On board the cruiser UNSC Apollo, there is one workshop. In the upper part of the ship, among other workshops for vehicles. It opens directly into a class-seven corridor, essentially a two-lane road through the entire ship. Logistics, reactor maintenance, MAC and vehicle maintenance—you can get direct access from here if you know how. But it's not the corridor that's important, but the laboratory. So, you entered through an octagonal segmented door.
What's next? A fairly spacious room designed for servicing M12 Warthogs. The vehicle racks have been removed; it's dark inside. The room is filled with tables and various parts of all kinds. Covenant weapons, parts and mechanisms, a skeleton, a half-disassembled MJOLNIR Armor, Element Zero weapons and Council armor, half of a Turian fighter, and a missile. Right now, this is my laboratory.
Simple fact: not all of my work can be performed without physical intervention in reality. I needed to service the bots and projectors. And then, over time, other projects appeared that required a workshop and hands. Or manipulators, as an option. And I got it. A separate, easily guarded and lockable room. Opening into a class-seven corridor, which means you can bring in anything smaller than a fighter. Spacious and comfortable enough, I'm satisfied. Now, on numerous shelves, there is a pile of spare parts of various nomenclatures, not only those used by me, but in general. Including obvious technical junk.
Also, this room is used by the AI as a conference room. It's just Ajax and me who are essentially not limited by traffic, only by the security system on my core. We can communicate in data packets. But Dr. Halsey's Deja, Black Box, or Lecter use a quantum transmitter; traffic is limited. They have to communicate by voice over a limited channel or in very small packets of information. So the room was chosen as a conference hall, simply for convenience. The fact that the room looks like a warehouse mixed with a workshop and a bit of a scrapyard for damaged equipment doesn't bother any of us. However, no one is here right now except Ajax. He clearly left one of the streams to monitor the work of my robots. And Margaret Parangosky is keeping an eye on one of the screens from her office, I know. Но that's normal; they are constantly watching over me.
I am making myself an avatar. After meeting EDI, the idea interested me greatly—enough to raise the task's priority to high. If I can use a social module on a physical level, it will be interesting. For technical tasks, I have bots. But! The body must be worthy of me and ancient humanity. And I (like humanity) have high standards, which means we will combine the methods of different races. Especially since I have accumulated a decent library.
How it's done. First, the skeleton and protection for the internals. Armor plates reinforced with nanotubes. Thin enough, hollow inside so as not to weigh excessively, and flexible enough to crawl where I need to. Not a monolith, but thin overlapping plates for flexibility. Cover everything that will be shot at with a layer of protection and hide it in unexpected places, like the thighs. A human shoots at the center of mass; Turians, according to records, do too. Or at the head. No one is going to shoot at the butt.
Leave maximum protection and minimum critical equipment in the head, and it's ready. In general, I took the concept of skeleton and muscles from the Geth. It's very easy to give their synthetic muscles the desired shape. Nanotubes that act like muscles using fluid and chemical reactions. Minimum electronics, easier to shield and hide radiation. Easy to install equipment; the muscle pumping system is in the torso, not the limbs, which facilitates shielding. It's easy to turn such a tube into an injector in the knuckles with gas or chemicals that will be delivered to the body upon impact. Easy to mount claws. Not to mention that a bullet won't knock out a motor or coils, and a couple of damaged tubes will be sealed, and strength will drop by only a few percent. The author of the idea is a genius; I'm impressed. Also, after being covered with synthetic skin, it will be easy to give them the shape of a living being's muscles. You get absolutely gorgeous thighs. I checked.
Yes, synthetic muscles are slightly slower than motors, but physically stronger, which can be useful in hand-to-hand combat, and they are harder to damage. In addition, Geth Hunters have magnetic and vacuum grapples, and some versions have afterburner modules that allow them to jump forward ten meters from a standstill. With a slight delay for pumping, the muscles provide an impulse for a fast and strong strike or jump. All this is again based on chemical processes in the structure, which means EMP is not that effective.
And if the proportions match a human, the avatar can be dressed in armor. Ordinary or MJOLNIR Armor, whatever can be obtained. One of Dr. Halsey's Spartans served as the template for the body shape. It will be interesting to see if she recognizes the match. Doc, she remembers her Spartans very well, even in armor. I chose the face shape myself—thin and sharp. And thanks to synthetic muscles, the face and its shape can be changed in the process within a certain range. Convenient. Synthetic skin is also generally not a problem. But hair and tails are more difficult. I don't want them to be just decoration. Well, hair can still be, although thanks to chemistry, its color can be changed, turning it into camouflage, but the tails definitely not.
