Speaking of idiots like me ruining the things they like. I'm so wasted right now.
--
Another nightmare jolted him awake, leaving him sitting, panting, slick with sweat. It took a disorientating moment for his mind to recognise the sensations from her body, then place her square in her own darkened apartment.
Another night's sleep ruined.
No escaping it
That final spiral.
And certain death.
Gaige felt her mind crash, recalling the sensation of her thoughts shattering into thousand pieces as the cockpit imploded around her. Artificial synapses pieced together the wreckage of the moment, a slow motion death as her body tore itself apart, each new agony ripping through her body in one infinite instant, finishing with the sensation of her mind bursting open..
Gaige sat rigid, muscles locked, body frozen in sick terror.
Trying not to scream. Trying not to run. Trying to move before it hit again. Her heart raced in her chest, adrenaline pulsing through her body's veins. Muscles tore at their joints, bulging to run, hands clenching tight until the knuckles bleached.
Her body braced for impact.
Nothing happened.
Only a rattle from distant pipes and the thrumm of an engine broke the silence.
Slowly, her body settled, climbing down from the adrenaline peak. Her body flopped back onto the bed, drained of energy, barely able to breath.
What would Gaige do?
What would her sister do?
Not sleep. Gaige lay in bed,staring at the ceiling. She made another half-hearted attempt at the published 'Welcome to the New Woman' guide, but gave up halfway through the first chapter.
Gaige hated it even more, the second time around. Afraid to go back to sleep, her mind reached out for something to fill the night beyond the obvious.
When you fall of the bike, get right back on. It's what her Sister did, all the time. Right, if her Sister could fight a war, she could get back inside the cockpit.
She dressed herself, getting a little less clumsy with practice. Things found their natural places, even if her chest did struggle to escape from the vinyl jacket. Her feet found a comfortable place inside a pair of riding boots.
Gaige could tell herself it served a practical purpose being so tight. It kept the armour from moving in a crash.
At least, most people would be asleep. And she could avoid seeing herself in the mirror if she focused on the door.
She straddled the motoroid, finding the closest approximation of a comfortable seating position, then finding it even more uncomfortable because of it. A turn of a key activated the machine, a few quick self-checks confirming it to be new and, disappointingly, one of the first with a conventional battery. Less than a tenth of the energy storage.
Bloody federation. It still pulled like the specials when she pulled the throttle.
A few racers remained in the tunnels, pushing old gas-burners to their limits far away from anywhere they could hurt anyone. Gaige let the motoroid run free, loosing herself in the roar of the turbine.
She chased them, sliding the motoroid around the slower traffic. Only the moment remained, the laser concentration required to keep the speedometer pegged north of 400. Lights flicked overhead, merging into three bright streams.
Gaige's eyes focused on the point ahead where they merged into one bright point, and she tweaked the throttle, chasing the vanishing point. For a moment, she could almost feel like himself again, letting the last few days blow off the mind.
A hard bump that made it through the suspension, destroying the illusion.
They couldn't be escaped.
Not just the obvious, but the subtle, the quadrupling of the resolution of her world, the details her old body could never have sensed. The grain of the leather in the glove. The irridescent sheen from the tunnel walls. Even the whine of the motor's inverter drive. Like moving from old DvD to modern 12k streams
How had her sister managed to afford something like this?
Or why?
The fetishes of cybers were something she didn't want to understand.
She stopped the motoroid outside the Asagiri hangar, leaving it parked in the pressurised area away from the rest of motley assortment of shuttlecraft, fencar and light fighters. Standing waiting for the hatchway to cycle, she could feel every set of eyes in the bay gazing at her body. She pushed her mind to other things.
The gantry crane overhead fed a shuttle into one of Lun's missile.
A second glance chilled, showing her something Mackie's eyes never could.
“Why is she being armed?”
