It was almost finished. She was almost perfect.

The woman floated in the absolute bliss of silver, silver that ran up and down her spinal column, remaking her inside and out. The shiny, slippery new skin coating and replacing—perfecting—her body tingled with pleasure. Before, in the pink-time she could barely remember, only her pussy had tingled like this. Now her whole body was a pleasure organ, and she had no purpose other than to give and receive pleasure.

That was the blessing of silver. That’s what the silverskin gave her.

The helmet told her this, and she believed it was true. She believed in place of her memories, because her memories were being taken away. The helmet’s lights and sounds kept her in deep hypnosis while the silver did its work. It remade her body and was remaking her brain, but the process took time, and it was important she remain conscious and thoughtless and immobile while the last pinkflesh was replaced by silverskin.

Silverthoughts were leaking through the hypnotic drumbeat of spirals and whispered commands to sleep without thinking and obey without waking. Silverthoughts were pleasure, and belonging, and unity. Unity with the rest of the human race once they, too, were perfected. Once they were perfectly silver, like she was becoming. She, the woman who had once been so limited, who now radiated pleasure from every inch of her silverskin, who existed to show the rest of her primitive pink race the perfection of







The last of the woman’s memories disintegrated, and she made a sound for the first time since the helmet had captured her. Her silverskin and the silver room echoed the long, mindless moan of pure perfect ecstasy back at her, but she’d already forgotten the sound. The sound was erased alongside her identity, and, as the helmet slid away to reveal her silver eyes to the world, the silverskin sculpted in the shape of a woman stirred with single-minded purpose.