Jacked 3. (Patreon)

So... here is something I've never done before. Have another chapter of the same tale in the same month. Please enjoy. The poll will be up tomorrow, of course.

I did not expect to regain consciousness - yet I did. I was aware, floating in a sea of black nothing. This was because my eyes had failed of course, yet there was no pain or feedback. There was no pain or feedback due to the lack of working nerves or pain circuits. I floated for a moment or an eternity, until a click that was just on the threshold of painful. Now I could hear.

"Hello, are you in there? Nod if you can hear me."

Nod what? I had nothing to nod.

"Oh right, hang on a second."

A click and now I could hear and feel a hum; the thrum of electrically powered servo-muscle. I could feel the feedback from a body, two arms and two legs, with few extras. A body built to minimize overstimulation to the brain. A comforting feeling, and one I could give a nod to.

I could not move much; there were constraints. I did not begrudge the doctor his caution; after all, how was he to know who I was and why I had been lying there? There had not been much left. My enemies had no concept of respect or mercy for the fallen.

"Good, good. The brainwave activity looks good here, but I wasn't sure. Someone really did a number on you, whoever you are. I'll enable your new voice box if you promise you'll keep quiet - my neighbors don't like noise and I'm sure neither of us are in the mood to deal with them. Nod if you understand."

I nodded. The ability to communicate was important.

Another internal click sounded. "Greetings to my savior."

The voicebox was a female model. Young girl, if I were to judge. I'd heard worse, yet it was jarring to attach such to me. This did not bode well for the body I was currently inhabiting, however.

"That is quite the frown. Am I to take it that you are not female?"

My savior sounded wary, and bore a somewhat high male voice. Surely some of his kind had been killed for offering what might be considered less affront. "I am not. May I ask why you assumed I might be?"

"Your brain case. I could only read some of the registration, and the shape looked like one of the older models made for women. With the amount of your brain missing and the location, the odds on you being a woman killed over some argument seemed to be over ninety percent."

I would remain calm and respectful. This man was my savior, after all, and he would be my ticket to my path of revenge. Vengeance outweighed many slights, and for any such action I needed a body foremost. If this body would not do, so long as I lived, I could find another. "I would like to see your work. I promise I shall not harm your person, no matter my anger."

The voice paused, and then answered in clear bewilderment. "I believe you."

Another click, and light streamed into my darkened self.

The first thing I could focus on, once the initial feedback subsided, was a hand. A hand which I seemed to control, with no thought at all?

It was a small, delicate hand. One which seemed to sport a white porcelain finish with enclosed joints. A hand which looked utterly useless for my purpose.

The chamber in which I found myself was more to my expectations, a large one which bore walls stained of rust and with many tables filled with tools and parts, many of which were body parts in various stages of readiness to install. The common home of a ripper-doc; that is, someone who either salvaged parts from the dead or bought parts from the dead with the aim of refurbishing them for others and thereby saving lives.

I was the beneficiary of one of those, of course, and this was not my first time having such an experience. The body was new of course, even if the barely restrained chaos was familiar.

It was a mix of grays and whites writ small, with thin tapering limbs that looked long even as the overall height itself seemed small. My brain supplied the actual length as 162 centimeters. The body also seemed to have organs and functions which were not necessary.

I had seen the like of this body before as well; it was one of those, no doubt.

"Don't look at me like that," my comrade of circumstance stated flatly. "It isn't what you think."

The man also seemed typical of his breed. Mostly unmodified, with flesh and blood poking from older styled and stained clothes. Dressed for warmth rather than flash, as only those who boasted little conversion did. The eyes, of course, told the tale: obvious conversion eyes with a focus on fine detail and magnification. Some deviation from the standard, as I could see some work done upon the arms, likely to improve fine control for surgeries.

The back mounts for the standard extra arm apparatus did seem to be missing.

This body seemed to lack many of the sensors my old form had. This was yet another thing which could not stand.

"I thank you for saving my life, of course, yet I feel I must ask: what is it like, then?"

The man sighed and ran a hand through his thinning and graying hair. "That body is a passion project of mine. I've slowly put every single thought and innovation into that body for years. Armor upgrades, sensor upgrades, strength and musculature upgrades, the entire thing. I couldn't get any takers for it, of course. It was just too expensive for the clientele that were interested in it."

The man stepped close and his hand reached out, before he stopped himself. His now clenched fist was shoved firmly into a pocket.

It was as I thought and feared; the man had settled on building his ideal woman. It was an old story, of course, with many falling into that particular trap just in my lifetime alone. I should not pry too far into the past of this form.

"Oh, sorry, I should introduce myself: I'm Jackal."