She didn't want to know the answer, hurrying inside. The scent of jet fuel and carbon enveloped her, the Kulbit racer waiting, it's wings reaching forward towards her like a black eagle, swooping down to it's prey. It pinned her in place for a moment, forcing her to work up the nerve to move past to the locker room. It took less than a moment to push through, opening the door with the keypad. In her locker, her moulded seat and flight suit neatly folded. A spare pair of boxers a mummified sandwich and the discarded remains of a dozen minor curiosities took up the remaining space.
She peeled her leathers from her body, blushing at striptease she provided for herself in the mirror, before unfolding her flightsuit on the bench beside her. She tried to step into the legs, straining at a polymer that'd become far tighter than expected. She strained, grunting through gritted teeth try to slide her feet in.
It took a moment to realise the problem. It'd been formed for a smaller body.
She'd gone to Mackie's.
A frustrated scream burst from her throat chased by a hard punch that started somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach and finished halfway through a locker door with a hollow clatter. The shock reverberated through her body, leaving her standing there, panting, trying to grab a hold of her sanity.
She stepped back, cols chills crawling up through her feet
The damaged locker stared back at her, buckled inwards like a baseball bad had been driven through it. She gazed down at her fist, skin blushing pink across the knuckles. Gaige opened her hand, closed it again, squeezed until the muscles on her arm popped taught, before releasing.
Just to prove she'd done that.
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
What the hell had her sister been doing to order something like this? She took a breath, letting her mind clear. It all seemed part of the plan. Just stay, and get all these nice benefits....
Gaige stuffed the flightsuit back inside. The broken door refused to close. She left it swinging, struggling back into her clothes, half ready to find something else to fill the night. A glance in the mirror gave her a way out.
One option remained. One flightsuit she knew would fit.
All she had to do was go through the other door. Half-naked,
The similarity between the two rooms left her stunned.
Perfect mirror images. Both had once been used by New Birmingham's reactor engineers. Both had the same plain white tile walls with blue tile floors. Both had the same two rows of empty grey lockers. Both had a mirror on one wall, and a bank of steel-headed showers with a patchy patina of rust.
The scent of decade old machine oil lingered, mingled with old sweat, fresh shampoo and deodorant.
At least that was different - a fuitier scent.
Her sister's locker waited, Jet printed on the door.
Gaige knew the combination for the lock. At least nobody had access to that camera feed, she thought. Nobody could watch her struggle against a flightsuit that seemed even tighter than the one she couldn't put on. Nobody saw her contorted expression as the sanitary connections were made inside. Nobody caught her admiring the reflection in the mirror, wearing a lustful smile for a heartbeat, before her mind caught up with the fact that she'd been enjoying self-service fanservice.
The last thing she did was clasp the polymer armour around her hips, ankles and shoulders, locking them into place.
It almost felt normal – the same constricting pressure compressing her body, forcing her to work hard just to breath. Nothing moved, only a few fading sparks reminding her of the differences between her old body and this one.
Obvious differences aside, it almost felt familiar. As close as she could get to being himself again. From a flightsuit cut to be the incarnation of fanservice, tinted panels accentuating the curves of the wearer. Her hands found her stomach, pushing against taught polymer stretched over firm muscle.
A smile from the woman in the mirror drew thrilling chills through her body, she swallowed a husky breath, grabbed Jet's moulded seat and left, focusing on the Kulbit.
It sat waiting for her, black wings reaching forward to smother. She stopped, staring at it, a mouse staring up at a swooping eagle, a predator ready to hear her apart. It loomed towards her, composite hull shimmering under the harsh hanger lights, shining like dark feathers broken only by scorched and worn sponsor-stickers.
Maybe taking her first flight since the crash in a knife-edge racecraft wasn't such a good idea. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to move forward. One foot in front of the other. One step forwards. One rung up the ladder
Just get in the plane, Mackie. If Shinji could get in the damn robot....
Her heart drummed in her chest, resonating through her body. Her skin prickled inside the flightsuit, ever micron of her body willing her to go back to bed, to leave it for another day. She pushed through.
The seat locked into place.
One deep breath. One leg over the cockpit edge, then another. Two hands on the canopy rails. She eased herself down into the seat, the sensation reminding her of that pair of boots she'd worn a day earlier. Most spacecraft you climbed into, but the Kulbit you strapped on, wearing it like leather jacket.
