It was a Sunday afternoon, the coffee table piled with wrapped boxes and shiny bags, torn gift paper and ribbon hanging off the sides and littering the floor. There were plenty of presents, more than most would get on their birthday, but I didn't care about any of them. I was polite - forcing a pained smile and thanking everyone, even my numerous classmates. I barely knew them, and they didn't care a bit about me, but who wouldn't miss out on a rich kid's party? At least they were appreciative rather than cruel. When I was younger, with just a bit of weakness in my legs, they would call me names and push me around. But once I showed up to school in a wheelchair I was automatically taken off the bully list. Making fun of the disabled kid was somehow a worse crime no one would cross. It was hard to tell whether the occasional moments of kindness was out of sympathy, or compassion. I always assumed the former. Maybe, this was why I had no friends. My mother was trying her best to change this by inviting my entire home room class. It wasn't working.

I wasn't always "disabled". I used to walk and run, jump and play as well as anyone. I even tried out for sports back in middle school. Then, the weakness started. At fifteen years old, I was now unable to walk. It didn't matter how many doctors we went to or how much money Daddy spent; this was progressive. I simply wasn't going to get better, my parents would say. I refused to believe it. I would do anything I could to get my legs back, regardless of the risks.

I waited on the couch in the center of the foyer, staring into space as cake was served. My 'friends' talked in their own groups, or enjoyed the family pool I could no longer swim in. I was in the middle of the action, yet I was alone.

"Shilo, honey?" I snapped out of my depressed daze to look up at my Mom as she came and sat on the couch next to me. She rubbed the small of my back, which comforted me. "You haven't touched your birthday cake."

"I'm sorry." I picked the plate up from the coffee table and started to scarf it down. I would never insult my mother's baking. "It's really good."

"You can slow down," she said with an almost-chuckle. "Don't worry, I baked a second cake. Once everyone leaves you can have whatever leftovers you want."

I shook my head. "I can't." I wasn't sure if I wanted to. "We're tracking my diet, remember? I don't think that's the problem, but I don't want to mess it up too bad if it is."

My mother frowned. There was a mix of judgement and pain in her eyes. I knew she wanted me to enjoy life. The more focused I became on getting better, the less joy I could see in the small things. I understood it; it made sense to try when there was hope, but my parents had started to stop believing there was a cure for this. They didn't want me to live like everything revolves around my legs. But what else did I have? Today it was my legs. Maybe tomorrow, my arms. I'd never be able to hold down a job like other teens, or go hunting and fishing like most boys my age. It would be easier if I had a strong mind, but I wasn't a nerd. Straight Bs in school was an accomplishment, and I was retaking algebra in the hopes that I might pass this time. My childhood was filled with sports and video games, not books and Rubik's cubes. But I hadn't given up faith that I could find something that could get me better. In this modern world, innovation bred faster than rabbits in heat. I was thankful for a birthday party, but I didn't need it. I just needed help from the right people.

My mother sighed. "Okay. Hang in there, sweetheart." Gratefully, she didn't kiss my forehead in the presence of my classmates. The last thing I needed was teasing. The party continued, but the other teens started to filter out, or be ushered out by the adults. Come to think of it, there were more adults here than I initially realized. A few of them were wearing suits. They couldn't all be guests' parents...were these friends of my parents? They did have business meetings a lot, so perhaps they had invited a few of them so they wouldn't be outnumbered by teenagers.

I was ready to get off the couch. After organizing my presents into a couple of the bags and tidying the rest of the wrappings as well as I could, I reached behind the couch for my wheelchair only to find that it had been moved. "Hey Dad, where is my..."

"Just sit there a minute. There's one last present."

"Um... okay?" I say there for a moment, not really knowing what to do. I hated not having my chair nearby. Yeah, I could crawl somewhere if I really needed to, but I wasn't going to do that while people were around. It felt like even more of my freedom had been taken from me. But, I told myself to calm down. I was about to get another gift. I should be appreciative.

Soon, all of the classmates had left. However, there were a couple of teenagers remaining who I did not recognize. One, a red-haired boy, was on a barstool, his elbows leaning on the back of the kitchen counter. He looked a bit older than I did, but I couldn't tell for sure. The other was a girl with blond hair pinned back into a tight bun, with a round face and a serious look in her eyes. They both wore leather jackets, a size too big. I didn't recognize either from any of my classes. If they were family friends of my parents', why hadn't they been introduced to me?

