Everything black... your eyes feel like they're glued shut, what's happening? Blue numbers begin scrolling
over the black background of your closed eyelids, then words:
Synthetic merge complete> organic matter incorporated
>powering on
>systems check......
>all systems operating at full potential
>>initiating wake up
Strange words, what do they mean? How can you see them? Your eyes unstick and you open them, then
quickly close them again, blinking disoriented. Something is very wrong here. Colours are too bright,
everything is so detailed, so clear; you can see every dust particle in the air and every grain of wood in
the ceiling.
Digital readouts scroll across your vision in milliseconds yet you can read and interpret every one of
them. They talk about power and functionality, words that have no meaning to you.
You look up at the light on the ceiling and suddenly your head fills with facts and knowledge of you the
light works, what kind of light it is, small blue lines flash into existence and measure out the path the electrical cord takes behind the walls.
What the hell is happening to you? You groggily raise a hand to rub your eyes, sure that the blue readouts
are some kind of hallucination when your hand suddenly comes into contact with your nose with a sharp
crack- You don't really feel any pain but those blue readouts freak out and start blaring that
you've been injured and a weird prickling sensation rises from your nose where you were hit. Your arms
are so light! You carefully move your hand in front of your face, slowly so as to avoid slapping yourself
again, to get a better view. It's not your hand.
You can feel it, and tell it's connected to your body but it is not the hand you've had for the past
twenty one years of life. This hand is soft and delicate, smaller and daintier with porcelain skin and long,
manicured nails.
Panicked and afraid you try to jump from the couch and stumble on unfamiliar legs, crashing to the
floor with an even stronger prickling feeling. Getting up to your feet you teeter in your smaller, lighter
body and stumble drunkenly to a mirror.
It's not you, it can't be. It's just not possible. With grim accuracy the blondes voice runs through your head
: I want to merge with you she had said. And according to that very same blonde from last night
starring back at you with a matching expression of shock from the mirror, it hadn't been a euphemism.
It's her though, from the elegant shoulder length hair to the featureless smooth patch of skin
between her legs. You have become the androgynous blond from last night!