This choice: Taking her smile as an answer, she gestured for Jakki to follow. • Go Back... Brian Richmond woke to her new life. Her chest threatening her balance, as she felt the rush of her mind returning. Timidly, her hands reached to her chest. Her fingers confirming the reality that she hoped to evaporate at her touch. But she felt their warmth in her hands, their weight at her shoulders. The mirror she was facing showed a startled Asian woman looking back at her from behind those eyes. Her waxy lips now obvious from the pale pink lipstick. Another thing she'd need to adjust to, too...
https://78.media.tumblr.com/5176db518d12...
Her head snapped from side to side, alert (rather belatedly) for an attacker. He barely remembered the shattering sound of the door exploding open. He recalled covering his ears, and once the splinters had flown past a quick glance over to see a woman in black. The rest was a blur, the rise of the gun, the immense barrel pointing right at him. The momentary words he'd offered up embarrassingly vague and forgotten.
He didn't even remember dying. Groaning, he made the last realisations, of being darted rather than killed. Her hand massaging away the foggy memories, shifting to the back of her neck. She found the risen scar from her ID tag.
«Shit.». She cursed. No words came out. She tried again, a growing sense of hatred, and powerlessness in the face of her programming. Thoughts of not being allowed to swear, or being stuck with a lisp, or a girlish bimbo voice made her blood run cold. More important, her mouth run dry.
«Hello, my name is Brian.».
Again silence at her attempt. There was a flare of hope, even in the silence. Brian knew that keeping her name was a slip up. Even with the programming, and this... this body. She could escape...
She tried to test her programming, find it's limits. She closed her eyes, and pictured her body. It was a cold, clinical reaction, as she saw her flaws. She felt no sexual response. She tried with different faces, with different bodies. But each other woman drew out only comparisons, and envy and pride.
To complete it, she imagined a man. Instantly she felt her body respond. A sense of danger, but exciting, thrilling through her blood. She felt intimidated, and hyper-alert. Even as alien as it was, her arousal was impossible to deny or misinterpret.
«Shit... Fuck.... Cunt-faced, piece of jizz-stained wedding dress.» Brian's rant running out of steam, as she couldn't even picture her face. The memory fixated entirely on the gun, and the barrel that pointed at her... him... A sob of frustration, leading to a snorting sniff, as she snuffled.
As Brian cursed out her unknown assailant, her mouth gaped wildly, like a furious gold-fish, her facial contortions more amusing than intimidating. Her body jiggling and dancing in her agitation.
Knowing that her owner was probably watching, she forced herself to calm down. 'Her owner', those words came with a deeper understanding, as she fought back the urge to cry. She refused to show weakness in front of .... of her new owner.
She scrambled for clues. The room looked spartan. No, Japanese. It was simply furnished, the walls made of pine, and to her right a sliding panel door. There was an sense that this was genuine rather than artifice, and as Brian plunged into his memories. The implanted memories flooded her, eager to be assimilated, to displace her original memories.
Gripped by fear at the loss of her identity, Brian looked around, for a pen, for some paper. If he wrote it down before he forgot, then... well.... Well, she wasn't sure, but at least that'd be progress... Right.... Right...?
Brian's fingers trembled as she found a disposable biro. Scraping it back and forth over the cover of the pad, the ink finally started to flow smoothly, a blue line darting back and forth. The dry, deep grooves of the first passes gouged in the cardboard. Turning to an inside page, Brian wrote.
The pen looped and danced over the paper. But with dawning horror, Brian realised she was illiterate, her pen strokes no more significant than a child's drawing. Clenching the pen in her tiny fist, she summoned her nerve and wrote more slowly. It was the same meaningless scrawl.
She tried to picture the letters of the alphabet, but nothing came to mind. She recited the alphabet inside her head, but nothing came beyond their sounds. A whimper slipped out, as her knowledge was locked behind an impenetrable wall. Throwing the pen across the room in frustration. She sank back to her knees.
「泣かないで」
The words made her jump. Turning around, she saw a man standing behind her in soft slippers. His silent approach explained. Leaping to her feet, Brian, still found he towered over her. She tried again.
«Please».
The simplest plea, she could manage, and one no programming would block. However, only silence. She lowered her head defeated, apparently her master wanted her mute. And this man was probably her owner.
「涙が醜いです。」
Again that same barking tone. She suspected it was as Japanese as the room. But despite her appearance, she was immune to understanding. She couldn't express her frustration.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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