Romesh stared in mute shock at the grisly scene unfolding in front of him. He couldn’t think clearly—he hadn’t been able to since he’d woken up in this place, days or weeks ago—but he couldn’t just sit on the grass in paralyzed terror. Could he?

The girl fighting with the terrible eyeless hounds was the only proper face he’d seen among the shadowy beings. She was the only person who’d offered help. Now she bled from a jagged tear in her arm, which hung strangely at one side, and from another bite mark on her leg. A dog knocked her savagely down, slamming her head into the ground. Romesh’s stomach reeled with nausea—there was something horribly wrong with the girl’s head, her neck.

Romesh had never witnessed a human neck being broken, unless you counted violent cartoons that he wasn’t supposed to watch. But now the girl’s head lolled to the side, as if her body no longer held it up. A horrible sensation ran up Romesh’s spine as he saw that her eyes had gone blank and still, as if no life remained behind them.

He screamed, the fear and anger of being abandoned in this hellish place shuddering through his nerves, then scooped up a handful of gravel to fling at the dogs. “Get—get away from her!” The stones bounced harmlessly off the creatures’ rough coats.

One hound spun to face Romesh and approached; he screamed again and hurled more stones, but the creature continued to advance, growling and showing its fangs. A mistake, Romesh realized. He should have listened to the girl; he should have run.

Romesh’s eyes widened. Behind the dog, the girl was getting back to her feet, her neck still hanging at an inhuman angle, her left arm dangling uselessly as well. She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand and twisted. With a crunching sound, her arm straightened out again. She flexed her fingers and clenched her fist, then reached up and cradled her head with both hands. The gray eyes in her dangling head still stared blankly out of their sockets into the distance.

The other two dogs still circled the girl—the girl, or whatever she was. Romesh realized she couldn’t possibly be human. The hound facing Romesh looked poised to leap at him. Parts of his skin were moist and beaded with the sweat of terror, while other parts burned with a strange, itching sensation. Some part of his mind seemed utterly detached, observing this entire scene from a remove.

More hideous popping, squelching noises reached his ears as the girl twisted her head back into place and moved her arms, as if checking to make sure they worked. The dogs had torn her dress to tatters in many places. She reached into the ragged apron at her waist and pulled out a paring knife; without hesitation, she plunged it into the back of the hound facing Romesh, screaming in fury as she did.

Romesh flinched back, trying to escape the sight of the gruesome scene. The girl whirled to face the remaining hounds and advanced, lashing out with her right foot to kick the first one in the flank. The blow knocked it back mere inches, but it yelped in pain and surprise, and the girl sprang forward to take another swing with her knife. This time, the blade lodged in the creature’s shoulder. Behind her, the first hound she’d stabbed rose again, though unsteadily.

A flash of pain and light in Romesh’s skull made him wince and blink. The whole right side of his head was ringing. What was going on? He looked around for anything else that might help—a large stick, a rock.

Two of the hounds attacked the girl from her left and right side; snapping their jaws wildly, they each caught one of her slender arms. Joey braced against them and successfully pulled her left arm free, but then another hound crashed into her from behind and knocked her to the ground; its weight forced her to one side so that she couldn’t easily raise herself up again.

One dog seized her right arm by the wrist and clenched it in its jaws, shaking it and rending her flesh; the other scrabbled at her back, trying to reach her neck to rip it out. She tried to fight against them, but between her injuries and the hound’s weight pressing down on her, she had no leverage. All she could do was struggle weakly, doing her best to protect the soft front of her neck and body.

The girl’s breath came out in a ragged cry. “Romesh... run!” she growled hoarsely. “Get out of here.”

Romesh shook his head slowly, unable to tear his gaze from the horrible scene unfolding in front of him. He ran forward and did the only thing he could think of: he tried to topple the stone sundial in the center of the courtyard into the snarling pack.

The slab of granite was strangely light. After only a little shifting, it flipped over onto one creature with a crash. The dog howled in pain; another ran to its aid, only to be kicked in the head by Joey as she took advantage of the opening. “Leave, Romesh! Your mother and father... they’re still looking for you! Run away while you can!”