Soon, my parents stopped their well-wishing the guests and their tidying up, and came over near me. My mother sat beside me on the couch, while my father stood nearby, arms crossed. "Okay then," he said, but not to me. He faced a tall man in a business suit who had come to stand across from the couch. "You can start your presentation."

The man nodded. Upon closer inspection, he appeared quite strong. His muscles barely fit in the well-tailored outfit, and his stance was that of a soldier's rather than that of a businessman's. He waved over the two teens from earlier; the girl was on his left, the boy on his right.

Can someone please tell me what's going on? I wanted to ask it, but before I could, the man opened up a briefcase, and carefully pulled out a strange metal object. It was a thick loop, strange in appearance, and I was too distracted to speak up before the presenter could. "Shilo, I'm part of a technology company. Recently, we've been engaged in several private projects that haven't been made public, because it's still in the testing phase." He slid the metal loop onto his arm, half of the way to his elbow. "With this revolutionary new branch of robotics, we can harness various mechanisms that can change shape." He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button. Suddenly, with a whizz, parts of the metal loop began to rotate. It expanded, different pieces of metal emerging from somewhere with in the original device. The metal came down over his wrist and hand, closing over each finger to form a sort of gauntlet. The last pieces locked into place with a satisfying 'click'.

My eyes had gone wide, but I was at a loss for words as I continued to watch. The presenter pulled a metal bar from inside the case. After grabbing it with the robotic hand, he easily crushed the bar into a twisted shape. "And it is more than just wearable tech," he said, nodding to the boy on his right, who stepped forward. "Andrew here joined our program a few weeks ago. Go on, show him your advancements."

"Sure thing," the boy said as he took off his jacket, revealing a dark green tank top beneath it. I could see metal sticking out at his upper back and shoulders. From the bit of it I could see, it appeared that lining his spine was several lines of metal circles, like sensors or buttons of some kind. It was imbedded in his skin, but it must not have been deep, because Andrew was completely chill with it. "Oh, yeah." He caught me staring. "Don't worry, it's just sensors so the thing knows how to connect. It doesn't hurt or anything." He smirked like a chad as he grabbed a metal cube from a briefcase. It was around the size of a softball. "So I activate this, and it connects to the... well, I'll just show you."

Andrew pressed a slot on the device against the sensors on the middle of his back. There was a crunch sort of sound, then the whirring from before as the device expanded up his spine, locking onto the sensors as it went. The device stopped at his neck, his entire spine now covered with metal plating. The man in the suit spoke. "Now, with this expandable device attached, he can lift over a thousand pounds."

"You're kidding," my mother said, mostly for her own benefit. I stayed quiet, mulling this over. My father nodded along.

The presenter continued, "I am not. At MECH, we are working on numerous projects, all meant to advance humanity. This one is not public yet because - well, to be frank, it could be harmful if it falls into the wrong hands. And, it requires further testing. It is meant to help people achieve what was never before possible." As he spoke, the boy quickly put his jacket back on, hiding the robotics beneath the leather as though it was never there.

I stayed quiet as I mulled all of this over. If this spine could help him lift a thousand pounds... could it potentially help me to walk again?

The presenter didn't even need to turn to the girl before she went next, pulling off her jacket, which hid her well: to my surprise, I realized that part of her right arm was missing. There was just a nub that ended before her elbow should be. She didn't say anything. "Hillary lost her arm in a car accident when she was five. What we've been able to do with her is incredible." The stump of the arm was covered in a mechanism, like a brace for whatever was meant to attach to it. The girl grabbed a cylindrical, can-sized device and hooked it onto the stump, turning it to lock it into place. It came to life after this, piece after piece hooking into place. It formed the elbow, then down the arm, to each individual finger... Hillary used them to tuck a stray hair back into place. I'm not sure why, but I felt something leap in my chest. I didn't know if it was the girl, the fascination of the arm, or the door of possibility that had just been unlocked.

I finally said something. "What is the gift, exactly?"

My father uncrossed his arms, to gesture as he talked. "So is there any monetary compensation that we...?"

"No, no," said the man in the suit. "It is still in the testing phase. His participation is payment enough, if he chooses to participate." His eyes fell to me. "Shilo, we've chosen you to participate in the program. It's up to you. Our research is secret, so you'll have to stay with MECH while we perfect it. But with your cooperation, I promise, we will make you walk again."

I looked about the room - from my Mother and Father, eyes filled with love and support - to the several men in suits behind us in the room, surely connected with this MECH - to the three in front of me. I thought through the odds, but I knew what I was going to decide before I even picked it.

I reached out my arm, to shake the presenter's. "I'd love to be a part of it."