Chase Huxley had been crying for the last 72 hours. Is being a cyborg really that terrible? He doesn't have a right to complain. His body is still at least 60% human. I'd once met a cyborg whose whole body was completely bionic except for her head.
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I expressed my grievances to Marisa, but she just sighed and said, "This is a big change for him, and he's having a hard time adjusting."
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My sister had the patience of a saint. I envied her restraint because if he didn't stop wailing soon, I was going to strangle him!
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Chase's incessant whining wasn't the only thing that had me in a bad mood. I had been searching for information on the cyborg who attacked me in the alleyway a month prior, but I hadn't been able to find any trace of him. I'd never had a target evade me like this, and it was starting to vex me.
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Chase had been staying in the room Marisa and I shared. Have you ever heard the saying three's a crowd? Yeah, that's definitely true. Neither of us has gotten any sleep over the sound of Chase's bawling. It was time for me to intervene. I waltzed over to the cot, where Chase had his face buried in a pillow. I stood over him, waiting for him to acknowledge my presence, but he didn't look up from his pillow.
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Venus hopped onto the cot beside him and purred. She seemed to like him for some reason. Traitor.
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Alright, Pretty Boy, the pity party is over. I ripped the pillow out of his grasp.
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"Hey, give it back!" He tried to yank the pillow out of my hands with his newfound cyborg strength, but I was stronger. After I'd officially won our game of tug of war, Chase shot daggers in my direction. His face was red and puffy. His tears must be irritating the wounds on his face. He looked so pathetic, I almost felt sorry for him. "What do you want?"
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I tried to come up with a response, but it was tricky because I couldn't speak, and I didn't think Chase knew sign language.
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"Um, Hello." Chase raised an eyebrow in my direction. "What's your deal, man? If you don't mind,I have lots of wallowing in my own self-pity planned for today."
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"My brother lost his voice box," Marisa called out from the top bunk, where she sat cross-legged and nibbled on a grilled cheese sandwich.
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I pulled down my scarf to show off the scars on my neck where my voice box had been ripped out.
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Chase's eyes widened. I noticed his cyborg eye was a darker shade of blue than his human one. "Yikes, that's a nasty-looking scar!"
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I cringed and gestured towards his own scars.
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He rubbed a hand along his cheek. "You're right, I'm not in any position to judge." His eyes looked like they were about to fill with tears again, so without thinking, I smacked him in the face with the pillow. I don't regret that decision. Chase frowned. "So, you can't speak?"
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I paused for a moment, pondering the best way to answer. No, I couldn't vocalize my wants and desires, but sign language had always been my way of speaking, and I'd always seen it as an equally legitimate form of communication. I had no way to express these thoughts to Chase, but then I remembered he was a cyborg now, which meant he could download information directly to his brain. I placed a hand on his head and connected to his cybernetics and added an ASL interpreter.
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He recoiled after I removed my hand. "What the hell was that?" He squirmed. "It feels so violating."
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I'd forgotten how overwhelming having information wired directly into your brain can feel if you're not used to it.I awkwardly ran my fingers through my dyed white hair. "I downloaded an ASL to English translator into your cybernetics. I'm sorry I didn't ask you first, but now we can communicate." I signed.
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Chase sprung up from the cot he'd been laying on. "That's so cool! You're talking with your hands and I can understand you!" He continued bouncing on the cot. "What else can I learn by downloading things into my brain?"
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I shrugged. "Almost anything, but our cybernetics only have one hundred gigabytes, so use it wisely."
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Chase's mood deflated. "That sucks, my Holowatch had more space than that." He turned to Marisa. "Speaking of which, have you fixed my Holowatch yet?"
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Marisa waved his shattered watch in the air. "I'm doing my best, but it's pretty damaged. I'm not sure if I can salvage anything."
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He threw up his hands in annoyance. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
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She shrugged. "I don't know. You and Atlas should paint each other's arms or something."
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Good idea. I need to do something productive today. I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into my corner of the workshop.
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When I was fourteen, I'd started doodling on my cybernetic arms with washable paint. It was my way of expressing myself. One day, one of Patch's clients came to the shop for some repairs and noticed my designs, they asked if I would paint something on their arms. I did a rough sketch, and they loved my design so much that they asked me to use permanent paint. After that, we had several cyborgs come into our shop requesting paintings from me and eventually, Patch gave me a corner of the shop.
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I escorted him to my leather chair and handed him a book full of designs for him to choose from while I gathered my supplies. I gave him several minutes to decide, but he just absentmindedly flipped through the pages. Eventually, I signed, "If You're not going to pick something, I'm going to choose for you."
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He gave an indifferent nod. "Do whatever you want."
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I shook a bottle of dandelion yellow paint. Then signed, "Did you know there's a way to cover your cybernetics?"
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He perked up. "There is?"
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I nodded. "If you have enough money, there are cosmetic surgeons who can cover cybernetics with artificial skin. You can only tell the difference when you touch it."
