A dull, tempestuous thudding announced consciousness to Eve’s groggy brain. She held a hand to her head, expecting some form of bruising. Instead, what greeted her was a slight splitting of the synthetic skin on her head, taped together with surgical gauze. She briefly wondered whether she’d have to get it glued together before her fingers perceived an impossibility. Her synthetic flesh, usually repaired with a glue-like resin, was partially healed. Her eyes flew open at this revelation, scrambling to find a reflective surface. It had to be a delusion. Some mistake.

Other sensations intruded on her panic. She felt silky sheets sliding free of the upper portions of her body, attracting her eyes downward. She was in a bed, opulent and built of expertly carved dark wood. The room and sheets shared a deep red, almost maroon hue. The lights were subtle, dulled which Eve was grateful for. She wasn’t sure if she could be concussed but felt it probably helped.

Another, more unsettling discovery awaited her. As she inspected her still bare form from the tank, she noticed a few irregularities. Though she was the athletic, broad-hipped build of her previous self she sported a new addition. Twisting the sheets with agitation, whipping back and forth, was a tail attached to the base of her spine. It lacked any synthetic skin, which Eve was surreally thankful for as she noticed it curl and flex. Instead, it bore a sleek black segmented design that terminated in a flat, almost spade-like protrusion. How her father would have loved that little detail. The absurdity of it almost sent her into peals of hysterical laughter.

Seeking a way to distract herself, she looked to her legs. She was certainly distracted as she beheld her thighs. Enshrouded in thick, armoured steel and composite, her legs diverted from the usual human. Her legs were digitigrade, terminating in four-clawed feet. Craning herself over to look at the soles, she noticed a peculiar substance ingrained into the more prominent areas. Running a finger over them, she deduced it to be some form of traction padding. Most likely for the shortcomings of her new limbs. Along the four muscles of her thigh, a clear display held the same glowing blue substance she’d seen Victoria loading into the tank. Perhaps it was her blood? Her batteries? Both?

“Goodness. They’ve made me a furry,” Eve noted as she rolled her new legs over to the floor. Though as her padded, clawed feet splayed their toes and took her weight an entirely new opinion formed. She felt light, agile. She curled her legs as if preparing to jump, feeling the power building in her thighs. Her tail, so maligned moments ago, counteracted her stance and gave her an almost inhuman balance. “Alright then. Not so strange,” the reluctant furry mumbled to herself as she straightened up, holding her hands up to check for claws. If such implements existed, they were well hidden. Eve was thankful that she wouldn’t have to find an angle grinder for two of her fingers.

Her experiments were interrupted by the opening of the bedroom door. Quickly, for modesty and chill alike, Eve’s hands dragged the sheets over her body. She wrapped them tightly, tying two strands together in an impromptu toga-like garment. Her fingers ran over the exposed articulation of her spinal column. She couldn’t fathom why such a thing was necessary until she remembered the armouring her body must surely have if intended for combat.

Isabelle swept into the room as a red gale, waving an errant hand as she went. The modifications in her arm brought the lights up from their usual twilight, causing Eve to wince at the sudden brightness. Once her eyes had adjusted, she looked over the immaculately dressed magnate with a hint of reluctant approval. She’d garbed herself in a flagrant crimson cocktail dress, risqué and imposing. She’d forsaken the sensible shoes to instead wear elaborately laced heels styled after Roman legionaries. There was also an Eastern-inspired style to her hair, drawing perhaps from her ancestry.

“Good you’re awake!” she exclaimed before moving over to look her newest employee over, clucking her tongue. “A shame about the feet. I’ve always found every outfit can be improved by a pair of ball-crushers,” she observed before making her way to the door once more and beckoning one of her assistants over. The haggard-looking twenty-something wore a sensible business suit with somewhat frayed hems, her valiant attempt at taming her curls popping with strays and cowlicks. Never had Eve empathised with a woman so thoroughly, even before noting six bags on each arm which she gratefully deposited next to her employer’s feet.

