“….Master Caligula. Anon has been outside the bosom of the church for eight days and ten hours.”

The mechanical voice from the speakers made the bishop’s temple throb. He’d programmed it to count the time since you escaped. He remembered perfectly how long it had been.

He leaned back, rubbing his forehead with mechanical fingers. The red light from the displays colored his skin, deepening the shadows under his eyes.

Everything had turned into a disaster. You were supposed to have a routine enhancement procedure. Caligula would have ordered no anesthesia for anyone else, but he’d overlooked your fear. The operation was minimal—replacing your fingers with mechanical ones. He was to perform it himself.

Then you escaped.

He was enraged, horrified, and in awe. He gave your data to the search brothers and waited, agonizing over what might have happened to you.

Then, they found you.

You were brought back, injured and exhausted. Caligula embraced you, relieved. He noted your torn cassock and pale face. He murmured about your foolishness and how your disobedience broke his heart. He then administered medication, and you lost consciousness.

You awoke to find your new mechanical fingers. Caligula sat beside you, calm and content. He stroked your cheek affectionately. “Good evening, sunshine. How are you feeling?”