Pain, the feel of nanites converting parts of me. It wasn’t all at once. I remember puking blood, shaking like a leaf, wracked with agony. Vomit all over the bottom of my cage.
Dollar pokes me with a scalpel, laughing as he sticks more nanite mass beneath my skin, into my abdomen. He tells me that I will be his greatest masterpiece. He slices open my palm and installs another chip among the tortured ligaments as I cry for mercy.
Sometimes they take me out of the cage. After a while I’m too weak to struggle. His crew holds me face down while he opens my back and adds vertebrae to my spine. He set up a monitor so I could watch the procedure as it happened. All the while they laughed. The feel of a cigar being put out on the back of my knee. Dollar screaming about the damage. A gunshot. Blood spattering my face from his wound. He lived. Sometimes I wonder if I did.
Sometimes I dream about it. I always wake up screaming. Kinda feel bad for anyone who sleeps near me.
Except John.