Clamps on her suit snapped home into the seat, fixing her rigidly in place, traping her in the cockpit. Her hand grasped around the quick-release lever, fingers clenching tight. Pull the lever and she could jump free.
It was that easy.
She sat there, drawing calming breaths. If she gave up now, it'd only be harder the next time. That's how it worked. That's how it got you. It made you give in once, and it got stronger. Each time you gave in, it built itself up, getting stronger and stronger – becoming harder and harder to overcome until eventually, you gave up trying and it beat you down.
The earlier you beat it, the better.
She couldn't beat her body, but she could still beat her mind. She pulled the canopy shut, hard carbon locking into place. Her muscles strained in place, begging her to run. She braced herself in place, letting her body settle in finding its natural place in the cockpit.
Engine Start.
Turbines shrieked to life, a nail of terror driving through her body. The sidestick and throttle creaked under her grip, body screaming for release. She felt it spiral, twisting around her body, auguring in towards the moon.
Her breath came ragged and fast, fighting back.
Slowly, she mastered it as the jet settled itself down to a steady murmur far behind. A direct feed from the life support tanks filled her lungs with oxygen through the pressure breathing mouthpiece. She lowered her helmet visor, lime-green wire-graphics taking a moment to shimmer into view. A few tweaks on the throttles, a few light touches on the pedals, and the jet responded, eager for another race it would never see.
Being a championship winner damned the thing to an easy retirement. A run around the neighbourhood would be an easy jog.
After that, flying came easy.
--
She forgot herself.
She forgot her body.
She forgot everything except the moment.
She forgot it'd only been filled with half-tanks of fuel for an exhibition.
For the second time in its life, it coasted across the finish line on one engine and fumes. It finally ran dry in the landing bay, winding down to dead silence.
For the first time in days, he felt normal, back to his old self. One lever released the flightsuit and sprung the canopy. Standing on her seat, she stretched stiffened muscles feeling her mind fill out to the fingertips and toes.
The rush of energy carried her back to the locker room, a runner's high fading as she lay on her back, soaking in the depths of the cold. Sweat prickled across her skin as she lay there, arms draped to the floor, staring at the ceiling.
Her heartbeat pulsed through her chest, slow and heavy, feeling larger than her body.
One hand between the legs confirmed it.
“Shit,” she said.
She lay there, letting the body wind down, hands on her stomach, letting the heat soak out. Red hair splayed out behind her, tickling at the back of her neck. Sweat prickled across the inside of the suit. The powerpack on the suit's back pressed into her shoulders.
Her hands went to her breasts.
The door clattered open, footsteps tap-tapping on the floor towards
Daryl stood over her, wearing a flightsuit, a denim jacket, a grin on her face and not much else.
“Oh...”
Gaige felt her face turn the same colour as her hair, bolting upright. Dear God's, if Daryl got the wrong idea she'd never hear the end of it. Finally gave in? Finally proved everything everyone thought...
“You went out for a flight?” Daryl asked, not even giving her a second glance as she opened her own locker.
Gaige's mind jerked to a halt, the excuse in her mouth stopping death. She took a breath, her legs crossing themselves as
“Thought it'd be good to get right back in the saddle,” Gaige forced a smile.
“How'd it go?” Daryl slung her jacket into the locker, joining an old Senshi uniform.
“I checked my laptimes,” Gaige said, leaning forward, supporting her body on folded arms.
“And.”
“Five seconds a lap faster around the course.”
Just a fact. She tried not to take pride in it. The smile on her lips showed how she failed
“Really?” Daryl's eyebrows raised. “Any setup changes?”
“The difference is the flightsuits. It doesn't hurt to pull as much G. Which means carrying more speed through a maneuver.”
“I think the difference is something else then,”
“I didn't want to say that.” Her body screwed itself tight.
“What? Admit that women are better than men?” The grin on Daryl's face cut.
“I didn't realise how heavily the whole thing was optimised around women,” she re-crossed her legs, forcing her mind not to focus on it. “Maybe that's why nobody bought them.”
