4%

My new lungs burned. My untrained limbs flailed as I tried to scramble to the surface, desperate for a gulp of air. The water was too heavy, too viscous, but urgency propelled me upward. The moment I burst through the surface, I gasped to inhale cold chemical oxygen. I opened my eyes. I swiped my hand across my face to clear away the liquid, feeling my overlong fingernails scratch deep grooves into my cheek. There was nothing to see. Only thick black water, impartial black sky, and nothing else. 

I stared at nothing and allowed my eyes to grow wide, thirsty for input. I was buoyant in the syrupy liquid. My lungs swelled and deflated with the thin air. I stared into blackness and tested my limbs. I flexed my feet and wiggled my fingers. I shifted my jaw side to side, feeling my teeth grinding. I snapped my teeth together and heard the tiny click echo in the darkness.

Without warning, an industrial overhead light burst to life and a heavy mechanical whirring filled my ears. Blinded, I could barely make out the massive forceps reaching down from the sky before it grasped me firmly around the waist. The creaky machine dragged me through the water; my limbs trailed loosely behind me. I felt my legs bump against a semisolid object before I was dragged out and deposited on a sterile steel table at the edge of the pool. I coughed.

"Item KL-81 is complete," said an inflectionless voice.

"Assessing," responded a computer. A large screen displayed two identical faces side by side. The face on the right, differentiated only by several deep scratches on its cheek, blinked. "Intact. Overripened. Facial damage. 96% accuracy."

"Confirmed. Discard Item KL-81 for recycling."

"Family of the decedent has requested replacement of 95% accuracy or higher. Item KL-81 may be repaired and is acceptable for replacement. Please confirm."

The face belonging to the inflectionless voice appeared overheard. The face - broad, scarred, and professional - scrutinized my form. A bright brown eye and milky white eye independently searched me. A silver device whirred softly, echoing in the massive empty room, as it descended over the face, then situated itself over the milky eye with a click. Several tiny lights and lenses pulsed and dilated. A chirruping sound emanated from the device as it processed the input. The brown eye squinted. 

"Please confirm."

I blinked and breathed. 

"Confirmed," agreed the engineer with a hint of reticence in his voice.

The engineer flipped a switch and the table scissored upwards, wheels folding down to meet the floor. He pushed the gurney past the darkened pool and down an industrial hallway lined with rusted steel doors. I watched the ceiling lights pass by at regular intervals. 

The engineer’s hands clanked against the door as he pushed me into a very white room with inexpensive shelving units against the walls. A large steel receptacle waited near the door. There was an overwhelming scent of antiseptic. I wiggled my fingers again.

The computer, displaying a list of corrections, rolled into the room behind the engineer. Putty was applied to the scratches on my face and the engineer, assisted by the computer’s direction, detailed my skin with a fine paint brush. Aided by laser grids, tiny spots and imperfections were painted onto my skin, fine lines carved into my forehead. My hair was trimmed and my nails filed down. A warm pad was applied to my painted face, I felt a sizzling heat, then a cooling mist. My skin felt looser, somehow more aged. 

The engineer carefully inserted wires and tubing into my arms. I felt the blood flowing through my veins pumped out and replaced with icy liquid. The flowing ceased and I felt my heart lurch. I watched interestedly as the engineer’s silver fingertips sharpened into scalpels at the push of a button on his wrist. They incised my skin and, with a firm yank, cracked my ribs. I watched him lift a twitching organ out of my chest cavity and dump it into the receptacle near the door. I breathed evenly and watched the engineer turn away. He hummed to himself and scanned the shelving units. He searched row upon row of boxes, each labeled with a handwritten note. He dragged a shiny forefinger across the shelf, stopping on Long, K. He opened the box and pulled out a mass of wires, chips, and chrome.

The engineer returned to my empty chest and inserted the device. The scanning mechanism returned to its place over his whitened eye with a whirr; its lenses fixed intently upon the wiry device. After several moments of clipping, adjusting, and readjusting, the engineer applied the heated pad to my chest and stepped back. He wiped his metal hands on a filthy towel, sighed with satisfaction, and spoke aloud.

"Module inserted."

The list on the computer screen flashed and disappeared. “Confirmed,” acknowledged the computer.

For the first time, the engineer made eye contact with me. “Welcome, Kim Long.”

I recognized my name with a jolt. Yes, Kim Long. Of course. Why was I sitting here on a metal gurney? The engineer watched my reaction.

“Transplant successful,” the engineer said to the computer.

“Confirmed.”

“What’s going on?” My jaw ached and the words did not sound right. I swung my body over the edge of the table and attempted to stand, but my new legs did not hold me.

“Please rest here until your body has acclimated. Please wait here and remember." Computer in tow, the engineer left the room and closed the door gently behind him.

I was alone.

I stared at the white ceiling, wiggling my fingers. I blinked rapidly. A tear formed in my eye. I did not want to cry. I did not want my daughters, or worse, my fans, to see me so vulnerable. I looked down at my body and discovered that I was completely undressed. Shame burned my cheeks and I threw my hands over myself to cover my nakedness. The room was empty, I knew, but paparazzi can lurk anywhere.

I sat up and looked around. There was very little to see except myself. I inspected my ringless hands resting in my lap. Where were my rings? Where were all of my things? The photographers would have a field day if they saw me like this. I wanted to go home and kiss my daughters. I wanted to sleep in my bed. I wanted to eat.

I inspected my smooth unlined fingertips. 

I looked like myself, I felt like myself, but something, just a tiny fraction, was wrong. Itchy blank spots dotted my memory. I stared at my flawless hands and wiggled my fingers. I didn’t feel my heart beating. 

“Kim Long,” I said. My voice echoed in the sterile chamber.