“Yeah well, have fun playing dress-up. I’m going to find Victoria,” Eve asserted as she attempted to push past Isabelle, who held up an authoritative hand. It soon pressed against her chest, driving her toward the bed.

“Leaving aside you’re trying to leave in my bedsheets,” Isabelle smirked, motioning over her shoulder for the assistant to remove some items from the bags. “I will not have my bodyguard swanning about in the buff. At least not in public.” She motioned to her latest purchases which seemed to be a range of clothes that ran the gamut from the exceptionally feminine to the calibre of suit that would threaten most financiers’ self-esteem. All were laid out on the bare bed in immaculate condition by the faithful personal porter who adjusted her glasses in shock as she saw some of the price tags. “Please inform Anthony he’ll be needed. And none of the show pieces.” Isabella instructed her assistant while running her fingers over the clothes with an expert eye, selecting several before closing the bedroom door. She then held a pricey looking long dress up to match silhouette with its intended occupant.

“Looks a little light on body armour for a bodyguard,” Eve commented dryly as she picked up a sports bra with scepticism. Deciding it would be better than nothing, she pulled it over her head before sliding its matching underwear gingerly over her claws. Quite why those were necessary in an age of firearms was another question.

“Victoria assured me that while your skin comes off rather easily, the armour beneath does not,” the business magnate countered, placing the dress down as she saw the more pragmatic underwear being selected. “In fact, you can take small arms fire like I would take a mosquito bite. It hurts and makes you angrier.” Isabelle seemed almost wistful as she thought on such a prospect, folding a shirt over her arm along with trousers.

As she assisted the somewhat wobbly Eve in dressing herself, deftly avoiding the tail as it swung about the place, a thought occurred. Tired of avoiding the whipping blade, Isabelle caught the limb and began to wind it about Eve’s leg with firm hands. The stranger in her own body allowed it, finding it to be the most practical solution. She did wonder how Isabelle knew her sizes so well but assumed that the pair had collectively planned for such things. And six hours for a single shopping trip was hardly excessive. Well, not for the lower classes. Isabelle struck Eve as the type of woman who would make a weekend of it.

Eventually, the pair settled on a button-up shirt and jacket with a plunging neckline. Eve marvelled at the figure she cut in it, pleased with how intimidating she seemed with her clawed feet emerging from pressed black trousers. While it certainly wasn’t something she’d choose for herself, it was serviceable. More than serviceable if the hungry look in Isabelle’s eyes was any indication. Eve made a noise of dissatisfaction, removing the tie that Isabelle had given her and unbuttoning the top three buttons. When given a questioning look, the former vat occupant explained that she simply didn’t like things touching her throat. The flirty retort was predictable, irking Eve enough to comment.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she hedged, watching a dangerous look entering her patron’s eyes, “but why so flirty? And generous. I didn’t peg you as the type” Eve asked with a gentle voice, pleased the robotic modulation of her previous self no longer held sway.

“The generosity is pragmatic. Until my contacts can get you one, you have no bank account. No salary or social insurance. And I do so enjoy playing dress up,” Isabelle purred, running her fingers over the now-concealed armoured spine her charge sported. “As to why I’m flirting, I’d have thought that obvious. I enjoyed your attitude at first. Then I looked your profile over. You’re not the only one with a type,” she continued in a somewhat husky voice, removing herself from Eve’s side to begin removing accessories from the bags, weighing a gold bracelet in her hand. She sighed, tossing a pair of sunglasses over. Eve looked toward the mirror that sat in the corner, pressing her fingers to her cheek. The eyes were unnerving, even to their owner. She could only imagine what the average person would feel.

“You seem the type to get bored of her toys quickly,” Eve commented as she put the sunglasses on. At least she looked the part of disgruntled bodyguard.

