Sleep comes in fragments, your consciousness drifting through memories that feel increasingly like inherited stories rather than lived experience. When morning finally arrives, exhaustion clings to you like the medical gown against your soft skin.
The door opens at seven precisely. Dr. Okonkwo enters with measured professionalism, tablet in hand, his dark eyes assessing you with clinical attention that borders on concern.
"早上好," he begins in careful Mandarin. Good morning. "我需要评估你的适应情况。" I need to assess your adjustment.
You push yourself upright, acutely conscious of how your body moves—the weight distribution, the softness pressing against itself. "好的。" Okay.
He sits, crossing one leg over the other. "你记得你是谁吗?" Do you remember who you are?
The question should be simple. Instead, competing answers surface simultaneously—a life in shadows and violence that feels theatrical and distant, versus this heavy body and restricted language that feels increasingly present. "我...我记得以前的事情,但它们不像我的了。" I... I remember things from before, but they don't feel like mine anymore.
"你的名字?" Your name?
"李美华," you respond, the syllables emerging with surprising ease. Li Meihua. The name settles into place without the rejection you expect.
Okonkwo makes extensive notes, his expression troubled in ways he's clearly trying to hide. "那个名字感觉正确吗?" Does that name feel correct?
"是的。" Yes. The admission fills you with distant horror, but your voice carries conviction your analytical mind cannot override.
Dr. Voss arrives fifteen minutes later, her presence transforming the room's atmosphere instantly. She stands at the foot of your bed, grey eyes scanning Okonkwo's tablet before addressing you directly.
"我们为你安排了职位," she announces with clinical satisfaction. We've arranged a position for you. "在四川省的一个家庭做清洁工。雇主不会问问题。你会有住处,薪水,还有新的身份文件。" As a cleaner for a household in Sichuan Province. The employer won't ask questions. You'll have accommodation, salary, and new identity documents.
Your mind catalogs the implications—permanent relocation, complete erasure of your former existence, reduction to domestic servitude. The detective in you understands this represents total victory for Metamorphosis BioSolutions. Yet when you open your mouth, resistance refuses to surface.
"我接受," you hear yourself say. I accept. "我会..." You struggle for words your neural pathways barely permit. "I... work... clean... good. Thank... you."
The fractured English requires immense concentration, each syllable formed through linguistic pathways that fight you at every turn. But you manage it, and Voss's expression carries the cold satisfaction of completed research.
"你下周一出发," she states. You depart Monday. "飞往成都,然后有人会接你。" Flight to Chengdu, then someone will collect you.
Okonkwo's discomfort is palpable, his stylus motionless against his tablet. But he says nothing.