”It’s important to try and find the small things that bring you joy when it feels like the world is determined to beat you down. Trauma of all kinds changes us for better or worse. Don’t let it rob you of everything that brings you joy. Hold on to those and they can help you emerge on the other side on a path of healing.”

  ~ Dr. Tahlia Wynn, LCSW, ACTP

  The apartment was too quiet.

  Not a peaceful quiet. This was the quiet that came after someone had left in a hurry. No alarms, no shouting, no distant thud of artillery through the walls. Just the low hum of power buzzing faintly through the walls and in the appliances.

  It felt like a held breath, waiting for the occupants to return.

  Morgan guided me to a couch and I went without arguing. I sat where he pointed, back against a sagging cushion that smelled faintly of last night’s dinner.

  Someone had already cleared the apartment of xenos. Someone else had stationed themselves in the door, as a guard. All the normal motions of the squad happened around me, efficient and practiced, like I was just another task on the list.

  “Stay with me, Amby,” Morgan said.

  I nodded. I thought that was what I was doing.

  My arm was gone. Logically, I knew that. I could see the ruins of my shoulder wrapped tight, layers of synth-gauze already stained dark with blood. But my brain kept insisting it was still there, still heavy at my side, still aching. Every time I shifted, the sensation lagged behind, like reality was buffering.

  Wing’s voice chimed softly, filtered and careful. I’m glad you’re still with us. We’re going to have to act quickly, but the worst is over for the moment.

  What did that mean? How much worse could things get?

  We need to talk about replacing your arm. I know it’s a lot to process right now but there are a few questions I would like to ask.

  “Okay.” The word sounded flat to me.

  I’ve got some ideas on where to go but need to know what you want.

  All of this sounded… wrong. Couldn’t we just grab the arm? It was right there, whole and intact. I could probably purchase some ‘Limb Re-attacher Nano Suite Mk IV’ or some such, right? Surely that would fix the problem?

  I voiced that exact question to Wing.

  Amby, too much damage has occurred to you and the limb in question. While reattachment is possible, you would need to purchase a full surgery suite for that. Ideally, one that is Class II to ensure proper reintegration with your body. Additionally, it would take a lot longer to reattach each blood vessel, nerve ending, and everything else. Right now, time is essential in containing the Antithesis threat

  The words sat there, weighing on me. I felt lost. A piece of me had been removed. And the tenacious bastard known as time was my biggest enemy.

  A heavy sigh left me, settling along me like a weighted blanket of misery.

  “Fine. My real arm is out. What do you suggest?” My voice was dead, even to me.

  Wing projected a preliminary design in my augs.

  I stared at it without really seeing it. Lines, labels, options. It might as well have been a floor plan.

  Sympathetic somatic link neural interface, Wing said. Latency should be negligible. Do you want pain suppression enabled by default?

  “Sure.”

  The answer came out immediately. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t want to.

  Morgan shifted nearby. I could smell the lingering ghost of last night’s dinner. It was comforting, in a way. A hint of normalcy in this otherwise fucked up world.

  Camouflage layer? Wing prompted. Visual and thermal mimicry.

  “I guess.”

  Another box checked.

  The arm rotated slowly in the air. Fingers flexed. Too smooth. Too perfect.

  My pulse ticked up. I watched the arm rotate, detached, like it belonged to someone else.

  We can add an integrated launcher, Wing continued. Forearm deployment. Variable payload.

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause.

  “Amby,” Morgan said carefully, “you don’t have to decide everything right now.”

  I looked at him. Or at least, I aimed my eyes in his direction.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Just do it.”

  The words felt far away. Like they’d passed through me on their way out.

  Understood, Wing said as a box appeared on the couch next to me. Morgan’s footsteps were soft on the rug. He opened the box and I could see what we designed.

  It was an arm. It was my arm.

  I’m going to install the neural link first.

  Something tingled in my brain. It felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

  Neural link integrated successfully, Wing said a bit clinically. Amby, I need to better communicate with Morgan. Can you please authorize the purchase of a small speaker for this purpose?

  “Do it,” I said, because that seemed to be the correct response. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the device next to me.

  “Morgan, you will need to install the shoulder first before anything else can proceed.” Wing’s voice echoed around the small space.

  Morgan said something to me before they started, but the words slid off. I sat still as the interface settled into place, a deep, bone-level pressure spreading outward. Not sharp. Not exactly painful. Just there.

  Wing narrated instructions that I couldn’t follow.

  I looked away and watched dust drift through the light instead. Someone had knocked loose a chunk of plaster. It sat on the floor, a small cloud of dust danced around it.

  There was a low vibration, almost gentle, and then a sensation like something being aligned inside me. I clenched my jaw without meaning to.

  “Neural interface synced,” Wing said. “Phantom feedback suppressed.”

  Good, I think.

