[Contains NBM/MBM elements]

It was just another Tuesday for me in the store: A few people wondering about, a couple and and a lady, the latter of whom was carrying a leg over her shoulder; several pieces were twitching and moving on the shelves in my view out of boredom; a girl who was trying on different heads in the changing rooms with an assistant helping her; and then there was me, behind the counter, with my head off as well, mulling over how I even got here in the first place...

All this started back when I was an undergrad at university. Biochem doesn't have the laxity of liberal arts, or the status of medicine or law, but I had a knack for it. School was never hard for me, and doing chemistry homework was actually quite cathartic, even though I wouldn't admit it to most people. There was a natural sciences society which held student organised events throughout the year, intended to be an easy way to find conferences and get into academic journals, but was really an excuse to get drunk and complain about your course in some random apartment, an hour long walk away from where you lived.

There was a Halloween party being held, with the catch being that we specific costumes depending on what stage of our course we were on. Masters and Postgrads were witches or wizards, 3rd years were demons, 2nd years were monsters, and 1st years were zombies. I was going with a few of my newly made friends, helping each other come up with ideas for how to do our makeup, what clothes we were willing to sacrifice to tear up, until one of them came back to our accommodation after shopping for food and alcohol to take with us. She was gone for longer than she should have been, but we didn't think much of since pretty much everyone on that campus would have been doing the same thing. I was more surprised there was any vodka left.

Donna, who I'm still in touch with now, sheepishly knelt down to the coffee table with all the cosmetics, brushes, and half empty cups of alcohol we were pre-ing with, and pulled out an envelope. It got the attention of all three of us girls almost immediately.

"Kicked out already? That must be a record!" Joked one of us, paint brush in hand and fake speckles of blood over her cheek. Donna didn't look too amused, but wasn't angry either, more despondent.

"No, not yet anyway..." Her voice trailed off as she went on to open the letter inside, folding it over and covering her left hand... "I've got something to tell you, but I don't know if now is a good time." We all looked at each other for a moment until I spoke up.

"No, now's a good time. We're all here, what's going on?" The jovial atmosphere sank quickly as her head leant to one side, her eyes signaling that what she had to say wasn't good.

"I don't want this to spoil tonight, but I think it's really important for you to know." The brushes and the drink cups fell to everyone's laps as they listened to Donna's news.

"What's happened?" Asked another one of us impatiently, "Is it a family emergency? If it is, I can take you to the airport, I've got my car with me."

I gave the other girl side eye (she'd had a quarter bottle of vodka already) but Donna continued before I said anything, "No, it's not that, thankfully. It's me... I've been diagnosed with something."

The same girl got a little hysterical. "Oh no... with what? Is it cancer? It's cancer isn't it!"

"No, it's not. It's a genetic thing that runs in my family apparently, but none of them actually have it."

I leaned in with some actual sympathy, reaching for her hand despite barely knowing her for a few weeks. "That sounds like a blood thing, is it?"

"No. It's more... muscular, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"It's better if I show you," she moved the letter away and reached into the left pocket of the jacket she was still wearing, "promise not to freak out?"

We nodded our heads in tentative unison. She responded with a nod herself and held out her left hand, palm open. What she revealed was the end of a finger, very similar, identical even, to hers.

"Is this some kind of prank?" One of the girls blurted out, "We all know you went to the joke shop, we all did!"

"Wait!" I leaned in and took a closer, less intoxicated look, "It's definitely yours", I noticed that her forth finger was much shorter than the other fingers, or rather, looking as if it had been sliced clean off. I gave her a deep and understanding look. "I know exactly what this is."

"I'm modular." Donna handed me the letter, "I've had some tests done after a few, uh, mishaps I've had over recent years, and of course it's got worse since I started college." I scanned the doctors note as she went on. "That came through today. I get some free support, extra financials, all of that, but I'm still not sure how all this is gonna play out." She gestured to her detached finger in her palm, closing it firmly as to not risk losing it.

There was a brief pause as it finished flipping through the letter. Frankly I couldn't make heads or tails of the technical stuff, not then anyway, but I knew what it meant for her... her life was about to get pretty awkward.

"Damn, that sucks," the girl with the brush said, "I knew a girl who knew someone with this."

"It's really rare. There's only a few hundred people with it in the country, and even fewer like me who develop it later in life. It's usually congenital."