“I really didn't think it'd be that bad,” said Daryl. You should've said something, she didn't say.
“I thought it'd be as bad for women,” Gaige said, patting herself on the chest. “Especially up top.”
“Guess you just found your one little thing,” Daryl answer with a smirk.
“Don't talk to me about that damn book,” Gaige spat, glaring at her.
“It works.”
“It's ten chapters of fluff trying to convince me to hate myself.”
Daryl stepped back, caught on the back foot. “It's not supposed to be.”
“Well, It's what it feels like.”
Daryl looked down at her, Gaige struggling to gauge her expression. She didn't care either way if she'd hurt her or insulted her or anything at all like that. It didn't matter.
She watched Daryl's body move as the pilot readied her own flying gear, clipping survival p
Desire sparked inside, rising up the back of her through, setting little fires throughout her body. Muscles clenched, fighting back. Her breathing slowed, trying to cool her body off.
The idea that she wore the same sort of skin-tight suit gnawed in the back of her mind. Just as skintight. Just as figure-enhancing.
She stood up, thinking it better to get changed back at her own apartment.
A question flared in her mind and she vascillated on it, wondering if it was worth asking. It didn't matter, Daryl didn't really like her anyway. Nothing she said could make her think worse.
“Daryl,”
“Yeah.”
She took a calming breath.
“If you don't mind me asking, why did you keep the suit?”
The pilot drew in a deep breath, extending a hand to steady herself on the locker.
“There were delays in getting the culture done. By the time they would've been ready, the surgery would've run into the start of the season. And I couldn't afford to be out for three races just to get pink skin again.”
That simple. She didn't even look at Gaige as she spoke. Alright. Next question.
“You don't worry that it's just the Wave trying to make you think that it's okay?”
Gaige saw the shudder run up the pilot's spine.
“No. As much as I don't want to look like this for the rest of my life, I don't need to go through with it. It doesn't define who I am.” Red eyes pinned Gaige in place. Natural or not, they burned through the soul. “The person who did this to me doesn't have that Power over me.”
“You got used to it?”
“I'd rather win races right now than be normal.” Daryl said, her voice pulling tight.“That's my one little thing. Don't be afraid of finding something that you don't want to give up. Or you'll spend the next few weeks or months miserable. And,” she turned her head to look at Gaige over her should “,you don't know if it's not a permanent change?”
“What?”
“Well, your sister's not necessarily known as cybernetics genius. She might've fucked something up without realising it.”
Gaige steadied herself agains the wall with her hand. “Or maybe she did realise it...”
“That depends on how much you trust her.”
Why did everything Daryl said have to sound like an accusation.?
“Something seems wrong with her,” Gaige answered, hoping she'd drop it.
“Wrong...”
Those red eyes bored, demanding an answer.
“I didn't really want to do this,” she poked herself in the breast, drawing an electric shudder up through her body. “...but I went along with it because I thought she knew better. It seemed like the least-worst option.” She saw the expression on Daryl's face target, a flicker of tension running through the woman's body. “I suppose I did choose to go along with it.”
Daryl shrugged. “So long as it was your choice.”
Gaige answered with a sour look. “Nothing about this feels like my choice.”
“You might still go back to your old body, eventually,” slinging her own pilot's seat over her shoulder. “That's more than most people in your situation can say.”
Daryl stepped past, leaving Gaige standing there struggling to gather her thoughts together.
“One more thing.” Daryl stopped in the door, turning bak “Try to remember that you're getting the highlights of the female experience. You're playing womanhood on easy mode.”
“You should try being a guy, then” Gaige suggested, the edge of her lip turning up. “I'd bet you'd miss every time you were asked to aim.”
“I'd take that as a challenge,” a smirk crawled across Daryl's lips. “So, what name'd you pick anyway?”
“Gaige Kisaragi,”
“Nice to meet you Gaige. I'm Daryl.”
As Gaige watched her leave, it struck her like a brick. Daryl would never have been so candid with Mackie.
