“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Once we go past this point, there’s no going back. Everything up to this point could be simplified or even removed if you wanted. This next part will make it all irreversible.”
When I first scheduled this I knew all of the decisions and outcomes that would be waiting for me along the way. When I undressed and positioned myself on top of that cold steel slab of a table I was aware of what I was doing. When I felt that sizzling injection of the knockout drug coursing through my bloodstream that was the point of no return for me.
I want this. And I’m determined to follow through until the end.
I take a few moments to look around the room, although my vision is still trying to come back from the lack of light while I went under. The single, high-hanging light was powerful enough to light the entire room. The white walls around me perfectly blend together, making it seem like a person would walk forever in any direction. The only thing that broke that immersion was the large metal closet a few feet away behind the surgeon.
Gathering a bit of my returning strength in my arms I prop myself up and go into a stretch, my arms high above my head. “How long was I out for, Doc?” I ask with a yawn.
“No more than three hours,” he answers. “The first part took only an hour and a half. You were still asleep for the rest of the time. It was actually a good thing you were. I was able to monitor your vital signs from your new implants.”
“And how did that go?”
The surgeon extends his arm and points to one of the walls, “Why don’t you test it out for yourself? Try taking a few steps and touch the wall.”
What’s with such a simple request? Does he think my body won’t be able to handle something more complex? Those kind of things are something somebody would do for leg rehabilitation exercises.
I look at the surgeon for a moment, my face scrunched up a bit from the confusion of such simple tasks, but I eventually give up with a shrug. One leg at a time I manage to turn myself and let my legs hang off of the side of the operating table. Although they still have the slender and smooth look like before they have a newfound weight to them, almost like somebody tied a small cube of lightweight metal around my ankles. When I push off the weight drags me down without effort, my feet creating small craters in the marble flooring.
All I can do is stare at my sunken feet. It takes a moment for me to realize that I didn’t even feel any pain when they broke through, “So, uh… My legs. They’re, they’re pretty damn heavy. I can barely take a step without having to put my all into it.”
“As expected. Your body is still adjusting and adapting to the new enhancements. The neural connection between your brain and the implants aren’t fully fine tuned, so you can’t help it if you sink like a rock. That’s where the last procedure comes into play. Hop back onto the table and we’ll finish up.”
How does he expect me to get back on top of the table? I could barely lift my leg to even take a step.
Regardless of how stupid I may be looking I manage to turn my torso around and grab onto the table, pushing myself up like I’m trying to climb over a ledge. I can barely lift my legs up, only able to lift them maybe a few inches, six if I had to guess. In the middle of my struggling the surgeon comes from his side of the table and lifts me up with ease, sitting me on the edge. It felt like one of those folktales of a helpless maiden who was saved by a knight in shining armor. In this case, I didn’t care for the knight’s romantic feelings towards me, if he did have any.
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