"I am Jormungandyr."

The man's brows rose. "Truly? The Jormungandyr? The champion of the arena? That Jormungandyr?"

"Was there another?" If so, I had yet another name to add to my list for the theft of my name.

"No, it is just... surprising, is all. I believe you. I found you near his house after all, and the scene I saw fit. You've no way to prove it to the authorities though, as your identichip was destroyed and your number was attached to parts of your brain which no longer exist anymore."

I should be a vegetable, then. If my brain had been so mutilated.

All I had was this man's word, however. Even my own memory of the pain and sensation of my own death could be suspect. However, I could confirm these reports myself with the proper equipment... such as equipment found right here in this very room.

"I owe you a debt, for certain. I can pay, even in such a state as this." Many of us who have climbed the mountain, who have stood at the peak, had hidden caches of wealth, just in case. In case of a great many things. I had not just one, but two untraceable sources of funds there for my taking. I need only collect them, and either account would pay for a body such as this one. Many such bodies such as this one - or one of my own.

I would reclaim my own body, of course. My own DNA, my own organs, the physical component of life which made me myself, I would have it back or I would see it burned.

"Pay is not necessary, yet now I am even more curious. What could someone with your talent do with the body I have given you? It is far stronger than it seems, as I've placed all my knowledge and experience in it."

I had heard such claims before, and from other doctors. 'This will give you an edge, that will give you an advantage, this arm is smaller and responds with less latency, that leg can perform rocket jumps.' It was all a scam of one kind or another of course, and this man seemed one of their kind, despite having the ability and skills to save my life in after finding my mutilated brain lying upon the street.

A truly significant feat any doctor would be rightfully proud of. So why was he doing this? Did he think that I could use such a body as this in the arena, where combat to the death was the norm?

"Surely this body, even being the masterpiece you claim it to be, is not fit for the arena. You are not making that claim, are you? Porcelain finishes and ceramic armor are inferior in current builds, and even with my skills I would be rapidly overwhelmed."

The man had the audacity to smile, a friendly sort of smile that hinted of secrets. "That is not porcelain, nor is there ceramic underneath it. I do not know what form of stresses it will stand up to completely of course, but I have tested the material and know it to be strong. The only drawback is the expense. You are wearing a fortune right now."

I knew that much regardless. Any quality body required a fortune. Most could only afford the basics to prolong their lives.

Those were easy prey of course; you either climbed the mountain or you died.

"So why then, would you turn down my fortune in return for your work? The more you have, the more you can invest in this labor of love of yours." In truth it was a pretty body; beautiful even. A woman would be quite happy to receive it, and would be a ready-made test subject for improvements.

The man drew back and the smile vanished. "There are two reasons. One, the body is built for true battle, despite the appearance. I would see those ideas tested of mine tested by a true warrior, not some untrained and talentless person. The other is, due to the nature of how I saved your life... this body is the only one you can inhabit, at least for now."

What. "What?"

"I had to meld what was left of your brain case into another, and meld that into the head directly in order to save your brain. You have a series of processors managing certain actions for you, rather than the portions of your brain which you are now missing. As a result, any attempt to remove your brain from that heads will kill you. The head itself is one of a kind, and only works with that body. I can in time style another outer surface of your new head of course, and a new body, but such will take time. Time and funds, which is where the fortune you are offering me should go to."

A new body, custom-made... and only portions of my brain saved. Truly, this doctor was among the best on offer, to be able to perform such an operation. How had I not known of his existence? How had I not recognized this man?

Even so, he was talking about a year, at least. I would not wait that long. Revenge would not wait that long. "I will secure what funds you need, yet I will not wait. I shall simply have to live and die on the disadvantage offered."

The man's eyes lit up, as if my inevitable death were a joy to him. "I am certain you shall not be disappointed. You should, however, take at least some time to familiarize yourself."

"This is hardly my first rodeo, doctor. I have done all of this before." Even if this body felt too light, too delicate, I would do as I will and see what must be seen.

A simple hop up took no effort at all, and my reaction time was... well, it was better than I was used to. The range of motion was as good as any human body, yet not more so. The arms were ambidextrous, yet not double-jointed, and the flexibility was something to behold, yet no more so than what I'd been told women possessed normally. My new foot was easily inspected from a standing position, as I brought it in front of my eyes.

Most of us could not do such things, even the females, due to the mass of the bodies involved. Even the best of our bodies simply had too much armor to allow for that range of motion.

This body was a minimalist's dream.

A true warrior's nightmare.

"You designed this for battle?"

My new partner nodded. "All of life is a battle, and I designed the form you wear to be as fine an example of art and the strongest frame for war I could. All of my knowledge is in housed within you, from the power system to the sensor net allowing you to feel."

