This isn't home.

Sure, your—my?—stuff is here. Books, photographs, a baseball bat you'll never hold in your own hands again, yet it no longer feels like yours. You didn't pack the boxes it's all stored in. You didn't move them. All of it belongs to the you before. The you I'll never be again.

Still David is talking. Trying to show you around, something something about the security system, rent paid for the year, and you're barely hearing it. Days in a coma, further months in a hospital bed, and this isn't what you thought you'd come back to.

"Where's Kubrick?"

You asked that when David's driver dropped you off here. David just gave you a thin-lipped smile and suggested why don't you look around first.

"Here, great views over the city, especially at night," Sarif continues, showing off the windows, and you just don't care. You need to sit down. Your legs hurt.

No. Not your legs. They're long gone. Your hips where the metal mounts onto bone are sore.

David finally notices when you sink onto the couch, vacant stare at the blank TV, and crosses over. "It's going to be okay, son. I've taken care of everything."

Hand on your shoulder. The metal one, and you flinch at the touch.

Why bother flinching? He's already seen everything; held everything. Implanted things inside you. Cut things away. Handled these limbs before they were ever part of you.

Part of you.

...are they?

And still David is talking. Still so certain he's being nice.

Thank you for the gift, he wants you to say. Thank you for the nice new apartment and the shiny new augs as if you aren't a stranger in your own skin.

What remains of it.

"Just call me, Adam, if you need anything. Or contact building management; I guarantee they'll see to your every need."

"Thanks, boss," you say flatly, and hope he's satisfied enough to leave.

You last barely an hour once he's gone. First venture into the bathroom and your—my—the stranger's face in the mirror. Unfamiliar eyes framed by black commas. A hexagon stamped where a bullet should go.

A bloodless fist swings and you collapse in a heap to the shattering of glass and try to gather the pieces of yourself on the floor.