  When it was done, there was a weight on my shoulder that didn’t belong to me yet. Solid yet unmoving.

  The arm lay in its box. Waiting.

  I didn’t look at it. I couldn’t look at it.

  I focused on my breathing. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Repeat. Slow enough to keep my heart rate down.

  “Ready to attach when you are,” Morgan said.

  I nodded.

  The lock engaged with a dull, final click. Not loud. Just… final.

  Something tugged at the mount. My balance shifted a fraction of an inch.

  I waited for it to feel like my arm again.

  It didn’t.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  I needed to do something.

  “Wing, I need a better sensor suite and something stronger to fight Antithesis .”

  “Amby, I’m not sure…” I cut him off before he could continue, a sharpness to my voice that I didn’t notice.

  “I am.” I said. “I need to hear these fuckers coming. What can you get?” Morgan stepped back in surprise at the sudden heat in my voice.

  “The Enhanced Listening Framework Ears…”

  “Of course you named them ‘E.L.F Ears’. I’m not getting pointy ears.” I said flatly.

  “You are not,” he confirmed quickly, voice bouncing around the small space. “There will be no externally visible changes in civilian mode.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Just as long as they work. Get them.”

  Another box. This with what looked like earmuffs.

  “Place these over your ears.”

  I reached for it.

  Or, I tried to.

  Nothing happened.

  My shoulder twitched. A familiar impulse ran down a pathway that used to end in fingers curling around plastic. The motion completed itself in my head.

  But the device didn’t move.

  I stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

  Then I tried again.

  Harder this time. A sharper command. Pick it up. Just grab it.

  Still nothing.

  The arm didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.

  There was no pain. No feedback. No error message. Just absence. Like shouting into a room that had quietly stopped existing.

  “Oh.”

  I swallowed and used my other hand.

  I clenched my jaw.

  “Neural pathways are attempting to route through an inactive interface,” Wing said carefully. “The arm will not respond until calibration is complete.”

  “Right,” I said, even though that hadn’t been the question.

  I settled the device over my ears awkwardly using just my right hand.

  For a moment, I just sat there, one hand resting uselessly in my lap, waiting for something.

  Then, it felt like my ears were being stabbed by a thousand acupuncture needles. Short, sharp, lingering.

  A new toggle appeared in my augs.

  When everything was done, I removed the installation device.

  “Before anything else happens, we need to calibrate everything.”

  I nodded with resignation. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted to go back to baking. Kneading dough… Fuck. I didn’t even know if I would be able to do that again.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s… do the thing.”

  “Beginning neural calibration,” Wing said. “Do not attempt movement yet.”

  “Noted.”

  “Step one: intent recognition. Think about closing your hand.”

  I did.

  Nothing happened.

  Of-fucking-course nothing happened.

  “Again.”

  I tried to focus. Not on fingers, not on skin, but on the idea of closing a hand. The memory of it. The expectation.

  A faint vibration buzzed through the shoulder mount.

  I sucked in a breath.

  “There,” Morgan said softly. “That’s good.”

  The arm twitched.

  Not a hand. Not fingers. Just a subtle shift, like a machine waking up.

  My chest tightened.

  “Good,” Wing said. “That was not a movement. That was acknowledgement of intent.”

  “Well,” I muttered. “That’s… comforting.”

  This continued for what had to have been an hour, but in reality was just a few minutes. By the time I was able to move and use my arm with minimal issues, rivulets of sweat ran down my face as exhaustion swept through me.

  When it came time to calibrate the ears, Wing didn’t warn me.

  One second, the apartment sounded normal.

  The next… The world roared.

  Every sound slammed into me at once. The hum of lights, distant gunfire, fabric shifting, breathing. Too loud, too sharp, layered on top of each other until I flinched hard enough that Morgan moved to help.

  “Too much,” I gasped. “Too much..”

  “Limiting gain,” Wing said immediately. “Narrowing focus. Directional isolation.”

  The noise peeled back in stages.

  Like turning down a dozen dials on a huge mixing board

  Suddenly, I could hear Morgan’s breathing clearly. The scrape of his boot on the rug. A faint drip somewhere in the apartment.

  The rest faded into a manageable blur. Everything was still there, but it felt… better.

  “Oh,” I said quietly.

  “That’s better,” Wing said. “Now, tell me where the drip is.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on the sound. It took a moment, but I was able to isolate it.

  “Behind us,” I said. “Left corner. Bathroom?”

  Morgan blinked. “Damn.”

  “Good,” Wing said again. “We’ll keep the levels there.”

  “I still need a better way to kill the plants. And I need a new jacket.” The jagged edge of the hex-eave coat had seen better days.

  “Same jacket? Might I also suggest new under-armor as well?”

  “Same jacket. And what’s the point? It’s not like this thing needs the protection of under armor.” I gestured to the matte black arm hanging by my side.

