Chapter 3 The Flesh Deal

The first three days in my new body were a nightmare of disorientation. Every sensation was wrong—sounds too sharp, smells overwhelming, my center of gravity shifted to four legs instead of two. I kept trying to speak, but only whines and barks emerged. The technicians found this amusing.

"Echo's trying to talk again," they'd laugh, making notes on their tablets. "Subject still believes it's human."

Echo. My new name. No longer Evelyn, no longer a person. Just an experiment labeled SPX-9, nicknamed Echo.

They kept me in a reinforced cage in Damien's basement laboratory, a sterile white room filled with equipment I helped design when I still had hands to build with. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd created the technology that ultimately trapped me.

On the fourth day, they brought me to Damien's mansion. I'd never seen it before—we'd still been living in our modest apartment when everything changed. The estate was magnificent, all glass and stone perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. In another life, I might have appreciated its beauty.

A man in a lab coat led me through the grand hallway on a specialized leash. "Remember, Mr. Cross, the neural pathways are still stabilizing. The subject may exhibit erratic behavior."

Damien nodded, studying me with clinical interest. "Any sign of cognitive deterioration?"

"None. In fact, brain activity suggests the consciousness transfer was completely successful. It—she—understands everything we say."

"Fascinating." Damien knelt down, looking directly into my eyes. I met his gaze, pouring all my hatred and betrayal into that stare.

Something flickered across his face—discomfort, perhaps even guilt. Good. Let him feel it.

"You'll keep her in the east wing laboratory," he instructed. "I want daily reports on adaptation progress."

The man—Dr. Finch, according to his badge—nodded. "And the original body, sir? The harvest is scheduled for this afternoon."

My heart—or whatever passed for one in this canine form—seemed to freeze. My body was still alive?

"Proceed as planned," Damien said, turning away. "Vera has buyers waiting for the heart and remaining viable organs."

I lunged forward, pulling against the leash so violently that Dr. Finch stumbled. I barked frantically, trying desperately to communicate. *My body! My baby! Still alive!*

"Sedate her if necessary," Damien said coldly, not looking back as he walked away.

Dr. Finch dragged me to the east wing, a converted greenhouse now filled with medical equipment. Through glass walls, I could see gardens stretching toward the ocean. A beautiful prison.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," he muttered, securing my leash to a metal ring in the floor. "The enhanced body is superior—heightened senses, extended lifespan, improved strength. Many would consider it an upgrade."

I growled low in my throat. He sighed and checked his watch.

"The harvest is in three hours. I need to prepare. Stay put—not that you have a choice."

Once alone, I worked frantically to free myself. The SPX-9 body was strong, designed for military applications. After nearly an hour of struggle, I managed to break the clasp connecting my collar to the leash.

I navigated the mansion by scent, following the antiseptic smell of the medical wing. My new body moved with surprising speed and agility once I stopped fighting its natural mechanics. Through windows, I glimpsed staff members who jumped back in alarm as I raced past.

The medical wing doors were sealed, but a service entrance had been left ajar for deliveries. I slipped inside, following the scent of my own body—a strange experience I cannot properly describe.

What I saw in the operating theater will haunt me forever.

My body lay on a table, sustained by machines, chest rising and falling mechanically. Vera stood nearby in a sterilized gown, supervising a team of surgeons. Through the observation window, I watched in horror as they prepared to remove my heart.

"Careful with the extraction," she instructed. "The buyer paid triple market value for an undamaged specimen."

One of the surgeons pointed to a monitor. "The fetal heartbeat is still registering."

Vera's expression hardened. "That's irrelevant. The fetus is not part of the sale. Discard it with the other non-viable tissue."

I scratched frantically at the window, barking until my throat hurt. No one turned.

Then I saw it—a small container on a side table labeled "Biological Waste." Inside was something small, something that had been removed from my body already. My baby. Too small to survive outside the womb, but still technically alive according to the monitors.

Rage unlike anything I'd ever experienced surged through me. I backed up and charged at the door with all the strength my new body possessed. The reinforced glass cracked but held. I charged again. And again.

