The door clicked quietly, an officer in immaculate dress uniform stepping confidently into the room. He introduced himself as Major Namassar, but I recognised a military recruiter when I saw one. They all had that examining look, always gave me a feeling I was being sized up and fitted into a category.

I realized that my right arm was still slung and I’d shaken his hand with the artificial one. The major smiled.

“Feels natural, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. He took a seat next to the bed, fixed me with a stare.

“This is the infirmary at Wemmick HQ, because we need you.”

He gestured, cutting off my protest.

“Fewer than one in a hundred are able to operate a mechanised exoskeleton at all, let alone with the fluency you’ve shown.”

I subsided, moving the arm to and fro. It felt extremely odd, not least because I discovered I could still feel my normal arm immobilised by bandages. Time to deflect the topic.

“Why choose me? You can’t have known about this beforehand.”