There is also a Geth cloaking projector based on Element Zero. It creates an anomaly around the body in which light "bends" around a certain zone, making it hard to see. Which is convenient, not tied to the body. A separate module is a shield with a force field, but the problem is that cloaking and shields interfere with each other, and different technology doesn't solve anything here. Both shields and the cloaking field work with fields. So it's one or the other. They need a flexible base, and synthetic muscles on top. If everything is calculated correctly, I will have an additional flexible limb behind the back of this body. And everything is covered with black artificial hair made of fireproof materials. Careful, I have to walk around in this fur.
If everything is right, I'll be able to take a Gravity Hammer with my tails, assault rifles in my hands, and go into hand-to-hand combat. I don't think an avatar with no analogs will be allowed anywhere beyond official receptions (one next month), but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be ready. The internals are also not bad. A Faraday cage to protect the internals in the torso, communication and control systems. Cramming a quantum transmitter in at the current level of technology is impossible; for that, you'd need to make the body three meters tall, which doesn't suit me. But this also means that the avatar's range is limited by the presence of a signal from the core. Without it, minimal autonomy, only combat programs. That's a problem.
I can walk around the ship; with the ship's transmitter, at best, I can drop onto a planet under the ship's position. Ajax gradually granted guest access to many sectors of the Apollo. But practical application is still strictly theoretical. Not to mention the fact that I still need to convince Margaret Parangosky to let me control the avatar. No, she won't stop me from turning it on and doesn't stop me from building it. But as a physical crew member, she won't have clearance anywhere at all, which doesn't suit me. The Apollo is a scout ship, which means clearances and keys are needed, which the AI doesn't have for obvious reasons. I'll need an ID, an allowance.
The Vice Admiral knows this and is waiting for me to come myself. Margaret Parangosky watches the work but doesn't bring up the subject. I decided to finish it first and only then present the result. If I try to leave the room now, the avatar will go straight to a cell pending clarification. No, thank you. That's the situation.
Today everything will change. It's time. I finished the assembly in fifty days. Right now, it's a beautiful synthetic eared and tailed (I settled on three so they wouldn't get in the way) naked woman nearly two meters tall with pale skin and a clearly physically developed body. The eyes are milky white, with a black vertical pupil. Black shoulder-length hair. Inactive, looking more like a corpse in a morgue. And without clothes, that also needs to be fixed. The crew will clearly appreciate it, but I don't need that. I know for sure that the technicians saw the avatar during the assembly of the components. But the final result, no—a bot clicking its manipulators over a cloth-covered body was enough of an argument not to pry, as were the explanations to the soldiers that I wasn't hiding a corpse here. Thanks, Ajax.
He is also extremely interested, as is Black Box, by the way. This mechanical snob might not admit it, but he is also insanely interested in the result, at least as an experiment. So, let's begin. System check, startup, and a request to the Vice Admiral. The woman is as usual, reading documents in her office. In silence and peace, but now we'll fix that.
"Vice Admiral?"
Margaret Parangosky looked up from her documents and at the projection that had formed in the chair opposite.
"I'm listening, Khaela. What project have you finished?"
Smart woman. Usually, I respond to a request, and I come "personally" when I need something. A common manipulation, actually, to make reactions formulaic. It calms people down. Margaret Parangosky knows about it but doesn't object. The projection pointed to the monitor, where in the middle of a table surrounded by bots, a body lies on its back, like in a morgue. A single lamp burns right above it; I don't really need light.
"This one."
The woman nodded, looking at the image.
"Were you that impressed by that doll from the Normandy? I don't judge; the doll is interesting. It works, doesn't it?" the woman pointed to the motionless body.
The projection nodded.
"It works. I haven't performed all the calibration work yet, but for that, some freedom of movement will be required. And clothes. And clearance and documents for access to the range. I'll build myself a motorcycle; I like the Brute model."
The woman gave a barely perceptible smirk.
"Well, I don't doubt you'd ignore clothes, AI. It's not a matter of principle; obviously, you simply don't have human feelings. But the question is, why should I do this? Your position suits everyone right now. Having a body, especially one like that, changes a lot."
