It was only a few seconds, and somehow even fewer curses, into the shower, that Sam decided not to commit suicide by boiling himself. A small twist of the handle to the right should take care of that. Too far, now the water wasn’t hot enough. Back we go. It took him a couple of micro adjustments before he finally settled down on a temperature that was to his liking, which was only a tad hotter than what he usually went for.
The shower came equipped with a wall-mounted container of liquid soap, so there was no excuse for Sam to forgo personal hygiene. Focusing on the task at hand, he was able to ignore any and all other thoughts flowing through his head, at least while there were still unwashed body parts to go through. Unfortunately, a couple of minutes later and Sam ran out of any possible speck of dirt to rinse off. And was thus left alone with his thoughts, the sensation of water cascading down his head only providing the bare trickle of distraction.
And then he was stuck. Not wanting to leave the shower just yet, but also not in favor of simply continuing to stand there like a moron. If he was back home, Sam would have turned the temperature a higher at that point, so it would deliver the same comfort after he sat down. Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t at home and no matter how nice the bathroom floor looked, it was still a hospital’s shower.
This is why I like bathtubs. Functionally, they’re just like a shower, but extra. That’s the thing though, are they really cleaner than a shower floor? After all, if it’s at your home, then there’s no reason for your bathtub’s floor to be much cleaner than just a regular shower’s floor, right? It’s weird though, isn’t it? Like I wouldn’t in a million years have a problem sitting down on the floor anywhere in my home, but if it’s the shower floor, then it’s suddenly disgusting…
Fuck. Why am I thinking about showers? Why can’t I just act like a normal person and think about… Fuck. It’s not like there’s anything normal to think about in this piece of shit of a situation. It’s just so much. I’m so fucking tired, mentally. But for once in my life, it doesn’t affect my body at all. Fuck! I feel so good! The closest I’ve ever come to feeling like this is that time I finished the seventh week of couch to five k. Only this feels a hundred times better.
So why am I feeling so down? Let’s look at this rationally and try to diagnose what exactly it is that’s bothering me. OK, so first thing is obviously the whole: “This is the future and magic, and earth is destroyed and…” fuck! All that other shit. Let’s call this problem number one. I’m a fish out of water and it’s not just that I can’t breathe air. It’s that even underwater, I wasn’t that good at being a fish, so now you want me to be a fish in an even harsher environment? Shit… Sam laughed to himself. That’s a shitty fucking analogy.
Moving on! Problem number two is this! Sam slapped his chest a couple of times, this new and upgraded body of mine. I mean, it’s ridiculous right? I still feel the same. I still think the same. So why shouldn’t I still be myself? Looking at this objectively, the things that worrying me the most about being “taken” by a magical force into the future is that I’m not myself anymore because my hormones are no longer actively fucking me up?!
Maybe I really will get used to it, or maybe it’s not even that bad in the first place, but still… Just, give me the choice man... Give me the fucking choice! That’s all I want. Ask me whether I want to go into the future with new legs and a hot shit body or whether I want to stay in the past and die horribly in the magical apocalypse! Fuck, I can’t bear this anymore. Too many fucking thoughts going around my head. All the while, I’m just trying not to break down cause I don’t want to test whether I can still cry.
Thanks to gently bashing his head against the shower wall repeatedly, Sam was eventually able to quiet his mind. Or at the very least, quite enough so that with the bonus of comfort that laying his head against the wall gave him, he was able to start meditating. Sam had always considered meditating in the shower as cheating. After all, there’s constant external stimuli and you’re not really able to measure time, so you’ll probably end up meditating for a shorter amount of time than what you promised to yourself. Still, once in a blue moon, a meditation in the shower was necessary. Whenever you felt as though meditating the right way just wasn’t going to happen that day; a sloppy meditation was still better than no meditation, after all.
Whatever he thought of its quality ceiling, this session of shower meditation proved itself a superior to those in Sam’s past. Maybe it was his fragile state of mind that was the cause. But a more likely culprit, Sam decided, was his different body. New hardware getting better results with the same software. Still, he had no timer, so the great session he just had could’ve been anywhere between two minutes to two hours (seven minutes, Sam called with no cause).
However long it was, Sam was feeling noticeably better compared to before. Still not anything close to good. But, just a little farther from the total meltdown whose precipice he was on before. At that point, he had enough of the hot water pruning his skin. So he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower with just the necessary jerks of the arms and legs (fucking legs, man). Then he remembered what he previously forgot, bringing a towel in with him.
Luckily—or more likely, deliberately—there was a nice big bathrobe sitting on the hook right next to his discarded clothes. How did I not notice that before? He stroked the towel. Oh! And it’s so fluffy. Well done, future hospital, now this is service! Donning on the bathrobe, Sam decided to prioritize comfort over external appearance and so made up his mind to stay in it until he was completely satisfied of being dry.
