Chapter 8: The Matrix

Silence. A silence so heavy it pressed on her skull, flattening thought into nothingness.

Then, from the void—A heart, engulfed in fire. Boom BOOM. Boom BOOM. Boom BOOM.

The rhythm dragged her back, eyelids flickering open. At first there was only white: the blurred haze of tiles swimming into focus.

She turned her head.

And froze.

On the floor beside her lay Elisabeth. Pale. Unmoving. Her own body, her other body — stretched across the tiles like a discarded skin.

A gasp lodged in her throat. If Elisabeth was lying there, then who was she?

Her hand rose shakily into her vision. Veins bulged, too vivid, as if the nervous system had yet to settle into its casing. At the edges of her fingernails, a fine dew of blood and fluid seeped through, glistening like condensation on glass.

Her limbs carried her to the sink. A stranger's gait. She faced the mirror, fogged with condensation. With a trembling hand she wiped it clear.

And there she was.

A young woman stared back, looking radiant, impossibly flawless. No trace of years, no fatigue, no shadows. Her beauty was terrifying in its perfection, sculpted yet alive and breathing. She could not look away.

She leaned closer, pried her lower eyelid down. Within her iris, flecks of yellow phosphorescence swirled like stardust, settling into irregular stains.

She traced her fingers over her face. Down across the line of her jaw, the hard tips of her breasts. Nipples sharp with life. Skin electric. Her hand paused on the beauty mark that had traveled, impossibly, to her right breast. Her belly was unmarked. Smooth and new.

She arched, letting her hair cascade down her back. The gesture was instinctive, triumphant, almost divine, a Venus called forth from within flesh.

Then her gaze dropped.

On the tiles, Elisabeth — the matrix — lay sprawled in a darkening pool. Her eyes were wide, frozen in a glassy emptiness. Along her spine, a vertical slit gaped, already knitting itself shut, the wound of her own impossible birth.

The sight broke her. Her stomach seized and she collapsed against the sink, retching. A stream of fluorescent yellow poured out of her, splattering the tiles beside her old self.

Shaking, she forced herself upright. The matrix was fading, her breath shallow, skin gone ashen.

Hands fumbling, she tore open the surgical kit. The smell of disinfectant hit her nose. She threaded the needle, pressed the split edges of skin together, and stitched. Clumsy, trembling sutures binding mother-body closed again.

She slid the perfusion needle into the matrix's arm and hung the bag marked FOOD / MATRIX. The thick golden fluid crept down the tube, a bubble rising lazily to the surface.

For a moment, nothing. Then a shudder, a breath breaking through the stillness. The liquid pulsed into the body, marking its slow descent down the numbered gradations of the bag.

She collapsed onto the rim of the bathtub, drenched in sweat, chest heaving.

For the first time, both were in the same frame: The matrix, pale and broken on the tiles. The new self, trembling, radiant, staring into the void of what had just been unleashed.

Two bodies. One existence. Now they would have to share.

And in the silence that followed, she could only sit, frozen and unable to speak.

---

The kitchen was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

She sat at the table, bathrobe pulled tight around her. Her body was perfectly still, as if she hadn't yet figured out how to inhabit it.

Then a sound escaped her. Low and guttural. A vibration that rolled up from her chest, caught in her throat, and broke into strange modulations — bass sliding into treble, collapsing back into bass.

"...hhh... hhhhel..."

Her lips twisted clumsily around the syllables. She tried again."...Hiii... hiii... heeee... llooooo..."

The attempt triggered a violent cough. She bent forward, gagging, and spat into a napkin. Yellow mucus gleamed under the kitchen light — the same unnatural fluorescence that pulsed through her veins.

She stared at it for a long moment before trying again.

"Hello." Her voice was clearer this time. Rough and uneven. "Hello. Hello. Hello."

The word hung in the still air like a spell she had just learned to cast.

Later, she lay on her back in the wide bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling. Thoughts scattered like moths in her skull, colliding, dissolving and reforming.

She turned to one side. Then the other. Restless. Alien in her own skin.

Finally, she switched on the light. The sheets whispered as she rose and padded across the room.

The bathroom light clicked on.

The sight was exactly as she had left it: the matrix still curled on the floor, limbs slack, skin pallid. Time had not touched her.

For a long moment, New Elisabeth simply watched. The image was unbearable — grotesque and fragile all at once.

She knelt. Carefully, she shifted the limp body onto its back, every movement gentle, as if afraid of breaking porcelain. She folded a terry towel in four and slid it beneath the head, adjusting until it seemed right. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind the ear, smoothing it with a gesture that was almost maternal.

Then she lowered her face close to the parted lips and waited.

A whisper of breath met her ear.

Relief loosened her shoulders.

She lingered a moment longer, her eyes tracing every contour of the face that had once been hers. Then she rose, switched off the light, and left the room in darkness again.

---

Through the bedroom window, the palm tree gleamed. Its fronds shone a waxy green against the flawless blue sky, still and eternal.

Water thundered in the shower, flattening the cascade of her hair against the small of her back. New Elisabeth arched slightly, letting the jet strike her spine. Her hands drifted slowly, reverently, over her waist, her hips, her thighs. She traced every curve like an archaeologist discovering a relic.

Alive. Perfect. New.

She stepped out, water dripping from her skin, droplets pattering onto the tiles. Her feet passed within inches of the body on the floor, the Matrix, unchanged, pallid and motionless. A few drops landed on that still flesh before she wrapped the bathrobe tightly around herself and faced the mirror.

"...Hello."

The word rang out, steady now. Controlled. Strange, like trying on a new instrument.

She rubbed at her hair with a towel, but a faint buzzing rose in her ears. Tinnitus. Sharp and insistent.

Ping.

She blinked at the red spot in the white porcelain sink. Another drop fell. She touched her nose and saw her fingertip stained bright crimson.

The buzzing grew louder. Her hands shook slightly as she opened the cabinet and pulled out the plastic case marked in block letters:

STABILIZER – Other Self.

The card inside was blunt: you stabilize — every day.

Her eyes widened as she studied the diagrams, uneasy at the length of the puncture needle, the strange modular syringe with seven small, interlocked vials.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The blood fell faster, forcing her hand.

She knelt beside the Matrix, rolled the limp body carefully onto its side. The sutured wound down the spine stared back at her. The needle trembled in her fingers as she pressed it against the seam. Resistance. She pushed harder. Still resistance. Then—

Swik!

The needle slid in.

Her ears rang like bells, but she forced her concentration to the syringe, watched as clear fluid drew up from the spinal column into the vials, filling them one by one.

Her breath shuddered when she removed the needle. She unclipped the first vial, labeled DAY 1, attached it to the injector, and plunged it deep into her thigh.

A rush, then her pupil dilated, swallowing the iris. For a moment her body shook while absorbing. The tinnitus waned. The bleeding stopped and the balance was restored.

She exhaled slowly, relief softening her shoulders.

Then—

A sound. Metallic and Turning.

A key in the lock.

She froze. Time suspended as her heart pounded. Then she sprang into motion, racing down the hallway. The door swung a fraction and she hurled her weight against it—SLAM! She shoved it back, double-locked it with a rapid click-clack.

Breathless, she pressed her eye to the peephole.

Maria.

Her bag had toppled on the floor, groceries spilled, her face twisted in confusion.

New Elisabeth's mind raced. She fumbled for her phone, typed with shaking fingers. A message. Sent.

Through the peephole she watched Maria check her screen with a frown. Surprise flickered across her features. Then resignation. She gathered her things, hesitated, and walked away.

Relief washed through her and then she released the peephole cover.

Shlick.

The sound echoed in the silence of the apartment.