“Maybe I am,” Isabelle conceded after a few moments of consideration, sliding a bracelet over her employee’s hand. She grunted with approval before continuing, “would it be so bad to enjoy a little play, rather than deny ourselves otherwise?”

Eve considered her words while looking in the mirror, shifting herself to take in every angle. She was unsure how long she’d been gone but it mattered little if she’d truly been declared dead. Perhaps they’d robbed a grave or hospital morgue. It didn’t matter in the end. The blonde woman with the scar was likely remarried, happy even. What right did she have to tear that down? Tear down the very notions of normalcy? At least with Isabelle and her temptations, there were actual delights to be had. The other path offered only disappointment or worse. Revilement.

“Tempting offer but I’ve been in your dungeon long enough,” Eve sighed, shifting her stance toward the door while Isabelle smirked at the implication. “I just want a place I can process. A place where there’s sunlight. And air,” she added as she considered how uniquely stifling this place had been. The thought of the tanks below her feet tightened her throat. Why even allow her to feel fear, anxiety? Perhaps Victoria simply didn’t understand how she worked well enough to start editing out personality traits.

Isabelle took her by the hand, sliding a phone into her pocket as she went. There were implants for communication, of course. But very few ever took to them. It was always easier to just pretend the phone had been misplaced or lost than to admit the simple truth. That she wanted to be left alone. She allowed herself to be guided, thinking better of denying the cluster of curls before her whatever her pleasure was.

The two of them moved from the bedroom to the same apartment they’d first met in, Isabelle’s determined stride opening a door. Behind it lay another lift similar to the one that brought people up from the bunker. As they stood beside each other, Eve wondered whether she’d simply been blessed rather than become an unwilling experiment. Any other in her situation, had they chosen it, would at this moment be revelling in their power. They would bound across the furniture and walls, lift great weights to test the limits of their strength. Yet here she was, plucked at random from her end to exist outside the limitations of flesh and blood. A thousand missing sensations niggling at her thoughts. Yes, she would have enjoyed it had she chosen it. But not even the base instinct of hunger nagged her, eight hours onwards from her awakening.

The lift’s chime interrupted her thoughts as they entered, confusingly, a complete duplicate of the reception area below their feet. With perhaps one explicit difference- the walls weren’t displays. All about her, brought into greater relief as Isabelle waved a hand to illuminate them, were windowed walls. Beyond, a beautiful forest of spruce and yew and other evergreen trees sat in the blue predawn light. Stars, not content to end their tenure, still speckled the green and blue sheets of light of Greenland’s skies.

Without waiting, Eve trotted toward the door. The Bauhaus-inspired nightmare she’d been living gave way to an immaculately tended ‘wild’ garden. But even that was not good enough as she raced toward the sound of rushing water.

Behind the house, rising above them was a jagged cliff face. From its towering edifice Eve beheld the tumbling turbulent waterfall that had carved an alcove into which it pooled. Happily, or perhaps intentionally, a chain of steppingstones had been placed to an island of exposed rock soaked through with water. The freshly awakened woman hopped from stone to stone with a skittering of claws as they gained traction from stone to stone.

Eve stood before the rushing, roaring water and felt dread come over her. An entanglement of nerves, so long held, began to unravel as she sat herself on a relatively dry stone. It wouldn’t do to get her new clothes wet within an hour of receiving them.

The events of the day began to seep from the hardened ball of anxiety they had been welded into. They first reminded her of the existential dread that now dogged her every step. That she was the first of her kind, a candle to be snuffed out at any moment. A mere technical glitch or whim from someone with a button was all that stood between her and the dark waters. They surrounded everyone, she reminded herself. But very few had ever come so close to drowning in them and returned. It served as a metronome, marking every heartbeat with inevitability. She would not perish from disease, yet it was there, regardless. A raven, cawing indignantly at her escape. Somewhere out there, some time.

