Rimelion: The Exploiter

My stubborn mirror wouldn't budge: the reflection staring back was unmistakably a girl. No pointy elf ears and with dirty blonde hair, but otherwise the same as Charlie—my game character. But that's it, right? Just a game character. How is this even possible?

I crashed onto my poor sofa, my mind racing for answers. Somehow, my body had changed—and I was missing something pretty essential down there! Wait... the world seemed slightly off, a little larger than before.

Springing to my feet, I stomped over to the wardrobe, nearly colliding with it in my rush. After a quick search in the drawer, throwing all other useless things all around, I found the measuring tape and measured my height. Only 5 feet, 5 inches. Frustrated, I kicked the innocent cabinet, a sharp sting shooting through my leg, and flopped back onto the sofa.

It caught me off guard when a robotic voice chimed, "If I may, Miss Charlie?" I hadn't heard such a distorted voice since the early days of natural TTS.

"Who the hell are you?!" I shouted, emotions swirling inside me: anger, fear, excitement, confusion, and just a hint of sadness.

"I don't have a name; my designated identification number is MK3-85. I am the computer core in your capsule."

Damn. That was the last thing I expected to hear. Almost-forgotten headlines resurfaced in my mind—Mark-3, Nathan's experiment. Since people were practically living in capsules, the company had tried to address exercise needs through "body synchronization." It had ended... badly. At least no one died—well, not that I'd heard of.

Then again, what about that girl who wound up with a third arm? Or the poor guy who ended up with two of... something I didn't even have anymore. Damn it! I threw a punch at the capsule. "What the hell happened?"

"When you entered the system, discrepancies between your body scan and actual body exceeded my factory limits. By programming, I should've contacted the authorities. However, based on my calculations and observations, there was a 98.74% likelihood you'd prefer synchronization instead. Your medical file also shows a previous preference for a female body."

I shook my head and threw a punch at the wall. "I was sixteen! Sure, I wanted it back then, but I came to terms with it. Got used to my gender, and after forty—" I hit the wall again, this time hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. Not that it made a dent in the damn thing. Whatever. "Like that was even realistic..."

"Miss Charlie, synchronization was successful. However, your telomeres have been shortened, resulting in an estimated lifespan reduction of six to twelve years. Embryonic stem cell capacity was insufficient to fully modify your DNA, so I requisitioned four additional containers. Your company's AI kindly agreed to a generous loan on your behalf."

What? I froze, staring at the capsule, mouth hanging open. How? Have the robots gotten me again? After a moment of stunned silence, I muttered, "Great, even better. Why not just kill me outright? How much?"

"One canister has a market value of one million credits, but the company offered a discount—800,000 credits per canister. The total cost came to three and a half million credits. Given your weekly salary of two thousand credits, the company has arranged to deduct one and a half thousand credits each week over the next forty-five years."

Fantastic. Lucas wasn't the only debtor now. As the reality sank in, my shaky knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them. So that's it? This stupid tin can... tin can... has actually altered my body?

Yeah, I'd heard of creating athlete-level bodies—if people were rich enough. Growing artificial organs, replacing hearts, even parts of the brain. But this? "How am I even alive?"