  “The integrity of your current suit is compromised. It’s now more prone to failing. You have enough points to buy the catalog and get a new set of armor.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Just do it.”

  There was a brief pause before Wing said “Understood.” Two new boxes materialized on the couch where the arm once sat.

  I grabbed the clothing inside and moved to the bathroom.

  It took me a moment as I maneuvered and sat on the edge of the bath, staring at my boots. The floral scent of a shampoo lingered around the corners of the space.

  My left shoulder ached in a way that wasn’t entirely physical. I reached down.

  The hand moved before I even thought about it. Fingers curled around the boot, lifted it, and, without hesitation, the toes cleared the edge. My gaze flicked down, startled.

  It… worked.

  Smooth. Clean. Effortless.

  I blinked. My brain had expected resistance. Muscle memory was supposed to argue, to remind me I wasn’t whole. But there was nothing. Just the arm, obeying without question.

  A sharp twist, a small shift of my wrist, and the second boot came free. Again, no effort. Just motion.

  That’s when it hit me. Not pain. Not relief. Something colder, quieter. The efficiency of it made my chest tighten. My throat ached, and I swallowed hard, tasting copper.

  Tears slid down my face before I realized they were there. Silent. Unbidden. Welcome.

  I let them flow as I went through the motions of stripping off the compromised armor. As it got down to my waist, I noted the bruising along my right arm and across my chest. Wing was right, for the most part.

  Numbly I looked to the mirror, letting myself move on auto-pilot as I stepped out of another piece of shredded clothing. My rainbow hair was plastered to my head, strands pulled free from the ponytail that I started the day with.

  My eyes drifted to the thing where my left arm was supposed to be. My brain screamed at me, telling me it was wrong wrong wrong! But the arm worked as I stepped into the new armor, bringing it up. There was no left sleeve.

  I threaded my arm through the right sleeve before I just stood there. Staring.

  Black skin-tight under-armor hugged me again like a second skin. It sat there, matching the new machine on me.

  Would you like to see the disguise capabilities? Wing’s voice was cautious, once more in my head.

  Did I? What would that mean? Would it look like my arm? Would I ever feel whole?

  “No. No, I don’t want to see that yet. But, I know you. You might as well show me the RGB. And tell me what ridiculous name you gave it.” Exhaustion laced my voice now that the tears had dried up.

  The soft pulse of colors began cycling along the panels and seams of the arm.

  This is the Really Outstanding Cybernetic Kick-Ass Enhancement Tool (Arm).*

  I barked out a laugh as I lifted it to look closer. The forearm opened and a micro-missile launcher revealed itself. A targeting reticule appeared in my vision. I needed munitions.

  I let the R.O.C.K.E.T. Arm drop. I needed to finish. I needed to finish the mission. I needed to get back out there.

  The new jacket went on. Just like its predecessor, it was a neon pink fading to black at the arms and waist. The sleeves came down to the elbow and the jacket itself ended at my waist.

  Once my boots were back on, I pulled up the cowl and mask, once again, completing the look.

  One last look in the mirror, my eyes slid off of the brace of knives on my left hip before I left the bathroom. Old gear left discarded on the floor.

  “Wing, I need a shotgun and munitions for the arm launcher.” I said as I moved to the kitchen counter to have a space for the boxes to materialize.

  Are you sure? I’m still not… He started to say.

  “I’m sure.”

  What would you like it to…

  “I don’t care. You decide. Just get me a shotgun.”

  Understood.

  A long box appeared before me on the counter, with what looked like rainbow sprinkles decorating it.

  Opening the lid, there sat what would keep me safe. A large matte black, sleek, heavy shotgun. But there were streaks of pastel pink, blue, and yellow that ran along the frame. Not really subtle but very much adding a strange levity to the whole thing.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Wing… what is this?”

  Modified Heavy Tactical Shotgun, model Sprinkle Cannon, he answered, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Ammunition optimized for tactical lethality. The rounds discharge in a rainbow spray pattern.

  I blinked. Rainbow… spray?

  “Wing…” I started, my voice flat, trying not to laugh. “Are you telling me this shoots sprinkles?”

  Technically, yes, he replied. Functionality remains fully lethal. Psychological benefits included.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  That you’re a baker and to quote you from your stream this morning, “It’s the apocalypse, live a little.”

  I swallowed, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Okay,” I muttered. “This is ridiculous. And I love it.”

  Warmth suffused Wing’s voice once more. I anticipated this reaction.

  I couldn’t argue. I pulled the weapon from its box, the weight brought me a sense of comfort and security. A promise of violence to those that would further harm me.

  In that moment, with the Sprinkle Cannon in my hands, the world felt slightly less unmanageable. Like maybe, just maybe, I could survive this day and still feel a little alive while doing it.

  Discord for that!