Synthetica (18+)

The fork hovers between my plate and my lips, a morsel of perfectly seared beef suspended in time.

I need to savor this moment.

This isn't just dinner — it's a farewell to my humanity, served on fine china.

This is my last meal as a human being… at least for the next 45 years.

As I chew, I can't help but wonder: what will "eating" be like as a synth?

The dining area of the UEC Orbital Launch and Integration Facility is a surreal blend of five-star restaurant and cutting-edge space station. Soft ambient lighting casts a warm glow over the polished surfaces, while beyond the viewport, the infinite canvas of space unfurls. Earth hangs at the periphery of my vision, a swirling marble of blue and white that I'm about to leave behind.

It's a view that demands pause, and I give it its due.

Forty-five years. That's how long I'll be... something else. Someone else. The enormity of it settles over me like a heavy blanket as I raise my glass, the deep red wine catching the light. I study its legs as they run down the inside of the glass, wondering if my synthetic eyes will appreciate such subtleties.

A shadow falls across my table. I look up to see Dr. Emiliana Voss. Her smile is gentle.

"Mr. Stryker," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she's reluctant to break the spell of this final human ritual. "We're ready to begin the synchronization process."

I nod, my throat suddenly tight. I look down at my plate—still half full, but my appetite has vanished. With deliberate slowness, I set down my fork and knife, arranging them parallel on the plate.

One last look at the blue marble that has been my home, one final deep breath of recycled station air that suddenly seems sweeter than any I've taken before. Then I rise, leaving behind the remnants of my last meal—and with it, the last vestiges of my life as I've known it.

As I follow Dr. Voss down the corridor, each step feels momentous. I'm walking away from humanity, from myself. But there’s a reason for it — for my mother, for my family, for Earth itself.

The corridor stretches before us, a gleaming artery of the ship. Each step echoes, a countdown to my rebirth.

We pass through a series of checkpoints. Security protocols for a space that holds the most guarded secrets of the UEC. The air grows cooler, tinged with antiseptic.

The preparation bay awaits. Sterile. White. Equipment gleams under high-intensity lights, promising pain and metamorphosis.

They ready me with an array of sensors and IVs. Compounds flood my system, cleansing, relaxing, synchronizing. The neural pathway conditioning begins — a tingling that speaks to the very essence of my being.

I am led to the void deck. A space with a transparent floor that looks down upon the cosmos. Below me, the jump gate pulses. A ring of energy and potential that thrums with the promise of the vast unknown.

But first, a farewell.

A UEC attendant guides me to a small alcove. A screen flickers to life with the faces of my family. They're gathered in our living room.

"Hey there, champ," my father's voice comes first, trying to instill some levity into the moment. "Remember not to eat all the freeze-dried ice cream in one go, okay?"

I manage a chuckle, my heart clenched tight. I'm usually a man of few words, and I find them particularly scarce now. "I'll try to pace myself," I answer.

Mara, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, leans closer to the camera. "Just think of all the stories you'll have, Kaiden. Caelus, with its twilight cities and eternal sunsets. It’s going to be amazing!"

I can't help but let her enthusiasm carve a small smile across my face. "I'll make sure to take notes," I promise, "for all the bedtime stories I'll have for your kids. Or… grandkids."

"And hey, you might even bump into Uncle Silas," she adds with a wink. "If he’s really still alive!"

Uncle Silas, a near-mythic figure in our family lore, having left for Caelus decades ago, his infrequent correspondence understandably delayed by the 23.2 lightyears separating us. The prospect of meeting him stirs a mix of anticipation and anxiety within me. Could I even approach him? Or would we simply pass each other in Caelus’s glass hallways, like ships in the night?

My father chimes in, his voice heavy. "We're proud of you, son. Your mission... it's given us hope. Your mom..." he trails off, collecting himself. "She'd want you to know how much this means to us."

I nod, acknowledging the gravity of my task and its purpose. "I'm doing this for her," I say, struggling to maintain composure. Tauoris Syndrome had been a curse hanging over us, but now, with UEC's support and the promise of a dedicated medical team as a part of my mission contract, there's a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

"They said the cure research is already underway," Mara updates me, her optimism a beacon in the clinical confines of the ship. "And with UEC's sponsorship, Mom's going into cryo until it’s finished. When you're back, we'll be here, waiting. She'll be better, Kaiden. Because of what you’re doing."

