No thanks

“No thanks,” you reply, considering, “our faces and height and such are essentially the same, and while it might just be leftover programming…” almost certainly is, actually, “...I like having effectively-natural H cup titties.”

Jo rubs her lower belly, “They're probably going to get a bit bigger, you know.”

“That's fixable,” the new Mark shrugs, “...as soon as the pregnancy is done. Male, female, both, neither, whatever, the Z machine can get you there. You're both victims of that thing,” she kicks Bitch again, “and I have no issues spending what is now MY money helping out with that aspect. Just let me know what you want.”

“Great,” you smile, “now… if you don't mind, I want to get the hell away from this mountain.”

“I'll have a car brought around,” Mark chuckles, “I get it.”

“I have NO idea what I'm going to say to my parents…” you cringe.

“Limited truth, maybe?” Jo shrugs, “Someone you thought was a friend **** you into a Z chamber, messed you up mind and body, destroyed your original data, got you pregnant, got killed, and I patched you up as best I could. I will absolutely back you up on that.” You consider that.

“I suppose ‘I really don't want to talk about it’ is going to be exceptionally believable once I go through the hoops of convincing anyone I care about that I'm what's left of who I was,” you agree.

Mark has the car brought around (apparently she actually has the old Mark's code… which she uses to update what few biometrics the Z chamber couldn't copy before even calling for the car), and you head to the airport, where Mark has a last minute charter jet waiting for you.

The plane ride home is nice, at least….