“That’s not possible,” he said. “Nobody’s looking for me here.” He knew it was a ridiculous thing to say, but something about the girl’s words made him angry: the very thought that she’d dissuade him from helping her. But what else could he do?

Romesh slowly backed away. Even if he wanted to help the inhuman girl who bled milky fluid, he was terrified of her fate... a fate that might become his. He felt a tug at his ankle. There was a small doll next to his foot. “C’mon, kid,” it said. “Pick me up. We don’t wanna get eaten.”

***

Joey surged forward and plunged her pilfered knife into the thigh of the dog that had turned towards Romesh. As they did, the hound behind them lunged towards their neck again; they yanked themselves sideways while bringing up one arm to deflect the attack, and the creature’s teeth sank into Joey’s wrist instead.

Both of Joey’s wrists were now oozing a pale, creamy lubricant fluid that coated their arms in slippery gobs. The pain was excruciating—this was nothing like the exhilaration of the fight with Diji—but Joey just gritted their teeth and screamed through it.

Two more hounds bounded through the archway into the courtyard, slavering and growling. Joey yanked her knife out of the hound in front of her and stabbed it again, this time in the neck. That hound sank to the ground, and the beast beneath the sundial was still struggling to extricate its leg. That still left three, circling Joey, looking for a chance to leap.

Joey charged at one dog and knocked it over with a shoulder-barge, but another hound attacked them from behind, knocking them forward onto the first dog. Both Joey and the dog fell to the ground in a tangle, with Joey beneath the beast. Joey wrenched one hand free and slashed at the dog’s belly; it howled in pain.

Then the weight on top of Joey shifted, and a new creature clamped its jaws around their leg just above the ankle. The new attacker’s teeth sank into Joey’s flesh, shattering fragile joints as they tore through their flesh and severed Joey’s leg at the knee. Joey screamed in agony and frustration, drowning out Romesh’s soft whimpers.

With a howl of rage, Joey thrust the knife up into the hound’s chest with all their remaining strength, but their twisted limbs could not coordinate; their knife plunged into the dirt and skittered away from their grasp. They rotated, trying to pull themselves out from under the beast. The dead weight pinned them to the ground as another hound forced its jaws around Joey’s other leg. They remained trapped, unable to escape the snapping jaws no matter how they writhed.

Joey could feel the muscle of their other leg ripped away as the beasts tore the soft flesh from their thigh. Something about their leg... the dial. Joey could barely reach it on the half-shorn leg at their hip. Even as a hound’s teeth tried to clamp the back of Joey’s spine, they grabbed hold and twisted the dial clockwise one step. Glowing letters filled their vision once again.

::: SYNCHRONY USER ELEVATION

::: ...INVOKED/SYNC LEVEL :: 5

─ PRIME.INHABITANT.AUTH-REQ :: _____ [INPUT PASSPHRASE]

Input passphrase? Joey had a moment for a bewildered thought. Then the hounds were tearing at their body, ripping away tendons and shredding muscles. Slavering jaws closed around Joey’s neck and tore through the delicate tissue and cables there. Their head snapped back with a sickening crunch.

Their vision tunneled and then faded to static streaked with blackness. The last thing Joey saw as their head rolled back was the shocked expression on Romesh’s darkness-mottled face. The boy backed away towards the archway, clutching Reshy in one hand.

Then there was silence, blank space. Nothingness.

***

Romesh’s breathing came in the quick gasps of panic. The hounds were looking up at him, their muzzles slick with the fluid sprayed from the strange girl’s body as they’d torn her limb from limb. His ears buzzed, but then a high whistle sounded. The five hounds around the mangled body sat up, haunches on the ground. Stepping backwards, Romesh bumped into someone and nearly screamed. A tall, imposing shade in a red jacket and jodhpurs looked down at him and placed one hand firmly on Romesh’s shoulder.

“That will be quite far enough,” said Lord Maximilian Davenport. “I think we’ve finished for now, hmm Agatha?”