Their words are a balm to the anxiety gnawing at me. The company's millions invested in the research for a cure, my family's future, and my mother's life, all a part of the compensation package for the insane endeavor I’m about to undertake on their behalf.

"Auntie Sarah was asking if you'll look the same when you're... you know, a robot," Mara says, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

I shake my head. "No, I can’t choose. It's a standard synth body that's part of the shipments to Caelus. I'll be... different." The reality of my undercover status, the secrets I must keep, even from them, presses down on me. "If I meet Uncle Silas, he won't recognize me."

"Our little spy," my dad says, his voice cracking.

"We'll be able to talk, remember. The Q-comm system will give us thirty-two messages," I reassure them. "Ten are for family calls. We'll stay connected."

Across the years. Across the stars.

It's not enough. It will have to be.

"And they'll put me back," I add, a final note to cling to. "Back in my own body, when I return. I won’t have aged a day."

Their nods are full of understanding and love. We don't need to say more; the reaffirmation of our bond is enough. With a heavy heart and a conviction steeled by the love of my family, I'm ready to embrace the unknown, for them, for the future.

"Take care of each other," I urge them, my voice steady despite the emotions roiling within me.

"We will, Kaiden," Mara says, her eyes glistening with tears. "We love you."

"I love you too," I reply, the words echoing in the alcove, a mantra to carry with me across the stars. And with that, their images flicker and fade.

---

We reach the operating theater.

The scientists and doctors buzz around me, their voices a cacophony of technical jargon and forced reassurance. They're nervous, I can tell. I am too, but for reasons that go beyond the regular jitters of space travel. They know something I don’t, and the air is thick with it.

The walls are adorned with displays, each showing neural graphs that look like star charts, and complex anatomical diagrams. In the center lies the synthetic body—shrouded in a frosted pod, hidden from view.

Dr. Emiliana Voss approaches, her eyes betraying a concern that makes my stomach twist.

"Kaiden," she begins, her voice carries an edge, "there have been some unforeseen changes to the manifests."

Changes. That word doesn't sit well with me.

"The mining synths we were expecting... they weren't available in the transport craft," she continues, almost apologetic. "We had to extract one of the entertainment models before they are set to undergo final inspection."

A chill runs down my spine. IDr. Voss raises a hand to still my burgeoning panic.

"For your mission, it's absolutely imperative that you're part of an expected shipment," she explains. "This was the only option." Her words are meant to soothe, to rationalize a decision made without my consent.

I feel a cold dread as they detail the modifications they’ve made to the standard synth – enhancements to assist with the mission, the cutting-edge quantum communication system that would allow a few real-time calls back to earth.

"Just SHOW me," I finally snap.

The frosted glass separating me from my future begins to clear, a slow and deliberate process, as if easing me in.

But no amount of preparation could steel me for this.

For her.

The synth’s face is the first thing I see, hauntingly beautiful, and uncannily perfect. An oval-shaped visage with skin as pale as the ammonia ice clouds of Jupiter - a smooth, silicone-based dermal layer that mimics human flesh, nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. Her cheekbones, made of a flexible bio-polymer designed to replicate the fine structure of human bone, are high and softly angular, giving the face a delicately sculpted quality.

Her lips — they’re thick, with a suppleness that speaks to the synthetic material's quality. Even inert, they have a natural pout and obvious softness. Reds and pinks swirl within the artificial tissue, simulating the variability of human pigmentation.

Heart pounding, I look at her eyes. They're two different colors, one a synthetic emerald that houses the Spectroscopic Analyzer, sparkling with the potential to dissect light into its component spectra. The other, a violet hue, faintly glowing — the Infrared Tracker, capable of thermal vision - no doubt useful in darkened clubs. They reflect the operation room’s glare, adjusting apertures despite the body’s deactivated state.

My breath is trapped in my chest, a primal surge of revulsion coursing through me as I truly comprehend what I am about to become. My eyes follow the contours of her inert form, the pronounced curve of her breasts, barely hidden beneath sensors and medical apparatus, to the unnervingly defined outline of her pelvis beneath the gel solution.

“She has an... amplified design,” Dr. Voss states, an attempt to ground my horror in clinical terms. “Caelus’s aesthetic standards… have over time been influenced by its increased gravity.”

I barely hear her as my gaze traces the blue hair floating around her head like the tendrils of some ethereal jellyfish. It looks so human, the unnatural blue color the only thing betraying its synthetic nature.