Or shook his hand.
--
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
--
Another nightmare jolted him awake, leaving him sitting, panting, slick with sweat. It took a disorientating moment for his mind to recognise the sensations from her body, then place her square in her own darkened apartment.
Another night's sleep ruined.
No escaping it
That final spiral.
And certain death.
Gaige felt her mind crash, recalling the sensation of her thoughts shattering into thousand pieces as the cockpit imploded around her. Artificial synapses pieced together the wreckage of the moment, a slow motion death as her body tore itself apart, each new agony ripping through her body in one infinite instant, finishing with the sensation of her mind bursting open..
Gaige sat rigid, muscles locked, body frozen in sick terror.
Trying not to scream. Trying not to run. Trying to move before it hit again. Her heart raced in her chest, adrenaline pulsing through her body's veins. Muscles tore at their joints, bulging to run, hands clenching tight until the knuckles bleached.
Her body braced for impact.
Nothing happened.
Only a rattle from distant pipes and the thrumm of an engine broke the silence.
Slowly, her body settled, climbing down from the adrenaline peak. Her body flopped back onto the bed, drained of energy, barely able to breath.
What would Gaige do?
What would her sister do?
Not sleep. Gaige lay in bed,staring at the ceiling. She made another half-hearted attempt at the published 'Welcome to the New Woman' guide, but gave up halfway through the first chapter.
Gaige hated it even more, the second time around. Afraid to go back to sleep, her mind reached out for something to fill the night beyond the obvious.
When you fall of the bike, get right back on. It's what her Sister did, all the time. Right, if her Sister could fight a war, she could get back inside the cockpit.
She dressed herself, getting a little less clumsy with practice. Things found their natural places, even if her chest did struggle to escape from the vinyl jacket. Her feet found a comfortable place inside a pair of riding boots.
Gaige could tell herself it served a practical purpose being so tight. It kept the armour from moving in a crash.
At least, most people would be asleep. And she could avoid seeing herself in the mirror if she focused on the door.
She straddled the motoroid, finding the closest approximation of a comfortable seating position, then finding it even more uncomfortable because of it. A turn of a key activated the machine, a few quick self-checks confirming it to be new and, disappointingly, one of the first with a conventional battery. Less than a tenth of the energy storage.
Bloody federation. It still pulled like the specials when she pulled the throttle.
A few racers remained in the tunnels, pushing old gas-burners to their limits far away from anywhere they could hurt anyone. Gaige let the motoroid run free, loosing herself in the roar of the turbine.
She chased them, sliding the motoroid around the slower traffic. Only the moment remained, the laser concentration required to keep the speedometer pegged north of 400. Lights flicked overhead, merging into three bright streams.
Gaige's eyes focused on the point ahead where they merged into one bright point, and she tweaked the throttle, chasing the vanishing point. For a moment, she could almost feel like himself again, letting the last few days blow off the mind.
A hard bump that made it through the suspension, destroying the illusion.
They couldn't be escaped.
Not just the obvious, but the subtle, the quadrupling of the resolution of her world, the details her old body could never have sensed. The grain of the leather in the glove. The irridescent sheen from the tunnel walls. Even the whine of the motor's inverter drive. Like moving from old DvD to modern 12k streams
How had her sister managed to afford something like this?
Or why?
The fetishes of cybers were something she didn't want to understand.
She stopped the motoroid outside the Asagiri hangar, leaving it parked in the pressurised area away from the rest of motley assortment of shuttlecraft, fencar and light fighters. Standing waiting for the hatchway to cycle, she could feel every set of eyes in the bay gazing at her body. She pushed her mind to other things.
The gantry crane overhead fed a shuttle into one of Lun's missile.
A second glance chilled, showing her something Mackie's eyes never could.
“Why is she being armed?”
She didn't want to know the answer, hurrying inside. The scent of jet fuel and carbon enveloped her, the Kulbit racer waiting, it's wings reaching forward towards her like a black eagle, swooping down to it's prey. It pinned her in place for a moment, forcing her to work up the nerve to move past to the locker room. It took less than a moment to push through, opening the door with the keypad. In her locker, her moulded seat and flight suit neatly folded. A spare pair of boxers a mummified sandwich and the discarded remains of a dozen minor curiosities took up the remaining space.