But there was still one thing that Sam wanted to do before leaving the room. Gazing back at him from the half wiped mirror was the same old figure that Sam always had the trouble of thinking as his own self. Sure, there were minor differences. No glasses was the obvious thing, but he was more used to seeing himself without eyeglasses than with. However, the lack of eyewear did finally manage to strike a realization in Sam’s mind. His vision was fine. Great even, twenty/twenty as they say (never mind the possibility that twenty/twenty vision didn’t actually mean good eyesight. Sam never bothered looking it up to see if it was true).
Shaking his head, he went back to what he was doing before; stroking his ego. True, the difference was minor, but he still thought he looked better. Although… that could just as well have been the magic wonder drug doing its work by preventing his body from actively hating itself. Except that he had definitely changed for the better. Gone was the receding hairline that no amount of minoxidil had been able to make a dent in, replaced with the amount of hair that he probably had last had at eight grade. All the acne scars and other facial maladies that Sam didn’t know the name of were gone. Opening his mouth, he also saw that his teeth were as white as the day he was born. Wait, babies don’t have teeth, unless magic somehow changed that.
The bottom line was that he definitely looked better, which obviously made Sam feel worse. First, because he was mad at this change being done without his consent. Then, because he was mad at himself for being mad, cause It’s not like anything bad actually happened to him (in the purely external department). And finally, he got mad because he realized that whatever had taken him, also had an idea of what he should ideally look like. And that just didn’t sit right with him.
Still, denouncing his kidnappers for modifying him according to their subjective ideals, or even worse for believing in an objective ideal of aesthetics, could wait until a later date. Right now, Sam had to go back into the world and try and get at least some of his myriad of questions answered. Nodding to his reflection in farewell, Sam stepped out of the bathroom wearing only the bathrobe and the flip-flops that he had never put away.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Maurice was sitting next to the bed with his back to him. On hearing Sam renter the room, he turned towards him. “Ah, you’re out, and I see you’ve decided to partake in the hospital’s amenities.”
“You mean the robe? Yeah, thanks for that. Honestly, I’m usually a bathrobe kind of guy anyway and this one is just top notch, so I figured why the hell not? Plus, a bunch of strangers already saw me completely naked today, so what’s a couple more seeing me in these fluffy digs?”
“Just as well. I wasn’t sure how comfortable the clothing you came here with was, so I took the liberty of asking for some extra clothes to be delivered.” Maurice pointed toward the bed. Which, Sam realized, had a huge heap of clothes piled on top of it. “I wasn’t sure as to your preferred measurement, so I brought in a bunch of sizes. Whatever doesn’t fit or isn’t to your liking, you can toss aside. Whatever the case, once you’re more acclimated, you can just buy your own clothes.”
“Oooh, shopping for clothes… never tried doing it without my mom forcing me to. Don’t think it’ll make much difference in my dislike of the act, though. Still, unless my bank account somehow survived the apocalypse and inflation like in Futurama, I fail to see with what money I’m supposed to go splurging for new lingerie.”
“The state’s, that is to say, the Terran Republic’s. Rest assured, we will make sure you have all of your needs taken for until such a time as you’re able to stand on your own two feet.” Hah! Feet. “Such is the republic’s policy for all Taken, even those who remain civilians.”
“This seems awfully generous for a national entity, almost too generous… What’s the catch?”
“No catch, your treatment is only quantitatively different compared to what every citizen enjoys. After all, the republic is a welfare state. You sort of have to be when you’re at war and human capital makes up 90% of your fighting capability.”
“Wait, you guys are at war? I thought I heard the pilot gut mention something about a front, but I didn’t take it seriously.”
“Indeed, we are. But the war is not something that you need concern yourself with unless you choose to. I assure you, there is no need to be concerned for your safety. The front-worlds are ten worlds away from New Terra and even were they not, the front line is completely stable.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Sam said as he moved the clothes piled up on the bed in order to make himself enough room to sit. Making sure to sit with the right leg crossed over the left. “OK, so I’m done with my shower, obviously. What’s next on the itinerary?”
“We’ll leave the rest of the medical checkup for tomorrow. I’ve already earmarked the entire morning for the whole plethora of exhaustive tests I must do in order to be able to recommend you as physically fit and healthy as protocol dictates.”
“I thought that’s what the whole ‘taking’ process already did. If not, what’s the point of giving me a so called ‘perfect body?’”
“Your body is perfect in one sense and one sense only. For the purpose of magic. Anything else is… Look, we don’t know whether the physical changes that happen during the process are due to direct manipulation, in order to perfect you as you said, or due to a side effect of your body being remade with magic.”
“But doesn’t the fact that I didn’t have magic for a couple of minutes, after being… returned, tell you something about that?”
“You didn’t have a core. Your body still had magic. Almost the exact opposite of all Terrans from before the integration. Who all had a core, but barely any magic—But never mind that for now. We should focus on you. In particular, that your body’s situation vis-à-vis not having a core is unique in all of our recorded instances of Taken being returned. Second major difference between you and all others of our kind, if we count your memories of the ‘void’ as real. And on that topic, have you noticed any significant changes in your body compared to before being taken?” Maurice’s eyes were shining, his back was straight and Sam thought he could discern just the slightest tremble of the lips. Guess you don’t become the foremost expert on a subject by being bored when interrogating it.