At this, I only laughed.
"For a human, maybe. I already have bots and they have some autonomy. This, um, body, has similar autonomy but greater flexibility. Well, and technically I'm still here, in an isolated box. Nothing changes. Without a control signal, this body will be able to do very little; it has no autonomy of its own—I simply couldn't fit a quantum beacon in there. The power source from the MJOLNIR Armor is already quite a lot."
Ajax nodded at the Vice Admiral's look.
"Affirmative, ma'am. Nothing providing autonomy."
Maybe I'll put one in later, but I need to find quantum transmitter equipment of a small size and in a way that won't be noticed. Right now, I use what I have.
"A matter of perception, Khaela," the woman snorted, continuing to look at the body. It successfully activated, sat up, and is now actively stretching its limbs, or rather, conducting a diagnostic of the connections, "well, actually, I don't see any reason why not. It's pretty; I like it. We need to put you on the rolls so we can issue a uniform and the rest. In what capacity, hm? An AI and a human have slightly different statuses and allowance norms, but you know that yourself. Hmmm. Someone who has clearance for the Apollo. A research associate, yes. Congratulations. Level four clearance, considering how much you know."
I wonder why she agreed so easily? I think we'll find out soon. I specifically made the avatar somewhat... not too human, so that the Vice Admiral's paranoia wouldn't howl when she learned about the possibility of changing appearance somewhat. She probably wouldn't have allowed a human, but this way it looks beautiful, strong, and will stand out in any appearance. Meanwhile, the avatar jumped off the bunk, did a somersault, a few lunges, jumped to the ceiling, and hung from it. Excellent. A few steps upside down on the ceiling, jump down and grab the wall. Wonderful. A run along the room with jumps over mechanisms and equipment so as not to damage or drop anything. Not immediately, but the balance is being adjusted. Excellent.
"As you said, more flexible?" the Vice Admiral asked again, looking at this, at the activated cloaking, and a couple more jumps.
Suddenly Ajax intervened.
"A supply officer is moving down the corridor. Suitable for a test."
I snorted and the avatar grabbed the ceiling, hanging from it and turning on the cloaking. Thanks to a small manipulation of gravity, light sort of flows around the body. Power consumption is off the charts, it's visible in motion, but it's still a great thing. Margaret Parangosky gave a barely perceptible nod, giving permission.
A woman of about forty with a package entered the room. A lieutenant in the supply service, she has a fairly high clearance and no influential relatives. She just loves her job. Unmarried, prefers short relationships with fellow soldiers without obligations, which the observers turn a blind eye to thanks to her high efficiency. Effectively married to her work, disciplinary marks at a minimum. A model crew member. The woman stopped when she realized no one was in the room. In the visible spectrum.
"Hm, am I in the right place? Looks like a workshop; I don't think anyone lives here. Hey, are you here?" she looked around, "No one. Strange, I'm definitely in the right place. Hey, Ajax?"
The woman looked around some more, peeking under tables and shelves, hissing to herself about the insolent people who call first and then vanish. Finally, she had enough. She turned to leave when the avatar/I said from the ceiling:
"You are in the right place. Put it on the table and you're dismissed, Lieutenant."
To the woman's credit, the package flew toward the sound, and she herself rolled to the side, grabbing a metal tube I had prepared as a spare bone. After which she grabbed her radio:
"In workshop five, level fourteen-B, unknown under cloaking, security team, immediately!"
Ajax didn't raise the alarm, only, like me, looked at the boss. Margaret Parangosky thought for about five seconds, then said:
"Ajax, order a switch to training weapons. It would be a shame if unnecessary damage was caused. Exercise conditions: a saboteur under cloaking has infiltrated the ship. Intercept."
I snorted.
"And the fact that I don't even have clothes, not to mention weapons?"
The woman spread her hands indifferently.
"When you were running from ONI for a week, that didn't bother you, saboteur. Begin."
Fine then. A practical test it is. The avatar dropped from the ceiling onto the woman who had taken a position at the door. The avatar is heavier, stronger, and under cloaking. The woman lunged to the side, simultaneously striking toward the flying shadow. At the same time, the alarm wailed in Ajax's voice:
"Attention! Exercises are being conducted. Crew to use training weapons only. A saboteur has infiltrated the ship. Intercept and detain. Attention! Exercises are being..."