She peeled her leathers from her body, blushing at striptease she provided for herself in the mirror, before unfolding her flightsuit on the bench beside her. She tried to step into the legs, straining at a polymer that'd become far tighter than expected. She strained, grunting through gritted teeth try to slide her feet in.
It took a moment to realise the problem. It'd been formed for a smaller body.
She'd gone to Mackie's.
A frustrated scream burst from her throat chased by a hard punch that started somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach and finished halfway through a locker door with a hollow clatter. The shock reverberated through her body, leaving her standing there, panting, trying to grab a hold of her sanity.
She stepped back, cols chills crawling up through her feet
The damaged locker stared back at her, buckled inwards like a baseball bad had been driven through it. She gazed down at her fist, skin blushing pink across the knuckles. Gaige opened her hand, closed it again, squeezed until the muscles on her arm popped taught, before releasing.
Just to prove she'd done that.
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
What the hell had her sister been doing to order something like this? She took a breath, letting her mind clear. It all seemed part of the plan. Just stay, and get all these nice benefits....
Gaige stuffed the flightsuit back inside. The broken door refused to close. She left it swinging, struggling back into her clothes, half ready to find something else to fill the night. A glance in the mirror gave her a way out.
One option remained. One flightsuit she knew would fit.
All she had to do was go through the other door. Half-naked,
The similarity between the two rooms left her stunned.
Perfect mirror images. Both had once been used by New Birmingham's reactor engineers. Both had the same plain white tile walls with blue tile floors. Both had the same two rows of empty grey lockers. Both had a mirror on one wall, and a bank of steel-headed showers with a patchy patina of rust.
The scent of decade old machine oil lingered, mingled with old sweat, fresh shampoo and deodorant.
At least that was different - a fuitier scent.
Her sister's locker waited, Jet printed on the door.
Gaige knew the combination for the lock. At least nobody had access to that camera feed, she thought. Nobody could watch her struggle against a flightsuit that seemed even tighter than the one she couldn't put on. Nobody saw her contorted expression as the sanitary connections were made inside. Nobody caught her admiring the reflection in the mirror, wearing a lustful smile for a heartbeat, before her mind caught up with the fact that she'd been enjoying self-service fanservice.
The last thing she did was clasp the polymer armour around her hips, ankles and shoulders, locking them into place.
It almost felt normal – the same constricting pressure compressing her body, forcing her to work hard just to breath. Nothing moved, only a few fading sparks reminding her of the differences between her old body and this one.
Obvious differences aside, it almost felt familiar. As close as she could get to being himself again. From a flightsuit cut to be the incarnation of fanservice, tinted panels accentuating the curves of the wearer. Her hands found her stomach, pushing against taught polymer stretched over firm muscle.
A smile from the woman in the mirror drew thrilling chills through her body, she swallowed a husky breath, grabbed Jet's moulded seat and left, focusing on the Kulbit.
It sat waiting for her, black wings reaching forward to smother. She stopped, staring at it, a mouse staring up at a swooping eagle, a predator ready to hear her apart. It loomed towards her, composite hull shimmering under the harsh hanger lights, shining like dark feathers broken only by scorched and worn sponsor-stickers.
Maybe taking her first flight since the crash in a knife-edge racecraft wasn't such a good idea. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to move forward. One foot in front of the other. One step forwards. One rung up the ladder
Just get in the plane, Mackie. If Shinji could get in the damn robot....
Her heart drummed in her chest, resonating through her body. Her skin prickled inside the flightsuit, ever micron of her body willing her to go back to bed, to leave it for another day. She pushed through.
The seat locked into place.
One deep breath. One leg over the cockpit edge, then another. Two hands on the canopy rails. She eased herself down into the seat, the sensation reminding her of that pair of boots she'd worn a day earlier. Most spacecraft you climbed into, but the Kulbit you strapped on, wearing it like leather jacket.