Lady Davenport emerged from the archway. “What a mess.” Her tone sounded disdainful, put out. “Clean this up and bring all her pieces inside,” she said to two of the guards who escorted her. “Not a scrap left behind, mind you.” As she walked past Romesh, he could feel her eyes on him. His mouth was dry. He did his best to stay silent.

Lady Davenport sighed as she turned to walk away from him, sparing not a single glance for Romesh. Her voice was weary. “Always so much to do.”

***

Input passphrase? The thought repeated itself, and with it, a thinker. Joey saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing: all was inky void.

Am I dead? Wait... what passphrase? At least they could think; at least they remained self-aware. It was a small grace.

: [Q-SYS[ : SYNC LEVEL 5+ // PRIME.INHABITANT PASSPHRASE DEMAND ACTIVE : ]] :

The words appeared again, as if in response to Joey’s thoughts. Primary inhabitant. Does that refer to me?

: [Q-SYS[ : PRIME.INHABITANT : ]] : ID.AUTONOMENS «Joseph Craigan» «Joe» «Joey» : ]] :

Incredible, thought Joey. Answers of some kind. Who are you?

: [Q-SYS[ : ________ : ]] :

The characters hung static for a moment, then vanished, replaced by a slightly different configuration.

: [Q-SYS[ : ANTICIPATE_QUERY : ]] :

Hm. In that case, what’s going on? Where am I? Am I dead?

: [Q-SYS[ : 3X_QUERY :: SYNTH_RESPONSE // APPROX.STATUS_DELVE : ]] :

::: ...STATUS/SYNC LEVEL :: 4

─ !! CRITICAL_DAMAGE 5% SEVERE_DAMAGE 60% MINOR_DAMAGE 15%

─ INV.INCAPACIT :: SENSORIUM && MOTOR_CONTROL && PROPRIOCEPTION && AUTO_REGEN

: [ANALYSIS[ EXISTENCE CONTINUATON // MAJOR RESTORATION REQUIRED ]]

No shit. Joey thought for a moment of undefinable length, then arrived at a question. What is sync level five?

: [Q-SYS[ : ________ : ]] :

: [Q-SYS[ : SYNC LEVEL 5 // UNINVOKED // ASSOC FLESH-TEMPLATE 3359 :: DESIGNATE “MAMSELLE” :: DEFAULT PROFILE ? : ]] :

Before Joey could think about anything else, the world flickered, tearing into fragments of gray and gold. Pain, blessedly absent in the darkness, lanced through Joey’s neck and side.

“See, it’s reconnected already.” Someone was talking, but Joey couldn’t see anything but blurry shapes.

“Abomination. But why isn’t it fixing itself?” A second voice, more resonant, but feminine.

“I’ve already explained that. You’ll have to ask.” The sounds grew distant, and blackness swam in from the edges of Joey’s perceptions, eroding the darkness in distinct tears of faded color and light. Pain intensified and laced itself horribly through every thought, and Joey could not discern whether time was passing.

“Joey. Can you hear me?” The second voice had returned, closer.

Joey tried to speak, but something was wrong with their tongue, their mouth. “Y-y-ye-y,” the noises stammered out, monotone.

“That’s enough. I will explain. You’ve done well, Joey. Quite loyal. Such a good girl.” Even reeling through a haze of indistinct visual impressions shot through with agony, Joey felt an unmistakable surge of pleasure at the words.

“The heir is safe, as intended,” the voice continued. “For your sacrifice in the line of duty, you are now... hmm, how shall I put this? Not rewarded, not exactly. Elevated to a position more befitting your capabilities.” Joey heard a light chuckle. “But you’re in awful shape, dear. We have need of your services and you can’t do much like this.”

Something moved part of Joey, and they could feel something: their own hand, and something in hat hand. Round, smooth, just the size of Joey’s grip. The dial at their hip.

“I believe you understand how this works. You must activate it yourself.”

Joey moved their mouth again. “Wh-what... wh-what is...”

“I have been entrusted with this word for you: shitashunu. I don’t know what that means, and it’s doubtful I have any answers to your questions. Hmm. You’ll need a proper name as well. I find yours faintly absurd, truth be told.” A clacking sound. Boot heels, Joey realized. Moving away.

