“This happens sometimes.”
The court appointed therapist offers you a bottle of water, then laughs shallowly and pulls it back.
“Sorry,” she says, “I forgot I’m not allowed to give you anything.”
“I can’t have water?” You sit back in the chair and it creaks. You were never heavy enough to make chairs creak before. You wonder if your flimsy IKEA bed will even hold you up anymore.
“Well it’s not that you can’t,” she’s being careful with you, not looking you in the eyes. “It’s that without knowing what enhancements you have, we can’t be sure what stage you’re at. Your body needs to heal from something like this which means no food or water for… well. For some time.”
She looks across to the detective, who leans against the far wall and never smiles. She didn’t smile when she brought you in, and she didn’t smile when she sat you down to ask how you’d like your organs disposed of.
You are waiting for your lawyer to answer that.
“Just tell us everything you remember,” the court therapist gave you her name before but you can barely remember it, let alone anything from a week ago. Her name was Laura maybe. Something short and easy to remember that you forgot immediately.
“I don’t remember ordering the enhancements.” That part is true. “I went to work. I went home. I think I got drinks with coworkers on Friday.”
It’s all a blur. A dream someone else had that they told you about once.
“If you happen to remember who you bought the enhancements from we can cut you a deal for your mechanic.” The detective’s voice is cold and impersonal. Even if you remembered anything you wouldn’t want to tell her.
You touch your chest. It feels like a normal chest. You can feel your heartbeat in your palms. You have a pulse. You just… don’t have a heart anymore. Or you have something like a heart but not your heart.
“It happens sometimes,” Laura/Leah/Rachel glares at the detective. “People get grabbed off the street for cybernetic experimentation every day.”
“In third world countries,” the detective sneers, “not here.”
You decide that if you remember literally anything you’ll take it to your grave rather than give the detective even one little win.
A grave that might be coming very very soon if your cybernetics are experimental.
Your lawyer arrives. He snarls and hisses and says a lot of five dollar words to everyone and you keep your mouth shut. He fights like a champion and it’s only the last thing they say that stumps him: They can’t let you go without an escort. What if you explode?
Yeah, what if you explode.
You go through a bunch of scans. It takes all day. You are sitting in metal hospital and mechanics machines for hours while your Lawyer yowls at people in the meeting rooms. He earns his pay and you’re released on ‘bail.’ You, apparently, don’t explode.
You let them assign you a babysitter. A rookie cop from the cybernetics division who hovers obnoxiously but isn’t broken by the system yet and isn’t trying to be obnoxious. The distinction matters.
You drive home in her cop car. Your lawyer is promising he’ll get you a great deal, that you’re the victim and this is harassment. He says a lot of words you forget immediately.
You get home and he asks if there’s anyone he can call to come stay with you. He glares at the rookie cop while he asks. The cop is offended.
You call your friend Anne, she’s a barista and amateur robot fighter. She will both find this funny enough to calm you, and be knowledgable enough that you can believe her if she isn’t freaking out. She comes over and hustles the cop into the living room and kicks your lawyer out of your house immediately. Calling her was the right choice.
She sits down with you on the edge of your bed. It creaks ominously beneath you both.
You don’t speak for a while. She just sits with you and you let the static- haha, static, oh god- wash through your mind.
“Did I order illegal cybernetic enhancements?” You ask her because if anyone would know, it’d be Anne. Smart, talented, beautiful Anne. Anne who named her fighting robot “Cindy Lu” and then flamethrower-ed the competition through to nationals last year.
“Maybe,” she admits. She holds your hand and you give her fingers a light squeeze. “You were in a lot of pain.”
Yeah the past few months are a blur. Ever since the pain ratcheted up and your functionality plummeted.
“If I wasn’t such a good person I could have just. Left those organs on the side of the street. Let a harvester get them. Useless broken things. Then I’d-” Your voice breaks, so there’s at least some part of you inside that isn’t perfectly engineered carbon steel or titanium.
“Are you in any pain right now?” Anne looks at you like you’ve both missed something important.
“Well no,” you shrug. Your shoulders move easily with the motion.
She waits for your brain to catch up.
“…No.” Your eyes widen, they feel itchy and dry but somehow you want to keep that feeling, like it’s real suddenly. A hysterical giggle breaks free of your throat. “I’m not in pain. I have no pain at all!”
Anne is gripping your hand for dear life.
“How much pain?!”
“No pain!” You grab her hands, both of them between yours. “I have no pain!”
It is suddenly incredibly plausible you ordered illegal cybernetic enhancements.
Anne is wiggling your hands excitedly. You can’t even be excited. You’re just.
Fine.
Good, even.
And maybe 80% titanium, but hey nobody’s perfect.