Sol System- Titan<br/>year 2950<br/>14:20 local time<br/>Hab-block 239-C apartment: 34<br/><br/>It was daytime out in the bustling, industrial city located on Titan, the bustling workers making their way too and from work, crowding the streets and music from a few teens now and then could be heard playing , a hard thumping and pulsing beat of hard electric.<br/><br/>Of course , all the noise and commotion was little convern to Alice, the pale skinned woman coming out of her bathroom from a shower, a towel around her shoulders loosely and her body bore scars that still seemed to be fresh, only a few months of healing allowed . The most prominent was of course the one running down across her left eye, the milky blue orb visionless. Her scalp was nicked in a few places, pale skin visible in small spatches where her close cropped black hair had yet to grow back.<br/><br/>The marine sighed and looked over her modest things , noting the small nook that served as her bedroom where there was a twin bed , piled with a set of fatigue comforter and sheets it seemed, they were colored an urban grey. Her eyes then flitted over to the TV near her bed, a newscaster currently speaking about the rising price of iridium and what it could spell for manufacturing companies but she just tuned it out ad instead walked to the twin, sitting down on the edge.<br/><br/>Alice's torso was covered in a simple white tank and her legs with a pair of old fatigues. " This six months of sick leave is damn killing me. I did my part and I want to get out there and do it again, I already TOLD them my arm is fine." The lt sounded, to no one in particular. She sounded bothered, agitated, her voice rough as she looked down, a black and sleek arm held up. The composite and plastic fingers closed down on the artificial palm, the digits moving like fine precision clockwork. She only shook her head as she watched, almost disgusted with herself . " I told them no, that a simple model would be just fine. Look at me now, some fancy fucking cyborg."<br/><br/>The prosthesis was a higher end model, furnished by the government, all sleek contours and pleasing anges. It held the shape and symmetry of a normal human arm though was slightly more skeletal in structure and was painted a smooth matte black which gleamed brightly in the current bright lighting of the apartment. As if restless she stood, her bare feet padding on her carpeted floor as she approached the punching bag she had hung in the far left corner of her house, tuning out the noise of the television and all else around her as she did exactly what the doctors had warned her against for the sheer spite of it.<br/><br/>Her stance went wide, legs apart and feet planted ,fists raised  offensively, her real arm the guard if it were a real opponent. She struck out with her right arm, creating a resounding thud, the punching bag jerking like it had just been hit with a bag of bricks. She kept at this, leaning into the bag with all of her strength, flurries of blows and it was painfully obvious she looked more disgusted every time her right arm out performed her left, the thing was simply quicker and stronger , able to react just that much faster and it made her sick, she never asked to be BETTER , just a semblance of normal. This wasn't earned by her hand and the strength of her back and it unsettled her greatly.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>