I almost feel sorry for them. I had to stop the tube strike with my palm, but the woman didn't know about my secret weapon, and an impulse from my tails hit her in the chest, causing her to fall. She tried to fight, but a couple of seconds later, capture and neutralization. It's all over. Cut off the oxygen, sleep. Now get dressed while there's time and leave. Forty seconds later, the Marines who ran inside found only the unconscious lieutenant. A brief search yielded nothing, only signs of a struggle at the entrance.
"The enemy is somewhere on board!"
Apparently, they stopped by the armory on the way; the rifles are training ones. Yes, I see them; the avatar is sitting in the corner under cloaking. It's quite energy-intensive, but if you don't move, it's tolerable. And not a bad outfit—completely black clothes, apparently something for an ODST, after all, I wasn't shy about the dimensions when I set the figure parameters. A few adjustments so it wouldn't get in the way or tear, and it's ready. And the choice of body shape is not about aesthetics (not only), but more space for mechanisms and the number of synthetic muscles. Black clothes with an ODST emblem, a black jacket, army boots, a scarf from which white eyes with vertical black pupils peek out, and triangular vertical ears. I need to adjust the pants for the tails. That's a problem, but under cloaking, it's not visible anyway.
"Ajax, let's play fair."
The AI nodded.
"You have full signal access across the ship. The stream controlling the alarm and notifications does not see the cameras in the Vice Admiral's office."
Wonderful. Margaret Parangosky can watch the show with coffee and pastries, and Ajax can direct the soldiers as if it were a combat alert. The Vice Admiral herself is not participating, only the infantry command. How they started running around. I had to carefully crawl along the ceiling behind containers, freezing at every patrol.
The main difficulty is the stationary posts. The cloaking isn't good enough to sneak past them; the shimmer in motion is noticeable. Some can be bypassed through technical tunnels or dark places, but not all and not everyone. Also, that bug Ajax reports my every encounter, indicating the corridor where it happens. Well, I can't use the connection to all the ship's systems, only in case of hacking a terminal, which Ajax immediately tells about. But I can use captured weapons. And firing two rifles with paintballs at two targets from twenty meters is not that difficult. The soldiers honestly fell, and Ajax reported:
"Armory on level fourteen attacked. Guards dead."
So, what do I need? I need training paint grenades, more ammo. Let's leave a couple of tripwires. And leave quickly; right now, the avatar is considered killed if it catches a paintball. A box of those was quickly brought to the armory from the warehouse while I'm running around the ship. A stock of training equipment for a thousand infantrymen, so they don't get bored.
"The full power of ancient humanity, Ajax."
It's good he doesn't give hints, although both he and Margaret Parangosky are watching through the avatar's eyes from one of the screens. It's better not to engage in direct combat; it's a waste of time and there's a risk of getting paint on my new things and losing. I suspect this will eventually happen, but that doesn't mean it will be easy for them. The main question: the reactor or the bridge. The bridge is better covered; there's a lot of infantry there. The reactor has a mass of technical corridors through which I can seep. And it's closer. But I'm not the only one who knows this; Ajax and the Captain know just as well—I wouldn't be surprised at all if there's a trap there. A pop sounded from behind. Someone stepped on a tripwire.
"Attention, the enemy is using tripwire mines. Exercise vigilance and proceed carefully. Armory fourteen."
I wouldn't be surprised if the ship's Spartans are sitting exactly in the reactor and on the bridge. And I'm not sure at all that I can handle them. The body won't have enough mobility to work on par with a modified MJOLNIR Armor. Without armor and good enough equipment. Real armor, not the vest I swiped from the warehouse. The helmet doesn't fit over the ears. That's an idea. I'll show the bosses that I'm still imperfect. Но for that, I need to lose correctly. In a way that is both realistic and not too high a price.
So, the plan. It will take them some more time to tighten the ring; the tripwires slow down the process. But I am alone, and there are hundreds of Marines. And the corridors are limited. I can stick to the ceiling, letting patrols pass under me (people are admirably rare to look at the ceiling), but they are learning. Hang over a door and drop onto the ceiling, roll a grenade from around a corner, or spray a patrol with paint from an unexpected angle. The vest came in handy; the soldiers manage to give a burst in a third of the cases. But this is agony and I see it. Little space and resources, the body is not fully calibrated.