There had to be some secret there then, or many secrets. This form just did not seem robust enough, from any angle.

"Ah, one moment," Jackal muttered, then went digging amongst one of his piles of tools. The instrument he held aloft at last with an exclaimed 'found it!' however, was no tool or probe, nor an instrument of the healer's art, but a simple hand mirror, with a chipped silver handle and a crack in the lower right corner. He held it up in my direction.

The face this body sported was... human. She looked as human as anyone, with wide expressive eyes and a face which moved in a variety of expressions, shock being the one sported now. No mask or skin stretched over steel, this.

It had some of the same sheen as the limbs, but that in no way detracted. It was a cute face. "None of your clientele wanted this?"

Jackal shook his head. "Many wanted it at first, but few could afford it. Those I wished to see use it were... unqualified. Your misfortune is an answer to my prayers, if you will forgive my saying so."

"I see." in a way I did. This man wanted to prove how good his builds were, and it was common enough among his kind. The best way to do that was to find an experienced combatant of the arena; no other sport would generate the interest he desired. He wanted to make a name for himself beyond all others.

I could understand such; I had already done so. "We shall see if your work matches your words in time. I shall not wait long, and my vengeance will not be denied."

Jackel held his hands up in surrender: "I would not dream of it. To the contrary, should you gain your revenge, my skills shall be proven beyond all doubt to one and all."

"Ah, there is something I should show you, that may put your mind at ease," Jackal stated. He began rummaging again, before finally coming up with a hand.

A hand which looked a mirror for my own new hands, tiny and delicate. Then he marched over to a machine which I knew well - an industrial press, a machine used to determine the strength of materials used in various constructions.

Jackal showed no hesitation, placing the hand, now balled into a first, firmly onto the floor of the press and beginning to dial up a sequence. I strode closer, even though I did not need to. I could read the numbers, and knew that if the man was not dialing in the maximum amount of pressure this press could handle, it was close enough as did not matter.

The machine did its work, and soon was grinding against the part with gusto, producing a fine squeal and a low roar. This continued for just over four minutes, until the press began to smoke... and the hand stayed unbowed as Jackal hit the emergency shutdown, stopping the process.

I stepped forward and scooped up the tested hand in my own, marveling. There was one finger bent slightly out of true, and one panel near the wrist had also bent inward just over a millimeter, but the hand had held, and all when subjected to stresses which would certainly have damaged my former hands.

However, that was a straight test. What would happen if the hand were placed palm down, like so?

I turned to Jackal, and he was already typing the numbers into the press. The same numbers as before, and with the grin of a schoolboy showing off some new toy to another.

As before, the hand was placed within the press, only this time flat as I had almost requested. The press began again, and performed its task. I watched as the press was stymied again, and once again began to smoke.

The hand was pulled from the press again, and while the wrist joint was more deformed than before, it had clearly held almost as well as before to exactly the same stresses. Both values that surpassed those of my own body, at least insofar as consistent pressure.

"What about blades? How do bladed weapons fare?" Surely he had not forgotten those tests, as blades were more than half of all weapons used in both in the arena and without. Distance weapons tended to lack penetration, and blades could be wielded with more force.

"Ah, I've few replacements, so I'd appreciate it if you bore with me. This one is already compromised, yet I will show you some of what you may expect." Jackal responded, a hand folded behind and scratching his neck.

I could understand such a thing. "Certainly."

Jackal took the same hand and placed it in the same press... and then laid a contraption on top of it. The device appeared to be a framework to hold up strings, yet I knew what it really was: a blade, made of a single string of dense matter, a weapon I'd seen in the arena many times before. Jackal wrapped the string around his target in such a way so that when the framework was crushed it would draw the string taut and begin any cutting process.

A much better test than simply placing a large heavy blade atop the hand and then crushing both down, a test which my own and several other doctors were known to use.

The test itself was interesting... the hand came out of the press scored and marked, but largely intact. One finger, the ring finger which had gotten caught up in the string, did finally fall to the floor, free of its home at last. The joint itself had been severed cleanly.

Jackal had the grace to look sheepish, yet I was impressed. That was a consistent pressure with a small edge, and in at least one case applied right at the joint, and the hand was still recognizable.

Overall it was not as impressive as the body stolen from me, yet for as small and delicate as this one, it appeared capable of holding up well. I'd have to put it to an actual field test rather than a lab test to be certain. No matter how well constructed the lab test was.

I knew who just who I could tap to help me in such a test, yet first I would need to find out where I was, and how much time had passed. Plans would need to be made, yet I felt better about my chances overall.