Joey tried to formulate another question, even in the privacy of their thoughts. Maybe they could bring the letters back, find out more... but shudders of pain and nausea kept rolling across their consciousness. The words, that readout, would not respond to Joey’s semi-conscious mental flailing. No choice... again? Damn them.

Joey clicked the dial forward; this time, the letters obeyed.

::: SYNCHRONY USER ELEVATION

::: ...INVOKED/SYNC LEVEL :: 5

─ PRIME.INHABITANT.AUTH-REQ :: _____ [INPUT PASSPHRASE]

The memory surfaced, barely hidden, the word Joey had just heard: shitashunu.

With that thought, more words unspooled.

::: ...PASSPHRASE CONFIRM

─ AUTOREGEN REBOOT.INIT

─ FLESH-TEMPLATE 3359: DEFAULT.PROFILE DISABLED

─ DYSPH.OVERRIDE :: 100%

─ COMPLIANCE :: 50%

─ ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ :: 25%

─ ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ DAMPEN :: 35%

Joey’s head wrenched itself around with a pop, and their eyes flew open. They were in a small, well-appointed bedchamber, but there was no time to take into the surroundings. The doll body shook, wracking with spasms that made their damaged limbs flop on the slim mattress where they lay.

A squelching, liquid sound accompanied a wave of nausea. Joey realized with horror that their synthetic skin was sloughing away from the joints and struts of the body’s frame. The disappearing skin left them as a skeletal form of brown and silver, laced with cables and thin tubes.

The formerly solid flesh they’d lived in was dripping off in a gelatinous mass to soak the bedding and floor with red and white rivulets. Joey coughed and thrashed as their frame adjusted and re-knit itself, sections telescoping in or lengthening, compressing and reconnecting.

Then the new flesh grew, squeezing out from ducts in the body’s frame. Joey felt every nerve ending form and intertwine as bands of tissue sprouted across their limbs, as if flowers had bloomed all over the doll body.

The indescribable sensation of skin, muscle and fat wrapping and tightening sent waves of pleasure coursing through Joey’s every fiber. The room filled with the sound of Joey gasping and writhing as the process continued; they lay back on the bed, shivering in pleasure as the pain gave way to ecstasy.

The process left Joey panting on the bed, naked and gleaming, her chest rising and falling. She brought her hands up to feel at her face, touching the smoothness of her cheeks, the softness of her lips. She ran her fingers down to her collarbones, along her neck to where it met her chest.

Her breasts were fuller than before, round and tender; Joey brought her hands up again to cup them and squeezed gently. A moan escaped her mouth at the touch, and she rubbed her fingers against the stiff pink peaks of her nipples. Her nipples—she realized with a start that in this body, she thought of herself as female, without question or strangeness.

Wondering if her change in perspective had to do with her anatomy, she reached between her legs. There she found a soft mound covered with silken blue curls, and beneath them a delicate set of folds. She explored, running one finger up and down the slick flesh, spreading wetness all over her hands and crotch.

I think of myself, know myself as a girl now, she thought, but this is the first time I’ve ever had... a pussy? At some level, she knew this development should make Joe Craigan incredibly disturbed—but the new flesh didn’t perturb Joey in the slightest. She slipped a finger inside of herself, expecting a new sensation—but she still gasped at the feeling of penetration.

Suddenly, there was a click: the door to the bedchamber opened. Joey pulled her fingers away quickly. A servant appeared in the door frame, her blank fabric face peeking in.

“Oh my,” the shade said. Joey realized with some horror that she was naked and surrounded by sheets that she’d soaked with the fluid remnants of her old body. “I’d best get a basin for you to wash up in, young miss. You’ll need something to wear, too. Lady Davenport wishes to see you as soon as you’re presentable.”

***

When Joey finished scrubbing and drying her new body, she picked up the garments left by the maid. The underclothes were clean and white, a simple bodice and bloomers that hugged her new curves. A dark corset top with sleeves and an open front hung from a hanger on the wall. When she put it on, she realized the garment fit her body snugly, even without tightening the laces; the front panel pushed her bosom up, revealing more of her cleavage.