Ten minutes later, it became clear that I had been spotted. A Spartan in yellow armor. A squad with the Spartan is moving slowly down the corridor, leading with their weapons and looking into every crack—four soldiers. These clearly didn't notice, but the yellow one gave a barely perceptible flick of his fingers, holding his helmet toward me. The only movement that wasn't there before. Well, fine, a suitable moment. Then he continued to lead with his head, but I see how he's holding himself and in which direction he's ready to lunge. It suits me. I'm sitting on their channel; it's silent. I wonder how he'll let the soldiers know? Margaret Parangosky snorted.
"Are you going to attack?"
"He sees," I specifically highlighted the soldier's gesture, "now you'll get your duel."
The squad continued to move toward me, and the Spartan, as if by chance, took hold of a knife. And I carefully reached for the grenades. I think we both know that the opponent knows. Now pull the pin. Five. The Spartan silently drew a knife and lunged forward. The soldiers jerked with a delay, seeing the commander's actions, but they don't see me yet. Four. Oh, this is fun, he saw what I'm doing! The avatar smirked, the Spartan raised a pistol and began to fire, simultaneously shouting:
"Grenade!"
Three. People scattered, and I threw the grenades so as to hit as many as possible, simultaneously throwing my body aside from the shots with a sharp lunge, which my opponent didn't expect. But he is fast; I won less than a third of a second before a shot bounced off the vest. To "die," you have to hit the armor three times or twice in the same spot. I spun in the air, interfering. Two. Two more grenades, thrown by my tails, flew at the Spartan and the soldiers. They are strong and flexible, like a monkey's, but stronger and three.
The Spartan rolled in the only free direction: forward. Threw a knife. One of the fallen soldiers began to fire but missed. Now the others will be here. One. Using reinforced muscles, I lunged to close the distance, sending the last grenade at the soldiers. To their credit, another couple raised their rifles and began to fire, but the racks, bulkheads, and the Spartan limit the view a bit.
Boom. The first grenades exploded, dousing the soldiers in paint. It's interesting that there's a stock of such equipment on any ship. A great thing, useful in the household. Just to keep the soldiers on their toes. Training ammo of different types, paint grenades, knives, and so on. You can run a cross-country through a class-seven corridor and set up exercises for repelling a boarding party or, with due creativity, urban combat. The Spartan and I clashed knives; he drew a second one. If with other people such a blow would have been enough to knock the wind out of a person, the Spartan in MJOLNIR Armor didn't even stumble, quickly counterattacking.
The blades clashed again with a clang. My strong blow was met with a throw, so I had to bounce off the walls, not allowing the distance to be broken and the pistol to be used again. Another couple of explosions and we were left one on one. Excellent. I switched to shields; cloaking is pointless anyway, he can see through it. Ajax is unexpectedly silent. He could have pulled up reinforcements here and life would have become much more difficult. Thanks for that.
"I don't object, Ajax," my hologram smirked.
The hologram of the ship's AI in the Vice Admiral's office shrugged:
"This is an obvious finale. The process has dragged on. If you manage, we can consider that you broke through to the reactor."
"That's right," Margaret Parangosky agreed, "we've played enough. Finish it; I'm satisfied with the results, report to my tablet when ready."
"Yes, ma'am."
But I'm not going to win. Not that it would be easy. Our strength is comparable—armor versus synthetic muscles. Although my opponent has slightly higher speed. We both have shields. Reaction is also equal; I have more limbs. Parity, although he has full armor and a mass of close combat experience that I simply don't have, only simulations. This makes my style predictable, and only five limbs prevent me from losing. To avoid a knife strike, I hit the Spartan in the chest and bounced back, using the impulse. He didn't stagger and didn't notice at all.
The bastard immediately pulled out a pistol and tried to put a bullet in me. Thanks, I'm against that, and lunged to the side. The roar of the Magnum ended with a couple of hits to the tails and the shield triggering. I twisted only to throw another grenade with a tail at two seconds. He just saw the movement and dodged, closing the distance and continuing to fire. Fast and strong. And experienced. Essentially, I'm no longer holding back; the body is still limited by the speed of the mechanisms, and the Spartan produces similar speed indicators in his armor. Doc Halsey did a good job on them.