"And it's also pretty manageable," I was trying to be reassuring, "You're doctor says that you'll still have a relatively normal life, you're just gonna have to be more... careful."

A squeezed her right hand and smiled, and Donna reciprocated. "I'm just scared of peoples reactions, you know? If I had some weird lump or growth on me, maybe I could get round it, but this is something else. But the fact that you haven't over reacted has made me feel way better. And besides, I can stick myself together I guess."

There was a collective release as we all continued to get ready for that evening, face painting, costume preparing, over-drinking, when I turned to a much happier looking Donna who was fiddling with her detachable finger, taking it off and on again. "Donna, hun, can I try something?"

"If you want to try my shoes, it will cost ya..."

"I don't need your shoes. Come closer..." I shouldn't have been so brash, it was the alcohol in my system, but as soon as she was in reach I swiped her nose off her face to a cacophony of shock laughter. I let her have it back and stick it back on fairly quickly, but she got the gist. "You might as well go all out and be as close to a zombie as possible."

"You know, I think I will."

I don't remember much from that night since we were all too drunk, but I do recall the fun we had spooking and pranking other party goers. No one expects to see a real pulling-off-a-finger trick, or get asked if they've seen an arm laying around, only for it to be found and casually used as a back scratcher for the rest of the night. Donna even got guillotined, but her body seemed to forget where it was and walked away, leaving me to collect her head and look after it as I wondered round after her. We definitely scared a lot of people, a few even fainted, but Donna was having the time of her life, a stark contrast to how she was just a few hours earlier.

The following afternoon wasn't too pretty. The other two girls had got up to eat, only to go straight back to bed, leaving me and Donna to recover over coffee and pancakes. I had a terrible headache and vowed never to drink sambuca ever again, and Donna was still missing her head.

"I just don't want to put it on yet," she explained in my lap whilst her body slumped on the sofa, "wouldn't my head recover quicker than all of me?"

I couldn't muster an answer at that point in time - my mouth was full and my mind was still stuck in the night before - but it got me thinking about the whole situation that was unfolding. I had done some research into it when I first woke up about half an hour before, and despite the macabre nature of it, this modular thing seemed like a gift more than anything. Donna had gotten to grips with her detachable body incredibly quickly, and was obviously over the initial shock and intimidation, now taking it in her stride and even putting it to use. Perhaps she was considering the same thing, and what she could use her new ability for. It would be great for spring cleaning, reaching shelves, multitasking. Maybe it could be part of a post-workout recovery technique to skip those aches and pains? I had found a case of a woman who regrew a leg she detached when she fell asleep - could Donna do that? Perhaps this could be used for more than just medical emergencies? What if she could have spare parts, able to change her body like a mannequin. Could other modular people swap parts with each other? If any of this was possible, it would be incredibly advantageous...

If only this could be... induced?

It was a ridiculous idea, almost impossible. It would require 2 or 3 significant discoveries in biology alone just to even consider it plausible, never mind the engineering and computing power required. There had been a lot of technological advances in gene sequencing recently. It was how Donna was diagnosed. In fact, the fact she had Donna at all was a major bonus, a first hand experience of the phenomenon who was also the perfect source of experimentation. Surely, with the degree I was studying, couldn't I at least help?

"Well, guess I've got a research project now." I said to myself as I reached to take the handle of my coffee mug.

"You got a what?" Came from my lap.

"Oh, nothing, just the headache talking."

So, after 4 years of study, a serious amount of dedication, some good connections, and a lot of luck, I had a patent for a cellular therapy that replicated the phenomenon. There were a few hiccups along the way, though. Every great scientist has to experiment on themselves at some point, but I doubt many had to deal with being melted into a puddle. Yet, there I was. I had been ambitious and insane enough to achieve the impossible.

Initially I thought I could sell my patent and never have to work a day in my life ever again, but I knew I was not that kind of person. I would get so bored too easily anyway. I always knew I would open a 'body shop' early in the research process - I had been wearing heels all day and needed to stop them from aching, so I injected myself with a trial version of the therapy, yanked my feet off, feel asleep, and noticed that I had grown a second pair. From there, it was obvious what I had to do, and I guess that's how I'm here now, with my head on the counter.

I guess it beats working an office job.