Almost unbidden, her thoughts turned to Victoria and Isabelle. A technology company and its mad scientist. She’d trusted them, she had to. But her escape lay just ahead. They’d probably put a tracker on her or electrified fences before her. Perhaps they’d given her a limited power supply, forcing her to plod back to them. Chains didn’t always have to be clamped around her wrists. What was it all for, regardless? A bodyguard cost less than the absurd amount this escapade would have. The silent and the stolen, experimented upon and for what? An entertaining new security measure?

Her frantic thoughts moved rapidly to the implications of what she now was. She would never have a normal life. If she chose to spurn them, to run away and hide she would spend her existence evading their clutches. But to submit to them would make her no better than her old self. The self she’d sworn to leave behind. The self her father had ranted and raved against before his vitriol had fallen silent. Silenced the second he’d heard of her first girlfriend. Why couldn’t she remember their names? Their faces? Had they simply been a legend for a sleeper agent or synthetic creature?

The rock beneath her feet cracked. Looking down, Eve saw her claws shearing furrows into the stone as her thoughts raced. Her eyes, comfortably human in quality before, now perceived the pores and grain of the rock below her. Looking about she saw the drops of water flying free as they thundered into the caldera or turbulent waters. Training her eyes on the trees around her, every needle presented itself as a filament of green against the brown bark and blue sky.

She laughed bitterly, curling her arms about her knees. They’d taken even normal eyesight from her. Now she’d see the carnage in even more detail. She felt like she should be tearful, filled with inconsolable sobbing. Yet they didn’t come, taunting her with the incomplete nature of her body.

Eve sat in that position, thoughts growing increasingly dark. They began to circle fatalistically around a single notion. She was designed to kill. To maim and protect a woman she didn’t even particularly like. Her temptations were many and varied but they were false, Eve reminded herself. Anyone with sufficient funds could look like her, speak like her with a little tutelage. But a part of her rebelled, arguing that such malignant confidence was rare. It came from a predatory mindset, she reasoned. Isabelle was a huntress, stalking something that amused her in that moment. Like a cat playing with a bird. She looked to her feet with a grim smile. Some birds had talons, after all.

She shied away suddenly, hand coming up to block a sudden light. Looking with her face shaded, she saw the first rays of sunlight break over the nearby mountains. A warm, comforting glow that suffused her with sudden optimism. Though she’d taken comfort in the cold, this new sensation presented a pleasant alternative. She lowered her hand, closing her eyes as the warmth filled her.

It had been what she’d hoped to see. A reminder of the real world. The nightmare she’d been chained to melted away. With a deep breath she stood and collected her thoughts, making her way toward the bank and the house beyond. The body was not of her choosing but she yet retained her will. If she was some synthetic creature, they’d made a grave mistake in allowing that to remain. She considered her options before returning to the house or leaving it. As tempting as it was to run toward Nova Roma, wherever it was, she reminded herself that she did not yet exist. That would be the first port of call.

“Eve?” Isabelle’s voice sounded, shattering the tailed woman’s thoughts.

She whirled about, almost falling as her new legs bent in unusual directions. Her talons clamped down on the sodden earth, saving her. The two women stood in confusion. Eve was unsure what to make of the concerned look passing over her patroness’ features. It lasted less than a second but in those moments the vulnerability of Isabelle was laid bare. Whether another manipulation or what lay beneath the façade, the tailed woman pinned that to her backburner.

“I told you I wanted time to process” Eve answered tartly, folding her arms. Once fairly sure her legs wouldn’t betray her again, she stepped toward her employer. “I hope you didn’t start up the drones or something.”

“You probably shouldn’t run off, regardless.” Isabelle demurred with some irritation colouring her voice. “I was going to show you to your new home. Then let Anthony arm you to the teeth” she explained before taking one of Eve’s hands in both of her own in an ingratiating gesture. Her mad doctor’s creation resisted the urge to withdraw her hand. Whatever her intention, there was a moment of tension beneath her skin as the contact asserted itself. “I see it’s been a day for you. I’ll take care of your weapons. Come home and you can have a rest” Isabelle suggested, releasing the hand.

