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Chapter 1

Imogen

I was elbow-deep in a cyborg's chest cavity when the alarms blared. My fingers, slick with synthetic fluids, fumbled with the delicate circuitry I'd been repairing. The patient on my table stirred, his organic eye fluttering open in confusion.

"Easy there, Jax," I murmured, my voice steady despite the chaos erupting around us. "We're not quite done yet."

The medbay doors hissed open, and my assistant, Lila, burst in. What looked like a mixture of blood and coolant splattered Lila's usually pristine lab coat. "Dr. Imogen! We've got an emergency!"

I didn't look up from my work. On Durmox C7, emergencies were as common as breathing. "What kind of emergency are we talking about, Lila? I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

"It's bad, Doc. Really bad. They're bringing in a cyborg warrior. He's barely holding together."

That got my attention. I glanced up, meeting Lila's wide-eyed gaze. "How long?"

"Two minutes, tops."

I nodded, turning back to Jax. His augmented eye whirred, focusing on me with a mixture of trust and fear. I offered him a reassuring smile. "Looks like we're going to have to wrap this up quickly, big guy. Ready for a rush job?"

Jax's organic lips twitched in a weak smile. "Do your worst, Doc."

With practiced efficiency, I sealed the last connection and closed up Jax's chest plate. The synthetic skin meshed seamlessly, leaving only a faint silver line where I'd made the incision. "All done. How do you feel?"

Jax sat up, rolling his shoulders. "Like a million credits. You're a miracle worker, Doc."

I patted his arm, already moving towards the door. "That's what they pay me for. Now, get some rest. Doctor's orders."

As I stepped out into the corridor, the controlled chaos of the medbay washed over me. Nursesand med-techs rushed past, their voices a cacophony of medical jargon and urgent requests. I made my way to the trauma bay, my mind already racing through scenarios.

Cyborg warriors were a breed apart. Their bodies were marvels of bioengineering, pushed to the very limits of what was possible when flesh met machine. But that also meant that when they went down, they went down hard.

I reached the trauma bay just as the doors slid open, revealing a scene of controlled mayhem. A team of paramedics wheeled on a gurney, their faces grim beneath their protective visors. On the gurney lay what remained of a cyborg warrior.

My breath caught in my throat. I'd seen my fair share of gruesome injuries, but this was something else entirely. The cyborg's body was a mangled mess of torn flesh and twisted metal. His left arm was completely gone, leaving a sparking mess of wires and hydraulics. The right side of his face was a ruin, the synthetic skin peeled away to reveal the complex circuitry beneath.

But what struck me most was his organic eye, the only part of him that looked fully human. It was open, filled with a pain and desperation that cut straight to my core.

I snapped into action, barking orders as I approached the gurney. "Get him to Bay 3! I need a full system diagnostic, blood work, and nanite levels stat!" I turned to the nurse. "Prep the cybernetic repair suite and get me Dr. Venn from robotics."

As we rushed the cyborg to Bay 3, I placed my hand on his remaining organic one. His fingers twitched, grasping weakly at mine. "You're going to be okay," I said, meeting his gaze. "I've got you."

The next few hours were a blur of frantic activity. We worked tirelessly repairing damaged circuits, replacing fried components, and carefully regenerating organic tissue. It was a delicate dance, balancing the needs of flesh and machine, pushing the boundaries of what was medically possible.

Through it all, I kept finding myself drawn to the cyborg's face. Even half-destroyed, there was something interesting about it. A strength, a determination that seemed to radiate from him even in his unconscious state.

As I carefully reconstructed the synthetic skin on his face, I couldn't help but wonder about the man beneath the machinery. Who was he? What battles had he fought? And what had broughthim to my operating table in such a devastating state?

It was well into the night cycle when we finally stabilized him. I stepped back from the operating table, peeling off my gloves with a weary sigh. The cyborg lay still, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of artificial respiration. The damage had been extensive, but we'd pulled him back from the brink.

"Nice work, everyone," I said, offering a tired smile to my team. "Let's get him moved to recovery and set up round-the-clock monitoring."

As the nurses began prepping the cyborg for transfer, I retreated to my office. I needed a moment to decompress, to process the intensity of the last few hours. I slumped into my chair, running a hand through my hair. My braid had come loose during the surgery, and auburn strands fell around my face.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. The image of the cyborg's mangled body flashed behind my eyelids, and I felt a familiar pang of emotion. It wasn't just professional concern, for there was something more, a connection I couldn't quite explain.

A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Lila standing in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand.

"Thought you could use this," she said, setting the mug on my desk. The rich aroma of real coffee, a rare luxury on Durmox C7, filled the air.