The photographer takes the pictures, capturing me at various moments in time.

I turn. I smile. I pose as he wants me to, or at the least I try for this is something I am unaccustomed to. Though he’s a practiced hand, I can read the disappointment in his face as he’s not getting the pictures he wants. Normally I’d say ‘tough biscuits’ but instead I can feel my heart beating quickly, unable to calm down, and sense the onset of an anxiety attack encroaching upon me.

I’m being forced to do something against my will, and I simply can’t bring myself to relax, and the façade I’ve been keeping up eventually breaks down.

The photography session is suspended pending a cessation to my tears, and an aide hurries toward me as the photographer seethes at the interruption and storms out of the studio. I’d like to call him a drama queen, but at present I’m the one shedding tears.

The aide’s intentions are visible in the aura that I see surrounding the young woman’s body. There is concern flowing through her. She could be worried for me though I suspect she’s worried about her job.

My manager comes over as well. Yes, that is what I call her though in many respects she is more of a Guardian. Her aura is a little different and I read it as anxiety that I can well guess at. She’s worried about what she’ll report back to my family– to those bastards who have welcomed me – set me up – as an illegitimate daughter.

More of the studio staff, all young women, join the fuss over me.

I sit on the chair they bring up to me and drink the water they offer. Clad in my Princess Regalia, I’m faintly amused despite the tears trickling down my face and the sobs wracking my body because the staff at the studio believe my attire is only a costume, blissfully unaware it’s the real thing. I wonder how they would behave knowing the railgun I’ve been posing with is not a prop but a firearm that can fire a bullet through a permacrete wall a hundreds of meters away.

But it’s all inconsequential to them because their focus is on me, and on getting me back on my feet in time to resume the photoshoot.
Time is money, therefore time is precious, and they all want to keep their jobs and it’s not easy to work under this particular photographer, a Prima Donna of ill repute despite his exemplary work.

I down the contents of the cup, my cynicism coating my frayed emotions, while bitterness and resentment toward the entity – the individual – responsible for turning my life upside down lends me the strength to wrestle back control over my body. With false sincerity, I thank the girls for their support and allow them to employ their artisan skills to make me pretty once again for the camera.

The photoshoot resumes and a dark, subtle urge slithers out from the murky depths of my subconscious. For an anxious moment, I fight against it, and my thumb trembles over the railgun’s safety switch. Then the desire fades like smoke in the wind, and I’m once again in control of myself. Yet the people in the studio – the photographer in particular – have no reason to suspect they survived a brush with death, for I smile and pose without complaint.

However, next time I’ll make sure the gun isn’t loaded.

For now, let’s return to my woeful tale.

If you missed it, you’ll just have to read it as I don’t plan on spending time recounting what I’ve already narrated. I prefer to waste time on other aspects of my dismal story of self-pity and angst wherein I rail against the injustices I’ve been subjected to.

In saying this, I know that at some point I’ll need to deal with my situation in order to attend to a matter that grows more pressing by the day. Sooner rather than later I will have to face the darkness within me…within Mirai…and deal with it before an innocent is hurt. Yet it isn’t easy for me to accept what I have become, and I feel like someone standing on a precipice with the proverbial leap of faith before them. To accept that I am now a teenage girl isn’t possible for me because it means closing off my heart and mind to the possibility of returning to a life as a teenage boy, and that is something I am not prepared to do.

Believing that I can regain what was taken from me, and gaining more in the process, is what helps me endure this existence.

Thus, I cannot – I will not – relent to the darkness that mires my subconscious.

I will face it and I will come to a resolution with it, but I will not give in to it, because until I get my human body back, I will not relinquish Mirai to anyone.

With that said, the first act is ended so let the second act begin on a desert of rock, sand, and wind

Dear Readers,

I am posting a draft copy of Book Two in thanks to the readers who have purchased a copy or read Book One on Amazon Kindle.
The final version of Book Two will differ from what is here as it is naturally re-written and polished up for a professional release.
Thus, you will find this draft to be "raw" in nature.
For readers who haven't read Book One the proceeding chapter segments will be confusing and utterly out of left field.
However, I hope it interests you enough to give Book One a try.
Thank you kindly to all for giving this series a try.

Amazon Link: here!

On another note, I would really appreciate it if someone could tell me where I can find instructions on linking the pages together. Whenever I linked the pages for the chapter segments of Book One, they would vanish from the main page. How do I avoid that from happening? Please let me know. Thank you in advance. Best wishes to all.