i won't lie, it feels good

Minoth's top surgery was an accident during the experiment. and he woke up and looked at Amalthus who was really pissed about it and tried to keep from smiling

Amalthus, disdainfully: in order to perform the procedure it will be necessary to...make some incisions...in the chest area
Minoth, internally: mmmmmmmMMMMMAAAAAAAAHHHHH

Minoth had a problem. Well, two of them, of course. He'd had it, them, all his life, and likely in all those prior - and maybe he'd done something about it, them, in a past life, but lacking the resources with which to recreate, either prefix or postfix, the results of such an endeavor, he remained here, in the present, with those two problems.

At least they were fairly symmetrical, which was nice. He didn't spend all that much time observing them, for obvious reasons, and they also spent the opposing fraction of that time bound close to chest, so neither did anyone else, nor did they present as anything but minimized and summarily ignored.

Blade flesh, especially where reproductively inert fat distribution was concerned, was fairly similar to human flesh. Blade breasts and/or pectorals, of course, didn't have nipples.

Of course. It all made a hell of a lot of sense. Nice, neat borders between this and that, traditional and synthetic, bog-standard Human and flashy showpiece Blade. Why would Blades have nipples? Why would Blades have any other primary or secondary sex characteristics? Why not? They could, maybe. Maybe some did, and some didn't. Maybe Minoth didn't because of all that hokery about past lives.

But sensible or not, feasible or not, none of the facts and unfudged figures actually helped Minoth do anything about it (them), because while he had no reason to suspect that Amalthus would...well, would really care, one way or the other, he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that there was a catch here, one he couldn't avoid nor ignore. Oh sure, just do it, see what happens, and if you really don't like how you come out, well, you could always try again.

Pretty dark possibility, there. Humans asked themselves variations of it all the time. If you could start all over again, would you? Rewind the clock, undo your mistakes, have another crack? But most of those frivolous thought experiments usually assumed that no matter what, the people themselves who were mucking with their current states in space and time would, no matter what, still be born; would, no matter what, still have the same parents and basic frame of circumstance, until they themselves somehow assumed consciousness and ticked a new and unheard of detent in the timeline - spaceline?

Minoth had no such assurances. He couldn't guarantee that he'd be reawakened by Amalthus, or Baltrich, or any of their associates, or that he'd be reinstated on Indol at all. He couldn't guarantee that he'd complete what might be called his foregoing "basic conditioning" in the same environment of relative peace that he'd had thus far.

Whether he liked Amalthus, approved of his goals, agreed with his disposition, or not, their fates were currently inextricably linked, intertwined, irrevoked (Amalthus with a much larger effect on Minoth than vice versa, still).

That was people for you.

So, Minoth still had a problem. While being a Blade provided amelioriation to one aspect of what usually accompanied humans' adolescent perspective on top surgery, it didn't in and of itself present the almighty backdoor of Minoth's desired transmasculine fate.

Another time, perhaps.

The opportunity presented itself in another few months' time, when Minoth was approached by his Driver and told that experimental research work was beginning to test the limits of Blades' potential - as had been done, yes, in Judicium, long ago, and as had been more or less unsuccessful; what might be called inconclusive. Amalthus was lucky enough to be one of those embarking on this new venture, and would Minoth volunteer as test subject? If not, other Common Blades were being considered as viable for trials, but it wouldn't be the same...

Minoth was not one to be guilted. Well, he was, but he wasn't one to be plain gullible about it. The key here was not his own status as prime Blade to be considered for amplification of power, or longevity, or whatever else Amalthus and Stannif were intending. Rather, his axis of usefulness was the fact that he was Amalthus's personal Blade, and thus was being given a choice. The Common Blades wouldn't get that much.

It was practically his responsibility to assent. So he did. He received minimal details about what was to come, but the way to minimizing strife in interactions with Amalthus was to speak only when spoken to, but enthusiastically at such time. Don't ask favors, don't punch out of line, but do be attentive; do be grateful; do be model.

So Minoth would be model. It was a strange echo of the contemplation he'd had with himself when last seriously considering the issue of his problem(s) - take a chance on chances, or fall right in line? This "opportunity" provided a mix of both.

Then, what followed might have been dramatic and worthy of a retelling equally so, but only two details ended up registering in the burgeoning playwright's mind: one, that Amalthus derisively noted the need for incisions in the chest area (sounded verifiable to Minoth, given that the chest was where the Core was mounted), and two, that if he poked his head up to take a peek, he'd have it pushed down, and he didn't like having his forehead touched. Nose, fine, chin, fine, but not forehead, for whatever reason.

The combination of these two details resulted in the revelation of a third - or, perhaps a zeroth? Since one problem, become two, now became none.

"What do you feel?" Amalthus asked him, when he awoke, but Minoth heard the query of "how" whether or not it was advisable to do so.

"Fine," he replied, nonchalant and noncommittal all the way. "I hope you got everything you wanted out of it."

I suppose I hope you wanted, basically, two rubber boobs.