Whose is that voice?It’s on the tip of her tongue, once she’s out of these restraints she’ll turn around and see and somewhere in her heart she already knows who and what she’ll see.There’s a loud elongated mechanical beep.Red zone, says someone.We’ve given her too much.Keep it coming.As suddenly as the power had built up in her, it went.Like someone had flipped a switch.She wants to scream.She can’t make that come either.She goes down for a moment into the black mud, and when she fights her way back up again they’re cutting into her so carefully it feels like a compliment.She’s numbed, and it doesn’t hurt, but she can feel the knife going in, along her collarbone.It’s clean, white pain, like they’re slicing very carefully through her eyeballs, shaving off layer after layer of flesh.It’s a minute of screaming before she realizes what they’re doing.They have lifted up the string of striated muscle across her collarbone and they are sawing at it, separating it strand by strand from her.Very far away, someone says, Should she be screaming?Someone else says, Just get on with it.She knows those voices.She doesn’t want to know them.The things you don’t want to know, Roxy, those are the things that’ll get you in the end.It hurts, but the emptiness that comes after is worse.It’s like she’s died, but she’s still too alive to notice.Her eyelids flutter as they lift the thing out of her.She knows she’s seeing now, not just imagining.She sees it in front of her, the strand of meat that was the thing that made her work.It’s jumping and squirming because it wants to get back inside her.She wants it there too.There’s a voice to her left.The leopard says, Just get on with it.Sure you don’t want to be under?They said you’d get better results if I could tell you whether it’s working.Yeah.Then get on with it.And even though her head is in a vise and her neck is full of grinding gears, she turns her head so that just one eye can see what she’s looking for.A single glance is enough.The man lying prepped for the implantation operation next to her is Darrell, and sitting beside him in a chair is her dad, Bernie.Teeth at the throat, blood everywhere, got what you deserved, messing with a leopard.They don’t change their spots, Roxy, or is that cheetahs, either way.Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup, she says to her brain, I’ve got to think.They’re ignoring her now.They’re working on him.Maybe her dad told them to.Everything’s got its vengeance.A wound for a wound.A bruise for a bruise.A humiliation for a humiliation.She wants to mash them into the ground.The feeling’s coming back into her arms and legs and fingers and toes, there’s a tingling and an emptiness and an ache and she’s got one chance now because there’s no reason at all for Darrell not to kill her, he might think she’s dead already, with any luck.Bernie says, How’s it looking?One of the doctors says, It’s good.Excellent tissue match.There’s a whining sound from the drill as they start to bore little holes in Darrell’s collarbone.On the next whine of the drill she wriggles her right hand out of the soft fabric restraint.Left hand out of the restraints, still no one notices what she’s doing, they’re so intent on the body of
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