Clamps on her suit snapped home into the seat, fixing her rigidly in place, traping her in the cockpit. Her hand grasped around the quick-release lever, fingers clenching tight. Pull the lever and she could jump free.
It was that easy.
She sat there, drawing calming breaths. If she gave up now, it'd only be harder the next time. That's how it worked. That's how it got you. It made you give in once, and it got stronger. Each time you gave in, it built itself up, getting stronger and stronger – becoming harder and harder to overcome until eventually, you gave up trying and it beat you down.
The earlier you beat it, the better.
She couldn't beat her body, but she could still beat her mind. She pulled the canopy shut, hard carbon locking into place. Her muscles strained in place, begging her to run. She braced herself in place, letting her body settle in finding its natural place in the cockpit.
Engine Start.
Turbines shrieked to life, a nail of terror driving through her body. The sidestick and throttle creaked under her grip, body screaming for release. She felt it spiral, twisting around her body, auguring in towards the moon.
Her breath came ragged and fast, fighting back.
Slowly, she mastered it as the jet settled itself down to a steady murmur far behind. A direct feed from the life support tanks filled her lungs with oxygen through the pressure breathing mouthpiece. She lowered her helmet visor, lime-green wire-graphics taking a moment to shimmer into view. A few tweaks on the throttles, a few light touches on the pedals, and the jet responded, eager for another race it would never see.
Being a championship winner damned the thing to an easy retirement. A run around the neighbourhood would be an easy jog.
After that, flying came easy.
--
She forgot herself.
She forgot her body.
She forgot everything except the moment.
She forgot it'd only been filled with half-tanks of fuel for an exhibition.
For the second time in its life, it coasted across the finish line on one engine and fumes. It finally ran dry in the landing bay, winding down to dead silence.
For the first time in days, he felt normal, back to his old self. One lever released the flightsuit and sprung the canopy. Standing on her seat, she stretched stiffened muscles feeling her mind fill out to the fingertips and toes.
The rush of energy carried her back to the locker room, a runner's high fading as she lay on her back, soaking in the depths of the cold. Sweat prickled across her skin as she lay there, arms draped to the floor, staring at the ceiling.
Her heartbeat pulsed through her chest, slow and heavy, feeling larger than her body.
One hand between the legs confirmed it.
“Shit,” she said.
She lay there, letting the body wind down, hands on her stomach, letting the heat soak out. Red hair splayed out behind her, tickling at the back of her neck. Sweat prickled across the inside of the suit. The powerpack on the suit's back pressed into her shoulders.
Her hands went to her breasts.
The door clattered open, footsteps tap-tapping on the floor towards
Daryl stood over her, wearing a flightsuit, a denim jacket, a grin on her face and not much else.
“Oh...”
Gaige felt her face turn the same colour as her hair, bolting upright. Dear God's, if Daryl got the wrong idea she'd never hear the end of it. Finally gave in? Finally proved everything everyone thought...
“You went out for a flight?” Daryl asked, not even giving her a second glance as she opened her own locker.
Gaige's mind jerked to a halt, the excuse in her mouth stopping death. She took a breath, her legs crossing themselves as
“Thought it'd be good to get right back in the saddle,” Gaige forced a smile.
“How'd it go?” Daryl slung her jacket into the locker, joining an old Senshi uniform.
“I checked my laptimes,” Gaige said, leaning forward, supporting her body on folded arms.
“And.”
“Five seconds a lap faster around the course.”
Just a fact. She tried not to take pride in it. The smile on her lips showed how she failed
“Really?” Daryl's eyebrows raised. “Any setup changes?”
“The difference is the flightsuits. It doesn't hurt to pull as much G. Which means carrying more speed through a maneuver.”
“I think the difference is something else then,”
“I didn't want to say that.” Her body screwed itself tight.
“What? Admit that women are better than men?” The grin on Daryl's face cut.
“I didn't realise how heavily the whole thing was optimised around women,” she re-crossed her legs, forcing her mind not to focus on it. “Maybe that's why nobody bought them.”