"As you know, humans on Caelus often undertake a regimen of steroids and physical enhancements to cope with the environmental strain," she adds, her eyes scanning a digital clipboard. "In line with this, it's not unusual for Caelusians to prefer more... ample physical features in both men and women."

Her gaze flickers to the floating form, my form-to-be, in the vat in front of us. I read between the lines — she's saying that this hypersexual body I'm staring at is their idea of normal.

"Their musculature and tissue is typically denser than ours," she gestures to the synth's legs.

Her words are clinical, but doing little to mask the hyper-feminine shape of the generous thighs and wide hips that taper to what can only be described as an exaggeratedly slender waist.

"Given Caelus’s inability to manufacture synth bodies, they've become adept at software adaptation and prosthetic enhancements," she continues. "This has led to rapid advances, such as the development of the Omnibrain AI. But they have requested a certain number of out-of-box platform adjustments from the Earth shipments.”

Despite Dr. Voss's calculated explanations, the sight of the synth speaks less of gravitational necessity and more of lonely spacers’ dirtiest fantasies.

"And please remember," she adds hastily, "your mind will remain your own. This vessel, it's only temporary."

Temporary. Forty-five years doesn't feel so temporary.

"This model," Dr. Voss continues, "is quite expensive. It was one of only a few sufficiently advanced to house the modifications necessary for your mission. We've integrated most of the tech we planned for the mining unit already."

I can't process this. It's an affront to everything I represent as an agent, as a specialist… as a man.

Another doctor tries to explain, “The jump schedule... the shipment allocations... it was this or miss the window for another three years, at least. There is no time.”

The rational part of me knows the mission is what matters.

“Kaiden, it’s a shell. No more reflective of you than a suit of armor,” Dr. Voss says.

A shell. A shape. And yet, standing here, gazing at the synth that might as well be from another world, it feels like so much more.

It feels like the end of me.

Anger flares within me, hot and righteous.

"You had no right. No goddamn right to make this decision without me!"

The team exchanges uneasy glances.

"Forty-five years. Forty-five years trapped in a body that isn't mine, isn't even my gender. As a walking fetish. And for what? So I can fit the shipping manifest?”

“We will do what we must, for the mission,” she replies.

"I can’t do this," I manage through gritted teeth. “This is a bridge too far.” 

The doctors and scientists exchange panicked glances. Their meticulously formulated plan hinged entirely on my cooperation, and I've just pulled the pin.

"Kaiden," Dr. Voss begins, her voice carrying a weight that commands the room, "I know you already understand the gravity of this situation. Your mother, the research for her cure, your family's security—everything UEC has promised is contingent upon the fulfillment of this contract. If you back out now, that contract is nullified. We would need to select a new candidate."

The mention of my mother's frail form, lying in stasis, ignites a familiar pain in my chest. They're holding her life over me, leveraging my desperation.

"You were chosen for your exemplary skills," Dr. Voss continues, "top of your class in cybernetic infiltration. And your record of… unwavering commitment." Her gaze locks onto mine, unyielding. "I know this is hard. But I know you will uphold your end."

I try to steady my breathing, to quell the tempest inside. To think of my mom, her gentle smile, the sacrifices our family has made. This is another sacrifice, isn't it? One more step to save her.

Another doctor chimes in, his tone borderline pleading. "This synth body, it's... highly advanced. It’s actually beyond what we'd hoped to secure for infiltration. In the entertainment division, your access to sensitive areas will be unparalleled."

Dr. Voss cuts back in, her voice softer, appealing to my logical side. "An entertainment synth, you’ll have opportunities that would have been much more difficult for the mining units.”

It's a compelling argument, one that resonates with the core of who I am.

A professional.

My heart races, each beat a hammer against the walls I've built around myself. I’ve made my decision, but I make the silence stretch, just to see them squirm a bit more.

Finally, I nod, a barely perceptible dip of my chin that seals my fate.

Dr. Voss lets out a breath she seems to have been holding, a subtle relax of her shoulders speaking volumes of the tension she carried.

"Thank you, Kaiden.”

As the scientists bustle to finalize preparations, I can only stare at the synthetic body that will become my vessel. The body that, despite its disarming allure, now represents the greatest challenge I've ever faced.

For my mother. For my family. For the future I'm fighting for.

I must become Synth ZX-07.

I steel myself for the journey ahead, leaning on every ounce of discipline that brought me here. The determination that's become my armor.

I'm ready.