Alarms blared. Security personnel flooded the hallway. As they surrounded me, I caught sight of Damien rushing into the operating theater, his face pale.

"What's happening?" he demanded.

Vera maintained her composure. "Nothing to concern yourself with, darling. The canine subject escaped, but security has it contained."

"And the harvest?"

"Proceeding on schedule. The heart extraction begins momentarily."

I watched Damien's face, searching for any sign of the man I once loved. He walked to the waste container, looking inside with an unreadable expression.

"This is... the fetus?" he asked, his voice oddly strained.

"Just tissue," Vera assured him. "Non-viable experimental material."

He stared at it for a long moment. "It looks... human."

"That was the point of the experiment," she replied smoothly. "Perfect biological mimicry. Your memory index indicated you wanted realistic results."

Memory index. Those two words triggered something in my mind—a project we had worked on together years ago. Neural backups, designed to preserve human memories in case of traumatic brain injury. Damien had been the first test subject after a lab accident left him with minor memory gaps.

The system could be manipulated. Memories could be altered, recontextualized. Suddenly, Vera's influence made terrible sense.

Security personnel dragged me back to the laboratory, sedating me with a tranquilizer that made the world blur. Through dimming consciousness, I heard Dr. Finch's voice: "Extraordinary attachment to the original body. Perhaps the neural transfer wasn't as complete as we thought."

Hours later, I awoke in a reinforced cage. Dr. Finch sat nearby, monitoring my vital signs.

"The harvest was completed successfully," he informed me clinically. "The heart has been transported to the buyer. Other organs are being prepared for shipment."

I whimpered, the sound pathetic even to my own ears.

"Your original body will be cremated tomorrow," he continued. "Standard protocol for depleted vessels."

I lay my head down, grief overwhelming me. Everything I was—my body, my baby, my future—gone. I closed my eyes, wishing for the release of tears that this form could not produce.

The door opened. Damien entered, looking troubled.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Stable," Dr. Finch replied. "The sedative has worn off."

Damien approached my cage cautiously. I didn't bother lifting my head.

"The escape attempt was concerning," he said. "Is the consciousness fully integrated, or are we seeing rejection of the new form?"

Dr. Finch shrugged. "Hard to say. This is experimental territory."

Damien knelt beside the cage, studying me. "She seems... depressed."

"Anthropomorphizing won't help, sir. It's a standard adaptive response."

I looked up then, meeting Damien's eyes directly. I needed to communicate, to make him understand. With deliberate movements, I used my paw to draw in the soft bedding of my cage. Three letters: A-R-I.

I didn't get to finish. Damien's eyes widened, but Dr. Finch quickly swept the bedding smooth.

"Muscle memory," he explained hastily. "Random movements that appear purposeful."

Damien didn't seem convinced. He reached through the bars, his hand hovering uncertainly.

"Can I... touch her?"

"Of course. The form is physically stable."

His hand came to rest on my head, fingers gently stroking my fur. For a moment, I felt a terrible, conflicted yearning—hatred for what he'd done, yet desperate for any human connection.

"Aria was never like this," he murmured, almost to himself. "Aria was vibrant, brilliant. This creature seems... broken. Like a poor copy."

I jerked away from his touch, growling.

"Careful, sir," Dr. Finch warned. "The enhanced form has considerable bite strength."

Damien stood, frowning. "Something isn't right. The emotional responses are too... personal. Too directed."

Before Dr. Finch could respond, Vera appeared in the doorway.

"Darling, the investors are waiting in the conference room," she called, her voice honey-sweet. "They're eager to hear about our successful procedure."

Damien nodded, casting one last troubled glance my way before following her out.

As the door closed, I heard her murmur, "Don't let it disturb you. It's just an experiment—nothing as precious as what we lost."

The door closed, leaving me alone with the truth no one would believe: I was not a copy. I was not an experiment. I was Evelyn Hart—Aria—trapped in a nightmare of Damien's creation, mourning a child he would never acknowledge.

And somehow, I had to make him remember.