One of the surgical arms unfurled with a whir of servo-motors, rose up until it was level with his bare belly. On the end of it was a thick syringe attached to a clear plastic pipe that trailed behind and into the machine. The knife-sharp syringe stopped just short of his ever-so-slightly pithy beer belly. Joe sucked his gut in.
[Applying general anaesthetic. General anaesthetic reservoir depleted. Replace general anaesthetic cartridge. Harvesting...]
His body convulsed as the needle plunged in, forcing the breath from his lungs and choking off his yell of pain. A motor started. With a gurgle and slurp, a greasy yellow-pink substance began to flow in fatty lumps down the clear pipe. After a few seconds, the syringe withdrew - only to stab back in just below his navel. It withdrew again, then attacked his love-handles. By now, the pipe was looking full and his midriff distinctly not so. His belly was gone, the skin looking loose and wrinkled where the fat beneath had been vacuumed out.
The syringe retracted, but it wasn't finished with him yet. It reared up until level with his pectorals. The green laser mapped out the area with broad sweeps before fixating a bright dot on an area just to the left of his right nipple into which the needle slid. The motor started back up and the fatty tissue began to slide along the pipe again, this time in the opposite direction. He knew what was coming, but the padded walls seemed to soak up his cries for help. A small mound began to form underneath his nipple, expanding slowly, like somebody blowing up a balloon underneath his skin. It grew larger and larger, eventually starting to sag beneath its own weight into a swollen teardrop shape that hung from his chest. The skin stretched taut as a drum, the network of thin blood vessels standing out beneath the tight, white skin.
[you appear to be in some minor discomfort. Here is some classical music.]
The Beethoven was lost beneath the sound of the motor, which continued to pump. The teardrop disappeared beneath the increasingly globular shape of the swollen pectoral. Unable to take the strain, a crisscross of white lines -stretch marks- blossomed beneath the skin.
The needle retracted and Joe stared incredulously at the single breast standing proud on his chest, just as the process resumed on his left half.
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