My turn...

He was ready. He had waited for tis moment for a long time. He knew that It had to be made perfect before he could go through with it. This was his last chance to turn back, but there was no possibility of him turning back now. He was showered, and walked into he cleanroom. He laid on the medical bed. He knew they could not completely put him to sleep, or it would not become compatible. He still trusted that (like the ones before), they would use that special drug. The one that kept the pain away. The one that could keep him calm through surgery.
They gave him the gas, and he inhaled it calmly, knowing what it would do as exactly as he could. He went under, in a sense. His normal senses had gone. For a moment, there was nothing in the world. They made the first incision. He could feel it. There was no pain, but a very pointed numbness. They were taking out that part of the brain that would soon be replaced. He could feel, in that numb way of feeling, the parts of him being stretchted, and slowly leaving existence.
When the first process had finished, they began to insert the posatronic brain that would soon be a very useful tool. The instant the inorganic material touched him, the longest, but shortest moment; time was gone for that moment; it connected. It was perfect. As perfect as he could imagine. And then he could feel. Feel like never before. He could feel that that was as the lightest touch, where he knew was feet away. He could tell the shape down to the atoms, the materials just as accurately.
He opened his eyes.
There, was the most intriguing thing any man could comprehend. His sight was as good as all of man had found to understand. All of science, and theory was proved to him instantaniously, with a mere glance.

He was no longer human. He still had emotion, but he also had a second life in himself. A life that wasn't like life. It was a computer of his anatomy. It was hardware that expanded his life. Followed every command; gave every answer; but didn't act for itself.

He left the operating room. He merely told the doctors that it was a success. No one would understand him now. No human. Most likely, no race.

He remembered. The others. They did not live with it long. They were in all senses healthy, but they could not handle life like this. He had forgotten, but remembered now. Now that he understood what they couldn't handle. He was different. He would survive.

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