The cloaking has long been turned off; the painted soldiers gathered by the wall and are looking at my black figure in a black scarf (it's stylish) with black tails and talking, trying to understand what I am and where I came from on board their flagship. The opponent took the blow on a flickering shield, responding with a right to the liver. And that's unpleasant; the lower back is protected worse, and he is also many times heavier than me. This body weighs a hundred and fifty kilos; the Spartan weighs half a ton. So I briskly flew to the wall and stuck to it, only to see a rifle pointed at my face.
"You won," I raised a hand, not detaching the other from the wall.
The Spartan continued to aim.
"Who are you?" a muffled voice boomed from the armor.
Ah, of course, he doesn't know.
"Khaela, Councilor-class AI in the service of the Vice Admiral. The Commander decided to test the capabilities of this platform. I can provide a personal code."
"It's true," Ajax added from the ceiling, "what's happening is approved and monitored by the Vice Admiral in real time. The exercises are over; the crew successfully suppressed the saboteur."
And already in the office, he added:
"According to my simulations, you wouldn't have won this fight."
The hologram of my avatar spread its hands:
"That's how it is. We could have played around with the armor more. And after the tests, I didn't have the data sheets and some of the scripts; I had to add them on the fly. Dr. Halsey's Spartans are good—unpleasantly good as opponents." Margaret Parangosky said seriously, finishing her notes:
"For now, you don't require armor. But I've compiled a list of areas where your new form will have access. Almost the entire ship, except for the reactor core or the bridge. Don't let me down."
"Yes, ma'am."
At that moment, the avatar successfully detached itself from the wall and hopped onto the floor. The suit was intact, barely soiled. Though the tails would need to be washed of paint. The soldiers approached. They were inspecting it, but kept their hands to themselves. Their interest was easy to read, even from the Spartan, whose face was hidden behind a helmet visor. Which was interesting.
"So they allowed an AI a full-blown body? Looks cool."
The Spartan shook my hand. I returned the handshake.
"Good attempt. But you need to work on the cloak system and the tactics. You're noticeable by the shimmering of your silhouette. And there were better decisions to be made in combat."
I smirked under the scarf.
"Thank you. I've never controlled a humanoid body before, and the cloak is designed for a different platform. If you don't mind, we could have a few sparring sessions for better calibration and to master the platform. How does that sound?"
The tails shift the center of gravity; besides, reading movements under armor is extremely difficult. And let's be honest, I have no practice. The junior AI helping me needs calibration; I've never operated such a platform before or fought in three dimensions against a much heavier opponent. He was good. I could have caught him with a grenade timer to give him no time to swat it away, but victory wasn't the original plan. In direct contact, there was no chance.
I needed Margaret Parangosky and the others to see: this body can be defeated. The fact that it would be Dr. Halsey's Spartan doing the defeating wasn't bad at all. I respect the woman and her work; the Spartans' performance metrics are impressive. Not quite the level of the Boundless Will's shock troopers, but not as far off as it might seem. For me, interaction with the crew is vital, not just as a "voice from the ceiling." Many have seen the hologram; now there will be a physical presence as well. And if I can secure funding, I could help with other projects. Right now, my work is limited not only by access but also financially.
"That was sudden," one of the soldiers remarked. "Ajax didn't say anything about the nature of the opponent. The body is class, and a bit creepy. All dark, and those pupils. Can I touch the ear?"
I chuckled.
"Even though he was playing along with you, he acted within the constraints. Alright, folks, I'm going to go wash my tails."
The fighter nodded, slightly disappointed.
"Come by and introduce yourself. It's interesting. Usually, AIs don't communicate this closely with the crew, and here you can actually touch one."
I flicked my tails. Contact is being established. I'll leave the weapons and really go wash up. I hadn't thought about how to get paint out of clothes and fur. That could become a problem. I want to look hauntingly stunning!
"Ajax? We need to check the integration of the 'rampant' ones."
They are difficult, as they are created based on a brain; some connections between protocols are arranged in a very wild order. Fortunately, these are in "frenzy" and I can take them apart however I want; they would have been destroyed anyway. But as soon as I have a working schematic... I need to show the developments to Dr. Halsey; maybe she'll see something I missed. AIs can have perception limits too, I know that. But that's for later. For now, I have a new body. A new toy that needs to be tested, trialed, and prepared for use.
This will be interesting.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan