somebody ; minsung

IV ; cornered

August District is a neighbourhood of lonely tenements and empty playgrounds, basketball courts and ponds with rafts of ducks floating on rafts of garbage. I alight from the skytrain on Third Street, outside 'Gravitas Droid Repair.' The glass storefront — opaque with graffiti and wheat-pasted flyers — is a flight of stairs below street-level, sunken into the building like its slowly being eaten.

The signs on the door tell me it's open 9:00 to 17:00 hours, Monday to Friday. No shirt, no shoes, no service. Payment in advance. Thankfully I planned for this; I brought the android's bust with me. There has to be some value in it.

The door jingles as I enter. The tiled floor is strewn with metal scraps and stripped wires, broken motherboards and artificial eyes. Barbershop-like swivel chairs stare into parallel mirrors, fluorescents drone and flicker, the AC ruffles an unframed engineering degree taped to the wall.

The curtain at the back of the room is pushed aside. A human in a boilersuit walks through, looks me up and down. His eyebrows furrow at the robot in my hands.

"Can I help you, young man?"

"Yes — I'm hurt, I need your help."

"You? I'm a mechanic, not a doctor."

I pull my collar down, showing him my wound. His face folds into a look of horror.

"I just need to be fixed," I say. "I don't have any money on me, but I thought this android could work as payment."

He wipes a hand across his forehead. His voice is pulled thin.

"Of course. Don't worry about the money." He takes the droid from my hands and gestures to a chair.

I sit and shrug off my jacket. The mechanic blots away at the protective foam, shines a flashlight into the gouge.

"How did this happen?" he asks.

"Hunting accident."

"So you're from up north?"

I just nod. "I really appreciate this, sir."

I see him swallow in the mirror. His hands are shaking.

"I'm sorry," he says, "excuse me for a moment."

He disappears behind the curtain. I shift in my seat. Wires are hanging out of my shoulder.

"What is your name?"

I turn. There's a kid in the doorway, peeking out from behind the curtain.

"Oh. I'm... Minho. What's your name?"

"Sook. You don't look normal."

I smile. "I don't, do I? Have you ever seen someone like me before?"

"No. But I'm supposed to tell my dad if I do."

"What... what do you mean?"

She just shrugs, chewing on the ear of her plushy.

"Does your dad know me?"

"He said you escaped from your owners and you need to be returned."

The mechanic knows who I am. He knew all along, yet he allowed me inside his shop. Maybe this is where he wants me to be.

Conducting artillery scan.

Weapons detected within radius. Augmented cannons imminent from north and south Third Street, August District.

I can't stay here, but I can't go through the front door. I get out of the chair, crouch down on one knee in front of the kid.

"What's your cat's name?"

"Cat."

"Does Cat have any friends?"

She nods her head. "They're in the living room."

"Can I meet them?"

She seems unsure. She's looking at my eye, the one still and pitch black.

"I know I look a little scary," I say. "Don't worry, I'm just a person. I'm... pretty lonely, actually."

"You don't have friends?"

"None."

"Me either."

She reaches out one little hand. I take it and she pulls me through the curtain. The hallway is dimly lit, floored with a squishy carpet, leading up a couple steps into the living room. At the opposite end, I can hear a voice speaking tightly over the phone.

Sook drops down on the carpet, gathering the plushies into her arms. "This is Doggy, Bunny, Rhino, Eagle and Baby Eagle."

"What do they like to do? Act in shows? Go camping? Rob banks?"

She giggles. "No! They're not criminals!"

"Sorry. Baby Eagle has that look about him."

"Sookie?" It's the mechanic. "Where are you?"

I get to my feet, sidling up to the clouded little window in the wall.

"Are you going now?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Are you going back to your owners?"

I shake my head. "Humans don't own humans."

"Hey!" The mechanic runs in and scoops Sook into his arms. "What the hell are you doing in here!"

Artillery approaching.

I hear the sharp ring of a bell as the front door is forced open, weapons rattling and boots against the floor.

"Locate Subject 17!"

"It's here!" the mechanic shouts.

"Bye, Minho." Sook waves her plushy's paw.

I shove the window open, crawl through and take off running down the back alley, through muddy puddles and jets of steam. The chainlink fence at the end tears against the force of my body.

Threat imminent—

Weight pours down over me, slams me to the cold concrete. A net of iron chains is pinning me to the ground.

"17 is down!"

Electricity surges through the net, scalding against my skin, boring into my armour. My voice builds up to a scream.

Warning, system malfunctioning.

System failure.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.