When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to be alive. The last thing I remember was a surprise attack on our convoy. I had been wounded by shrapnel, and I had barely escaped with my life. After that things get a bit hazy. All I can really recall is cresting over a hill, on my hands and knees, and seeing my destination. I lost consciousness soon after.

    Beside my cot I noticed a man, dressed as a manservant. He leaned in closer, with a penetrating stare, and asked me what I could remember. I began to tell him, but my voice sounded strange to my ears. At first I thought there was something wrong with my hearing, but, noticing my pause, the man told me that I wasn't hearing things: I had gone through a consciousness transplant. That explained the man's first question, since there were no guarantees with unknown incompatibilities.

    My military discipline helped me to cope with the situation for now, so, as a messenger with vital information, I quickly relayed my message to the man at my bedside. He kept himself composed and gave a nod, a grave look upon his face, before he stood up to leave. Before he left, he told me that someone would soon come to escort me back up to the ground level, where I was to meet the person who saved my life.

    By the time I was escorted out of the sublevel compound, I had made enough in the way of discreet observations to know that I had the body of a young girl. I didn't understand why, but I figured that I would soon find out. And I was right: waiting for me was a young girl with the body that I now had, only she had grown older since her body had been copied.

    Body copying was still relatively new, and normally reserved for important individuals whose lives needed to be preserved. It occurred to me that the girl before me had given up her lifeline to me, despite her importance. That's what the manservant had meant, regarding how I had been saved. Otherwise I would have died.

    I didn't know whether to thank her for saving me, or to apologize for being in her previously-reserved body. She seemed to understand, so she made a gesture to silence me and said that I didn't have to say anything; it had been her choice, after all.

    I considered her for a moment, this girl that was at the center of a continental-wide conflict. I caught her with a faraway look in her eyes, as she looked out a window, and I felt sorry for her. She had a certain air about her, of being distant and sad. No doubt she had a lot on her mind, seeing as there was so much fighting and death over her.

    I just had to understand how all of this had happened. So I tentatively asked her and, in a quiet and sympathetic tone, she told me that I would understand soon enough, now that I shared the same body. I was taken aback by that, but I also noticed that her response had also carried a bit of an apologetic tone, as if she felt guilty about something.

    Did she save my life, or did she need to share her burden? Even if it were the latter, I couldn't blame her. What I saw was a young girl stripped of her childhood innocence, and the spark of youth, isolated from her peers and denied a normal, carefree life. I was a man; or I was... But that didn't change the fact that I was now in a perfect position to give her the support that she needed. And perhaps a sisterly companionship, if I'm able.

    No matter what fate had in store for her, for us, I planned to make her smile at least once. It was easy to tell that she hadn't smiled in a while.