One morning, after a night of dreamless sleep, Sasha was surprised to awaken in her bed and find herself transformed into a strange machine. Her fingers, which were once crude flesh, had become metal rods, sticky at the ends—perfect for filing. Her arm joints were soldered together on hinges. She stood up. Her breathing was flawlessly even and her heartbeat had lost its murmur. At her hips she found a monitor with mail merge on the toolbar. Sasha inspected her profile in the mirror and discovered her face to be a mask behind which gears turned in her mastoid unit, processing data received through her ocular chips. How long had this been happening? And how could she have failed to notice? Wires carried messages down to Sasha’s well-oiled toes. They moved when she told them to, but she could not feel a thing.