The Raise

They gave me the promotion.

Not a big one. Not enough to move out of the stack or anything. But enough for a better healthcare tier. Enough for a real appointment.

I booked the Ripper Claw consultation.

I know what Dad would say. “You are not a machine.” But he says that with a mechanical heart ticking in his chest and a titanium skull under his hair.

Everybody acts like a body is sacred until it gets inconvenient.

The plant wants faster repairs. The foreman wants fewer mistakes. The clinic says the Claw will stabilize my hands and improve surgical precision. I could work trauma. I could do emergency installs. I could be useful.

I am scared, though.

Not of the procedure.

Of waking up and realizing I wanted the hands more than I wanted to be myself.