“I really didn't think it'd be that bad,” said Daryl. You should've said something, she didn't say.
“I thought it'd be as bad for women,” Gaige said, patting herself on the chest. “Especially up top.”
“Guess you just found your one little thing,” Daryl answer with a smirk.
“Don't talk to me about that damn book,” Gaige spat, glaring at her.
“It works.”
“It's ten chapters of fluff trying to convince me to hate myself.”
Daryl stepped back, caught on the back foot. “It's not supposed to be.”
“Well, It's what it feels like.”
Daryl looked down at her, Gaige struggling to gauge her expression. She didn't care either way if she'd hurt her or insulted her or anything at all like that. It didn't matter.
She watched Daryl's body move as the pilot readied her own flying gear, clipping survival p
Desire sparked inside, rising up the back of her through, setting little fires throughout her body. Muscles clenched, fighting back. Her breathing slowed, trying to cool her body off.
The idea that she wore the same sort of skin-tight suit gnawed in the back of her mind. Just as skintight. Just as figure-enhancing.
She stood up, thinking it better to get changed back at her own apartment.
A question flared in her mind and she vascillated on it, wondering if it was worth asking. It didn't matter, Daryl didn't really like her anyway. Nothing she said could make her think worse.
“Daryl,”
“Yeah.”
She took a calming breath.
“If you don't mind me asking, why did you keep the suit?”
The pilot drew in a deep breath, extending a hand to steady herself on the locker.
“There were delays in getting the culture done. By the time they would've been ready, the surgery would've run into the start of the season. And I couldn't afford to be out for three races just to get pink skin again.”
That simple. She didn't even look at Gaige as she spoke. Alright. Next question.
“You don't worry that it's just the Wave trying to make you think that it's okay?”
Gaige saw the shudder run up the pilot's spine.
“No. As much as I don't want to look like this for the rest of my life, I don't need to go through with it. It doesn't define who I am.” Red eyes pinned Gaige in place. Natural or not, they burned through the soul. “The person who did this to me doesn't have that Power over me.”
“You got used to it?”
“I'd rather win races right now than be normal.” Daryl said, her voice pulling tight.“That's my one little thing. Don't be afraid of finding something that you don't want to give up. Or you'll spend the next few weeks or months miserable. And,” she turned her head to look at Gaige over her should “,you don't know if it's not a permanent change?”
“What?”
“Well, your sister's not necessarily known as cybernetics genius. She might've fucked something up without realising it.”
Gaige steadied herself agains the wall with her hand. “Or maybe she did realise it...”
“That depends on how much you trust her.”
Why did everything Daryl said have to sound like an accusation.?
“Something seems wrong with her,” Gaige answered, hoping she'd drop it.
“Wrong...”
Those red eyes bored, demanding an answer.
“I didn't really want to do this,” she poked herself in the breast, drawing an electric shudder up through her body. “...but I went along with it because I thought she knew better. It seemed like the least-worst option.” She saw the expression on Daryl's face target, a flicker of tension running through the woman's body. “I suppose I did choose to go along with it.”
Daryl shrugged. “So long as it was your choice.”
Gaige answered with a sour look. “Nothing about this feels like my choice.”
“You might still go back to your old body, eventually,” slinging her own pilot's seat over her shoulder. “That's more than most people in your situation can say.”
Daryl stepped past, leaving Gaige standing there struggling to gather her thoughts together.
“One more thing.” Daryl stopped in the door, turning bak “Try to remember that you're getting the highlights of the female experience. You're playing womanhood on easy mode.”
“You should try being a guy, then” Gaige suggested, the edge of her lip turning up. “I'd bet you'd miss every time you were asked to aim.”
“I'd take that as a challenge,” a smirk crawled across Daryl's lips. “So, what name'd you pick anyway?”
“Gaige Kisaragi,”
“Nice to meet you Gaige. I'm Daryl.”
As Gaige watched her leave, it struck her like a brick. Daryl would never have been so candid with Mackie.
Or shook his hand.
--
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?