Leo tried to sit up, but his body felt new. Too light. Too quiet. No ache in his knees, no thrum of caffeine in his blood. He looked at his hands. They were pale—not pale like a sick man, but pale like porcelain. Ivory.
“You’re in the Chrysalis,” she said. “And you’re dead. Legally speaking.”
“Where am I?” His voice echoed strangely. chrome blaire ivory
Chrome. Blaire. Ivory.
“No. This is a Mark IX Synthetic Vessel. Chrome endoskeleton, ivory polymer dermis, Blaire-series neural lace.” She smiled faintly. “You’re a ‘Chrome Blaire Ivory’ model. I designed it. Named it after myself. Modest, I know.” Leo tried to sit up, but his body felt new
He pulled on the coat. The ivory of his face reflected in a polished steel wall—handsome, cold, and eternal.
He woke on a table. Not a hospital bed—a table . Cold, seamless, and gleaming like liquid mercury. Chrome. No ache in his knees, no thrum of caffeine in his blood
Blaire’s smile didn’t waver. “Then I wipe the lace, sell the chrome for scrap, and donate the ivory to a medical school. Your call.”