She looked in the mirror: a youthful woman with a mature body, her curves emphasized by the tight top, her breasts cradled and framed by the stiff fabric of the corset. Her eyes were brown now, instead of the flat gray of Joey’s last body, and the blue of her hair was more vibrant. No sign remained of the gory wounds inflicted upon her by the hounds. I guess I’ve become a real girl now... no strings, no rattling joints. Is this that part of the next test?

The maid reappeared, tutting at Joey’s state of undress. “The mistress will have my hide if she finds out I didn’t dress you properly,” the shade muttered. “Stand up straight.” As the maid tugged the corset’s laces, Joey could feel herself standing up taller; the bodice settled even more snugly on her figure, pressing her breasts up.

“There,” said the shade, smoothing down the bodice and letting it settle back into place. “Now the dress, where did I put it...? Aha!” The empty-faced creature bustled over with a dark blue gown: a simple piece with a high neck and long sleeves, utterly unlike the servants’ uniforms that she’d worn before. “Get into it.”

As Joey pulled on the dress and struggled with the many buttons at the back of her neck, the maid retrieved a pair of matching boots with tall heels. “No time to do your hair, Miss Joey—though that fancy style of yours needs little enough maintenance. The mistress has plenty of work for you, I’m sure, so the less time spent primping, the better.”

Josette wedged a foot into one boot and stepped into the other with some effort. “I won’t go by Joey anymore,” she said as she tied the laces. “You should call me... Josette. How does that sound?”

“Quite suitable, young miss.” The shade helped Josette to her feet again and smoothed down the skirts of her gown. Josette looked at her reflection in the mirror one more time. With the dress and shoes on, she looked like a young lady of some status, though perhaps only a schoolteacher or governess. In the mirror, the shade studied her with a blank face. “Do you need anything else, Miss Josette?”

“No. I’m ready.”

***

Josette knocked at the door of the parlor where Lady Davenport awaited her.

“Enter.” Lady Davenport looked up as Josette opened the door and entered the parlor; the mistress of the house sat behind a small desk, and her dark-fuzzed face was as expressionless as ever. The desk sat piled with papers and quills, and a vase of fresh roses in the room’s corner smelled of pollen.

“Let me look at you. Turn around.” Josette obeyed, and Lady Davenport rose from her seat. “Hmm.” The noblewoman circled Josette, her sharp gaze raking over the girl’s every feature. The former detective and veteran felt even more naked than she would have in a shift.

Lady Davenport came to stand in front of Josette, a few inches taller than the doll body, despite Josette’s heels. She reached out with one smooth, dark hand and cupped Josette’s left breast through the bodice; Josette gasped and clutched the edge of Lady Davenport’s desk to stop herself from stumbling backwards.

“Lovely.” Lady Davenport turned her attention to Josette’s face. “Your reactions are... quite natural. And pretty, too. Yes, you’ll do.”

Josette struggled to regain her composure. “Do for what purpose, if I may ask, Lady Davenport?” she asked as politely as she could manage.

Lady Davenport looked over Josette’s shoulder at the desk. “Deal with that mess, for one thing. I’m a busy woman, and can’t bother with all the bills, correspondence, letters of reference. In short, I need a secretary. In addition, you will have charge of the heir... my darling Romesh.”

 Lady Davenport spoke as if she were ordering a meal at a restaurant. “He needs to be prepared for his future duties, educated like a lordling. If you can do that for me, then we will be more than satisfied. You do know your letters and numbers, arithmetic and penmanship, don’t you?”

“Yes, Lady Davenport.”

“Oh, and...” Lady Davenport turned her head fractionally to one side as if hearing something Josette couldn’t. “You may have to put some of the downstairs servants in their place. Not roughly, please. As a lady would.”

Josette blinked. I’m meant to order the other servants around? But in a ladylike way? I know how to be polite, but... She coughed and voiced her concern. “With respect, Lady Davenport, am I meant to be a governess or a lady-in-waiting?”