Eve watched as her presumptive employer turned her back, curls bouncing as she hopped over a few tree roots. A pall of suspicion hung over the artificial woman, taking her time to catch up in both thought and physicality. Doubt clawed at the doors of her mind, desperate to anticipate the danger before it struck. Nothing made sense. Nobody was to be trusted. Of that, she was sure. And clung to it.

“Where’s Victoria?” Eve asked as she entered the garden. Isabelle seemed to be taking them away from the minimalist house that sat upon the hill above them. Following her path with her eyes, Eve noticed a car parked near the gates to the garden. A large man, his hair hung in dreadlocks stood with hands gripped before him.

“While the Project Director is very excited to study every inch of you, I told her to get some sleep” Isabelle explained with an exasperated tone. “Always keen to avoid any advice that’s not a direct order, she’s sleeping at her desk as we speak” she added with an amused expression. What she thought was a hidden smile confused Eve all the more. It seemed to her, impossibly, that the doctor’s affections might not be entirely unrequited. Which made Isabelle’s flirtations all the stranger.

While a physically imposing man, the driver greeted them with a friendly smile as he opened the door for the pair. He seemed to think Eve was a date of some kind before he noticed the severe armouring emerging from the hem of her trousers. Whether he approved or not, Isabelle soon introduced him as Francois, a man she would be working with. Even in her overwhelmed state, the new girl didn’t let that slip. She’d been wondering at the wisdom of letting a humanoid super weapon into the city unsupervised. It seemed that this giant of a man, who even now sat himself daintily behind the wheel of the car, was that supervision. Sure enough, Eve’s eyes slid to his hip to see the outline of something that could only generously be called a handgun.

As they drove to the train station in a local village with an incomprehensible name, Francois revealed himself to be a man of strong silence. His facial expression was stoic, his gestures short and meaningful. From a few tattoos he’d deigned to get, Eve deduced that he was former military. It made sense. Few people wanted to hire a soldier when the war was over. Judging by the few clues she’d gained from her phone as she scrolled, the Kurdish War was long over. It gave the robotic woman another pang of existential dread to note how little the world seemed to care for it now. A war her comrades had died in. She didn’t dare ask her towering colleague for his service record, knowing full well that it was a sensitive subject even before five years of legacy.

Pared from the world for that time, Eve briefly imagined what had transpired. A dry list of facts and events some journalist had considered noteworthy could never impart that stolen time. The feeling of being adrift. With a sudden pang of inspiration, she moved to her profiles. If nothing else, she could have seen the kind words her mourners had left behind.

As she began to type in the password, Isabelle’s hand gripped her phone. Looking up, the other woman saw her employer give her a dark look, shaking her head slowly.

“Trust me darling, nothing good that can come from that,” she warned the quizzical Eve, who looked down to her phone as if the magnate was mad. “What do you think your family, your wife are going to do when they see you online?” Isabelle asked pointedly, as if trying to reason with an obstinate donkey.

“I had a wife?” Eve breathed, the revelation hitting her in the chest. Her mother wouldn’t even be that old. She could have them all back.

It seemed Isabelle realised her mistake as she directed her gaze downwards, sighing out a breath before setting her features. Francois, his eyes reflected in the rear view mirror, cleared his throat with surprising volume. The gesture seemed to jolt the resolved of the pair out of whatever she’d been intending to say. She directed an angry stare at him. He endured it with a knowing look toward Eve.

“We’re coming into the village. They’ve prepared your train” Francois informed her in his strong Quebecois accent. As the car slowed to a halt and pulled into the station, Isabelle’s eyes met Eve’s with a warning expression. Still recovering from the revelation, the robotic woman automatically emerged from the car and began to walk towards the platform that held Isabelle’s carriage.

She’d been married, she thought giddily.