Marissa had watched Alan in near silence as they had driven toward their destination, his mystery impenetrable by her initial question about the meeting venue and she had been fairly quick to remember the level of confidentiality that her new position required.  Not wanting to anger him by trying to ‘talk shop’ Marissa focused on lighter subjects like the weather and topics which breached neither the subject of religion or politics.<br/><br/>Feeling somewhat ill-at-ease about her recent disability, Marissa allowed the driver to help her back into her wheelchair with the same bumbling grace with which she had been helped into the car, thankful that the invention of a powered chair spared her the indignity of having to hand-roll or be pushed.  Marissa hated showing weakness and her chair was a two-hundred pound sign of it.<br/><br/>She placed a hand upon her lap and pulled out her pen, ready to take notes as she always did, when Alan’s speech was cut short by temporary paralysis and a tingling sensation.<br/><br/>~Oh shit…no…~ Marissa thought, her mind going immediately to the plates and pins in her spine.  Had she turned or moved wrong, causing more damage?  Was this the way that she was doomed to enter a physical vegetative state, drooling and motionless before the BIG boss at ENCOM?  Marissa fought to grit her teeth and lunged slightly forward, willing herself to move again, even if it hurt, her mind so involved in her own body and fears that she had not noticed the change in the room until she found herself on her hands and knees before Alan’s desk, her reflexes saving her from having her face bashed in as she had toppled from her chair.<br/><br/>~Whew…~ she panted, quickly pushing herself up into a kneeling position.  And then it hit her.  “Wait…” she mumbled, looking first to her left hand which felt both familiar and alien, the limb responding to her commands for the first time in what had seemed to be an eternity.  She looked up at Alan, her mouth agape.  “How…?”<br/><br/>She tilted her head to the side as she studied his change of attire, her gaze returning to her still-lifted left hand as she rose to a standing position, her eyes moving down the length of her arm at the strange texture that the clothing had taken.  What had begun life as a cotton blouse now looked and felt more like silk.<br/><br/>“Mister Bradley?” Marissa asked meekly, raising her eyes to meet his.