More Than a Machine

The Eye

Lil boi having identity crisis we love to see it ..........................................

   "It's detachable though." 642 stated. "I don't want it to be detachable. I want it on permanently."

  He was talking about his arm.

  After nearly a month of hard work, his bionic arm was finally finished. It looked even more professional, even more refined than the leg did. And it was, too. 642 had put extra care into it.

  Dean disagreed with 642. "No, you'd never be able to take it off. What if you wanted to make changes, like you do with your leg? Couldn't make any changes."

  "I could," 642 insisted. "But look, everything is manual. I want the tech to work automatically. See what I'm saying?" He gestured to the wiring in the arm. "It only listens to movement. Not thought. It's not natural enough. I want it to be a real part of me, as real as my other arm."

  "But it's never going to be that natural," Dean argued. "It's a machine."

  642 shook his head. He looked at the metal arm again. Right now it was fastened to his shoulder, and fit quite snugly, and it worked well enough. But it just didn't feel right.

  642 knew he should be grateful, and he should be satisfied. He'd worked for so long. Hunter and Dean had helped him for so long. Still, 642 mourned the loss of his real arm.

  "Maybe I should be a machine then, too," he finally said, though in a low voice. He spoke it more like a voiced thought than something meant for Dean.

  Dean paid little attention to the comment anyway. "Well, it's finished, and I think it looks great," he announced. He set his tools down and stood from the workbench. "I'm hungry, I need something to eat. And I bet the kid needs help on his homework."

  Hunter had started online schooling. Everyone helped the boy with his homework; it gave them something extra to do. 642 did, too. He often sat in on Hunter's virtual classes and listened. He learned quite a bit; maybe even more than Hunter did.

  642 made no reply to Dean. He was too thoughtful.

  Dean left without another word.

  642 reached up. He unfastened the metal arm and took it off. He turned it over in his hand, studying, sketching out an idea in his head.

  "Maybe I should be a machine then too," he repeated the sentence.

  This was a whole different realm of expertise.

  A new project formed in his mind. It began hurriedly, rapidly taking shape. This idea was more medical; and definitely dangerous. But 642 didn't care. What did he have to lose?

  He realized quickly that he couldn't ask for help on this.

  Dean surely wouldn't like this idea and would say no anyway.

  And although Hunter enjoyed 642's company, he'd grown tired of helping 642 with his builds, and was busy now with school.

  Another moment of consideration led to 642 fastening his arm back on. He'd need the arm's help on his next creation.

  Gathering the small pieces of Olium he had left, he sat down at the workbench. He laid out the remains of computer tech and wiring.

  He picked up a broken piece of radar screen from the old spaceship. He got to work, shaping it, sanding it, fashioning something to fit the empty space where his left eye used to be.