything else [[again.|Aftermath]]<</if>>

You awaken with a start. Your eyelids twitch at the sudden flourescent light. The battered walls of the surgery should have been white. Your uniform is stained and no longer yours by right. You can feel the implant inside you, like a needle. [[Move|Move2]].

<<if $foot is true>>Your feet stretch out involuntarily, like a foreign entity. The piece of lifelike metal. It feels less real somehow than the hologram, less true. The mechanical wires pulse silver liquid deep under your human skin like poison. The cold metal of the operating table sends shivers down your body to the knee. Your feet remain unnervingly unresponsive. Unfeeling. <<else>>Your hand moves like it owns itself. The piece of lifelike metal. It feels less real somehow than the hologram, less true. The mechanical wires pulse silver liquid deep under your human skin like poison. Your body shakes. Your hand is unnerringly still. Your hand is unnerringly cold.<</if>> The ceiling fan shakes and buzzes, rattling against the cage.

Your muscles shake, but less and less as the anaesthetic takes hold. The body sings while the spirit weeps for your lost freedom. The last thing you see is the blue holographic glow that seeps through your closed eyes. Seeps into your blood like poison. The world goes [[white]].

The kitchen is white. Spotless. The countertops shine. The cutlery glistens. Your uniform is white. It is the only clean thing in your life. You spent three hours cleaning this morning before your shift. Hands shaking. The mop [[cuts|cuts1]] through the grease of luxury food. Caviar, Olive Oil, Pork fat.

by Izzy JMcA

The restaurant owner [[cuts|cuts2]] your medical access. Hands shaking.

The knife [[cuts|cuts3]] the air.

The medicine. The hand tremors that call out for it and the mind that [[cries]] out for it.

You cry for the last four years of withdrawal. Cry for the sudden relief from the chronic pain even among the searing fresh wounds under the scalpel. Cry for the future of servitude to the prosthetics [[mortgage]] that is about to be sewn into your body.

A chef can't afford this tech. A chef can't afford his own medication. A chef can't work without it. A chef cries into his bloodstained uniform as his [[anaesthetic|headback]] fills him up.