“Hm… Physical changes, you say? Let me just take a look.” Sam turned sideways and opened his bathrobe to allow him a thorough look. “No… No… Tsk… It’s still… so small and deformed and… hideous!” He wiped a lone tear from his eye and, with the tone of a man long used to defeat, asked, “Guess magic can’t fix everything, huh?”
“Depends on what kind of solution you’re in the market for,” answered Maurice without a hint of irony (or humor). “Now, seriously, have you noticed any significant physical change compared to before you were taken? We must make sure that your unique circumstances didn’t result in your body being any different from that of all other Taken.”
Sam was taken aback by the frankness and even care in the doctor’s voice, so he decided to forgo comedy and sarcasm for the moment (or at the very least, dial it back down). “Sure, I noticed some changes, but besides being able to see better, all of them are pretty minor. What exactly should I be telling you about?”
“Let’s start with those. First thing is better eyesight, you say?”
“Yeah.” Sam then went over the list of facial changes that he had just gone over minutes before. “Although, not that I think about it… it’s not just me teeth. It’s also my tooth.”
“The difference being?”
Sam sighed. Here we go with the maladies. “So, I had a bad jaw structure or something like that, and when it came time for one of my teeth to grow, there wasn’t any space for it, so it didn’t grow. At least that’s how I understood the orthodontist’s explanation. And now.” He pointed to the space that was once occupied by a dental implant. “Now, it’s right there. As though it never had any problems coexisting with my deformed self.”
“Hm… Yes. A new tooth. Anything else?”
“Well… if we’re talking missing items than the big ones are my legs, although…” Sam straightened his right hand, then gulped. It appeared as though all physical results of past trauma were being erased today. “Yeah… so my middle finger is back in its full form as well.”
“Your middle finger?”
“An accident. Crushed the tip of it.”
Maurice proceed to examine his presented finger closely. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
“Seems perfectly fine to me.” Maurice nodded, satisfied. San had to agree. The finger looked just like its left counterpart, and didn’t hold any of the gelatinous qualities that it had previously had. “And your legs? What was wrong with them? An accident of some sort I was told, in which you lost the both of them?”
“Yeah. Wow, I guess that I did mention it. Good communication. Lost them in a traffic accident and as you can see, they’re back just the way they were. Although, now that I think about it… does it look like I have flatfoot to you?”
Sam (carefully) raised his right leg for Maurice to check, sans flip-flops. Which he did, expertly. “No, not anymore. Congratulations. So that’s a complete regrowth of limbs. So far, so good.”
“That’s good?”
“It means that your body was remade in the same fashion as any other Taken. Any other physically discernible difference?” Sam shook his head, if there were any that have yet to pop up to his still the same old head. “Good. So moving on for our checklist tomorrow. Any chronic illness that I should know about? Medical conditions?”
“Oh plenty! Asthma, like most nerdy fat kids, is the big one for me. But there are some other spices there as well. Do you really want a full list?” Maurice nodded. So Sam gave him the full run-through, at least of everything that he could remember (and if he couldn’t remember it, then it was probably not that important, right?). It wasn’t that long. Much shorter than many people Sam had met and heard about. But still long enough, when compared to the average person, to get Sam’s blood boiling at the unfairness of the world when it was time for one of his problems to rear its head and take control of his life for a month or two.
“Hydronephrosis?” Maurice mused after Sam relayed the last item. “And the surgery scar? Is it gone as well?”
Sam opened his bathrobe once again. “Hey, yeah, What do you know? That’s pretty nice, I tell you. Sometimes it just decided to itch like a motherfucker for no discernible reason.”
Maurice nodded, seemingly satisfied. “All right. So anything we won’t be able to rule out tomorrow, you will be able to rule out yourself in the coming days. Except the… neurochemical conditions, but we’ll leave discussing those until you are more acclimated.”
“You’re the doctor. So, does that mean that I qualify as a Taken?”
“There was never any doubt about that. You are Taken. My aim was just making sure that your uniqueness doesn’t stretch to the physical realm as well. But it seems that I had no reason to worry. Now we can only hope that you won’t suffer from the same fate as all other adult Taken…”
“Come again?”
“Right… forget what I said… It’s nothing much to worry about. Perhaps you never will have to worry about. But all other Taken of your age were… prevented from extending their natural lifetime.”
“You need to run that by me again.”
“Like I said, it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. But let’s say that once a person reaches a certain rank of power, what we call Ruler, they can artificially elongate their life by basically… cryosleep, to use a term you might be familiar with. For some reason, all adult Taken, of all races, were unable to do this. Which is why none of them remain with us today.”
“Funny that. You always think of old age as the main cause of death, but this does give it a more literal spin.”