When she'd had her car accident--a collision with a truck that had clearly been transporting something rather dangerous--the world had been allowed to believe that Lindsey Majors had died, that the explosion had been so great that it had reduced what little there had been left of her to a state of quickly crumbled ash. As far as her husband and children had been concerned, there hadn't even been a body to bury.
In truth, there had been just enough left to preserve. A brain, lungs, a heart, and a bit of spinal column. Those had been dipped in a nanite-solution, which had been programed to form a robotic overlaying, and over that a pseduo-flesh shell to contain that. The result had been something which had looked human at cursory glance, but when studied for any length of time looked more like a mannequin or doll. She often wondered just why the Project and the Chief had chosen to save her life, and wondered further just why they'd gone to such strange lengths to do it.
She preferred not to dwell on such things. They continued to promise to clone her a real body, but apparently the nature of the chemical damage to her remaining body parts made extracting any useful DNA difficult. But they continued to work.
What amazed her, however, was what had survived the explosion and fire that had all but destroyed her body: her wedding ring.
She room was sparsely furnished, minimal even. There was her recharge cubicle, a small computer terminal, a closet, and a dresser. She didn't really go out, so her wardrobe was sparse, and her needs as far as resting and sleeping her minimal.
She'd pulled pictures of her children from her husband's Facebook page and printed them. Those dominated every available surface, along with pictures of herself and her husband that had been on there, including a cherished picture from when they had still been in high school. Her, the head cheerleader, he the quarterback of the football team.
They had been so happy. Their children, Steve and Jaime, had been beautiful.
She could toss tanks around like they were nothing, but her wedding ring felt heavy in her hand. She couldn't bring herself to slip in on her finger, couldn't bear to unite the past that had been with the reality that dominated her present.
Would Austin remarry? Would some other woman share what had been their bed with him? Would her children call this hypothetical other woman their mother? Would Jaime even remember her?
Better they thought she was gone and dead than to have a monster, a freak, for a mother. Not when she couldn't feel the warmth of one of her children's kisses, or her husband's hands on her skin...
She couldn't even cry for herself.
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