Mint Condition

Mia bolted for the kitchen, looking for a knife, for anything sharp. But her legs felt heavy. The joints in her knees felt stiff, grinding as if the lubrication was drying up.

She stumbled, her legs locking straight. She fell, but it wasn't a hard impact. She hit the floor with the hollow clatter of a mannequin.

"It’s happening faster than I anticipated," Sterling noted, walking over to her. "Excellent metabolism."

Mia tried to crawl. Her fingers scratched uselessly against the marble. She couldn't feel the cold of the floor anymore. The sensation was distant, muted, as if she were wearing thick gloves.

"Please," she tried to say.

Her jaw hinge clicked. It wouldn't open more than an inch. Her vocal cords felt like they were coated in wax. The sound that came out was a single, pure, musical note. *Ping.*

Sterling knelt beside her. He stroked her hair. "Perfect texture. Finally."

He rolled her over. Mia stared up at the ceiling. She couldn't blink. Her eyelids had stiffened, locking her eyes open.

"The pose is important," Sterling murmured. "We need something timeless. Pensive. Looking out at the world you’ve transcended."

He lifted her easily—she felt light, hollow—and carried her to the window. He arranged her limbs. He bent her arm, placing her synthetic hand against the glass, her head tilted slightly to the side.

He injected the amber liquid into the base of her neck, right where the gold fused with her skin.

Cold.

A wave of absolute zero washed through her veins. It started at her neck and spread downward. Where the cold passed, the silence followed. Her heart, which had been racing, slowed.

* Thump... thump... click.*

Her lungs stopped expanding. She didn't need air.

"There," Sterling whispered, stepping back to admire his work. "Priceless."

Mia remained. She stood by the window, staring out at the city lights. She could see the traffic far below, the flow of life she used to be part of. She wanted to scream. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to die.

But masterpieces don't die. They are preserved.

She stood frozen in the amber of her own body, a beautiful, unfeeling object in a penthouse above the clouds, waiting for the dust to settle, conscious and screaming in a silence that would last forever.