I didn't find anything. No desires at all, asside from getting this stuff over with. Just when I was about to press one option at random, the little window in the corner of my eye blinked with a notification.

"Cataloguing memories complete. Beginning skill extrapolation."

I froze up. If I had a heart, I'm sure it would have skipped a beat.

"You've been cataloguing my memories?" I asked, voice hoarse even though there were no muscles in my throat to seize up.

"No, not exactly. The system does that automatically without any direct oversight. If you have concerns about your privacy, I can assure-"

"Can I see them?" My voice was louder than I had intended. I hadn't even noticed how angry I'd been getting at the constant polite business talk. It did shut the facilitator up, though. They just sat there, erily still.

I forced myself to mime a deep breath. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as I'd hoped for, but it was enough to unclench the fist I'd apparently been making.

"Please, show me," I repeated, much more calmly this time.

"Of course," the facilitator smiled, snapping right back into their corporate cheer. "If you need some time to de-stress and be with your thoughts, please feel free to do so." And with that, they gestures to a small, wooden door entirely out of place among the sterile white from the rest of the room. That hadn't been there before, I was sure of that.

Either way, it wasn't an answer to my question. "Will I be able to look through my memories there?"

"A projection screen will be provided."

That was all I needed. I stood up, using a little too much force, so that the clear plastic chair I'd been sitting in toppled back and clattered to the ground. I was already through the door before it came to rest.

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Behind the door was a surprisingly comfortable little cabin room. The floor and ceiling were wooden, the furniture rustic. A worn leather couch took up much of the room, standing on a deep, red carpet. A small coffee table held snacks and drinks. The walls were covered in art and bookshelves holding various nicknacks in-between the books. Bottles filled with sand, wooden carvings, potted plants and more. A small fireplace crackled in one corner. But, most importantly, there was a window. Large, almost taking up the entire wall opposite me, it overlooked an awesome drop between two mountain cliffs covered in thick greenery. Way down in the distance I could see a roaring stream, snaking in-between the two massive stone walls. Above it was an actual sky, filled with soft clouds painted in vibrant sunset oranges and purples. I couldn't say how long I stood there, simply watching them drift toward the horizon.

When the sun vanished behind the mountain peaks, and the sky turned an uncomfortably familiar black, I finally turned back to the room. The fireplace drew flickering shadows over the walls, but a smattering of small lamps and fairy lights strung across the room made for a comfortably dim atmosphere, yet bright enough there wasn't any risk of stubbing my toes while I made my way to the sofa.

It was wonderful, hugging my shape just perfectly as I settled in. Firm yet comfortable, with worn-in grooves that seemed almost made for me. Or for this body, more like. Who knew how many others with similar one-size-fits-all bodies had been in here, undergone the same procedure?

And just like that all the anxieties returned. What would this new life be like? How would my decisions now impact it for who knew how long to come? Did any of it really matter? Would I ever see my family again?

Well, I suppose I could answer at least one of those now. I looked around for the promised projection screen, but just as I did, one appeared in front of me.

"Start Recap? [Yes] [No]"

I took another deep breath, just as unsatisfying as the last one. Should I? What good would it do to remind myself of all the things, all the people, I'd lost? Maybe I'd be better off just forgetting about them.

No, I couldn't though. I'd already remembered their faces. If I didn't get closure now, they'd haunt me for the rest of my life, or whatever you wanted to call this purgatory.

I had to. But I couldn't just yet. It took a few pacing trips back and forth between the sofa and the window as well as a long examination of all the books on the shelves, all of which I had read before so maybe those too were pulled from my memories? But finally I ran out of things to procrastinate with.

So, armed with a warm blanket, a mug of hot chocolate and some cookies, all of which had been on the coffee table and were actually really nice, I pressed [yes].