Lady Davenport returned her gaze to Josette. “You are a woman. A lady must be refined and charming; you need to dress like a young lady and act like one, and that is what you need to do with the servants. Unlike most, we have elevated you from lower status... a foundling, as it were. I’m certain that won’t sit well with some of the staff.” She walked across the room, resting her hand on a bronze stand holding sheet music.

“I expect you to oversee... the minor problems that come with discontent in a large household.” Lady Davenport plucked a single sheet of paper from the back of the music stand. “Learn what you can about your former peers, now that you’re above them in station. Some have secrets, others have sympathies.”

Josette nodded, trying to absorb the implications. Does she want me to become... a spy? A politician?

“Perhaps your previous experiences haven’t prepared you for this sort of subtle manipulation,” the shade continued. “We shall see. For now, I have a few words of advice: learn how to say one thing while meaning another; know when to apply flattery and how, based on the petty vanities you observe; always pay attention and use information as your weapon. I shouldn’t need to tell you not to pull your punches.” She walked towards Josette again, the heels of her shoes clacking on the parquet flooring.

Josette had never considered such matters before, but she nodded anyway. If she wanted to investigate the mansion, the simplest route was to prove she could meet Lady Davenport’s expectations—or those of the testing facility itself.

This is much more than a trial of combat or loyalty, she reminded herself. I’ll have to use my wits. Lady Davenport came to a stop just a few inches from Josette’s face and pressed a piece of paper into the smaller woman’s hand.

“Some observations you may find useful.” Davenport brushed past her and out of the parlor. Josette looked down at the note in her hand: it was a list of names with short phrases after them.

DOMINIQUE — SEEKS AUTHORITY, EASILY THREATENED

COOK’S ASST. — DRUNK, LECHER

MARTIN — DIMWIT, CLEARLY BESOTTED WITH D.

EMMA, CHARLOTTE — UP TOO LATE, SNEAKING AROUND

Josette sighed and folded the paper up, placing it in a small, dark pouch hanging at her waist. Leaving the room, she saw the same maid who’d dressed her. “What is your name?” she asked.

The maid curtsied. “Eleanor, young miss. Shall I show you to your new chambers?” It’s nearly impossible to tell with the shades, but this one seems friendly enough, Josette thought, and she nodded.

“Do you know one of the staff here named Dominique?” she asked as they walked across the top of the grand staircase, trying to sound casual.

“Of course, Miss,” Eleanor replied crisply. “She’s on her way up right now.” A slight turn of Eleanor’s head indicated a blonde, buxom shade ascending the staircase, with a brunette by her side who looked like a near-copy.

Josette wasn’t sure if the shade called Dominique had overheard their conversation. Still, the way her gaze followed Josette and Eleanor unnerved her. Experience with the shades gave her some small instinct for the ways hostility could manifest in their featureless forms.

“Here we are,” said Eleanor, leaving Josette by a door just down the hallway from Lady Davenport’s private chambers. “The young master’s rooms are around the corner, you see? That way, should he or the mistress need you, you’re quickly at hand. As it should be, yes?”

“I suppose so,” said Josette, and stepped into her new bedroom.

The room was an improvement over Joey’s simple garret: small but airy, with a tall window overlooking the lawn and garden and the woods beyond. A thick rug covered the floor, and a comparatively large bed rested in a nook to one side of the room. Josette blinked in surprise as she saw something familiar, or someone—a sack doll, sitting on a dresser.

“Reshy!” She crossed the room and lifted the doll from the dresser. Reshy’s head flopped over, heavy and sagging. “Reshy?” Josette shook the doll gently, but she didn’t respond. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you all right, Miss?” Eleanor’s voice came through a gap in the door. “Did you find your doll? A gardener knew it was yours and sent it up for you. Precious old toy, I expect. Keep it in here; I shouldn’t think the mistress would find that professional.” The shade closed the door, and Josette kneeled to examine her friend.

Reshy’s eyes and limbs remained motionless. Josette prodded and poked at the burlap doll with her fingers, but could find no visible injury, no rips or tears. She seems like... just any other doll? Josette’s thoughts raced, bewildered. Surely Reshy can’t be gone... can she?