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"Wow, why doesn't every cyborg do that?"
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"Because I'm not ashamed of being a cyborg." I signed in response.
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He squirmed in the chair as I began my sketch. He tried to sneak a peek at my outline, but I pulled his beanie down over his eyes. "Okay, I won't peak until you're done." He laughed, as he readjusted his beanie and finger-combed his sandy brown hair back into place. It was nice to see him express an emotion other than total despair.
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We sat in silence as I worked on my rough draft.
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Chase's eyes darted around the messy workshop. Various cyborg parts were scattered across the room, and Patch's notes were taped haphazardly to every surface. Chase began humming an off-key tune. I guess five minutes of silence was too much for him to handle. Eventually, he asked me, "Why does Patch wear an eye patch? You have plenty of cyborg eyeballs." He gestured towards the see-through organizer where we keep spare cybernetic eyes.
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I shrugged. "I think the eye patch is a reminder that he survived. Even though the odds were stacked against him, he lived to fight another day."
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He gave an understanding nod. "Is that why you—"
He studied the scar on my neck for longer than I was comfortable with. I tightened my scarf, so it fully covered my neck. He noticed my discomfort and didn't finish his question.
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"I'm not proud of my scar, but I deserve it."
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"That's ridiculous, what could you have possibly done to deserve to have your throat ripped open?
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"I've killed eleven people."
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"Please tell me you're joking."
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I shook my head. "I was an assassin in the cyborg army."
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He flinched out of my grasp. "An assassin? As in, someone who shoots people for money? That kind of assassin?"
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"They didn't pay me, and I've never shot anyone, but I have successfully carried out several targeted killings."
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Chase's wariness was subdued by his intrigue. "How did you kill them if you didn't use guns?"
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"With a code."
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"A code?" He raised an eyebrow.
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I told him the tale of the Annihilation Code. I told him how it worked, how I had used it to kill, and how one of my fellow soldiers ripped me apart to make sure I never used it again. After sharing my story for the first time in years, all Chase Huxley had to say was, "Sounds fake."
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"What do you mean, it sounds fake!" I signed heatedly.
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"Your story doesn't make any sense."
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"Well, it's the truth!"
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He rolled his eyes. "Then I'm sure you won't mind answering a few questions about your totally true story that totally happened."
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I signaled for him to continue.
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"Why would the army add a self-destruct code to their own soldiers? What if an enemy learns the code? Then what?"
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"That's why me and the creator of the code are the only ones who know it." Along with whoever took my place as assassin after I deserted, but I didn't bring that up.
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"How did you get drafted? Only bad people are forced to join, like criminals and stuff. If you got drafted you, must have done something to deserve it."
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I clenched my jaw. "I did not deserve to be drafted. Sure, I was in a rough place after my parents died. I made a friend at one of the foster homes. He taught me how to survive in the system. Eventually, I learned to shoplift, pick pockets, and trespass without getting caught. I was a jack of all trades in the art of misdemeanors. One night we stole a car, and we got away with it for a couple of days, but eventually, we got caught. The authorities said we were a public nuisance, needed discipline. They suggested signing us up for cyborg military service would be an effective way to punish us for our crimes. We were kids who made mistakes, we didn't deserve to be stripped of our humanity to become cannon fodder for the Corp."
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"If what you're saying is true, that's pretty messed up, but I don't get why would they trust a thirteen-year-old with an all-powerful murder code?"
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"I looked young for my age, and no one expects a sweet-looking little kid to be a killer."
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Chase folded his arms begrudgingly. "It's still a stupid idea to make an assassin out of someone who hasn't finished puberty."
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My patience was wearing thin. "Well, why don't you contact the customer service desk over at Bionic Corp and tell them you think their idea sucks."
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"Bionic Corp? I thought we were talking about the military?"
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"Bionic Corp donates tech to government, bombs, planes, blasters, tanks, computers, and cyborg soldiers, in exchange they turn a blind eye to Bionic Corp's questionable business ethics."
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"Hey, I got a message from some crazy guy who said Bionic Corp was going to kill me."
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"That was me, dumbass. I was the one who warned you about Bionic Corp. If you recall, I was also the one who told you not to take your car home."
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"That was you?" Chase sprung to his feet, almost causing me to smudge the drawing.
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I nodded. I unlocked my Holowatch and showed him our messages from the night of the crash as proof.
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He scrolled through the messages. "You don't think the car crash was an accident?" He glimpsed down at his cybernetic arm. "You think someone wanted this to happen?"
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I nodded. "I heard a rumor. I had no idea if it was true, but I thought I should warn regardless."
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He buried his face in his hands. "Why would a toaster company ruin my life? What did I ever do to them?"
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"I told you this before, they think you stole a map from them. I know it sounds extreme, but they've killed for less."
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"I swear I did not steal the map." Chase crossed his heart for emphasis.
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Marisa came barreling through the door. "I finally got into Chase's watch, but all I could find on it was this weird map."
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