Automation Era: The Battlefield

[9] skin and scar

[9] skin and scar

The shock hit Scarlett harder, mainly because she hadn't given herself time to contemplate, to theorize—all she'd been doing was fight with Angelo. I'd made it halfway through into the conclusion that Xander was a human, and the confirmation still rocked the world around me.

It changed things now, this knowledge. For all we knew, this entire Trial could have been a habitual thing. Perhaps every time the human lost a battle and died, the bots—Epsilon—would synthesize others and throw them in.

But why? Again. What's the purpose? Pleasure? But only fourth class bots had emotions, and they were the lowest rank—they didn't have a hand in control. So the rest, those in power, those making the decisions, couldn't witness pleasure, and thus this didn't make any sense.

"How...How did he die?" Scarlett asked. I looked at her, startled by the sadness in her voice. "Lost a battle?"

Angelo sighed, and for a heartbeat he was silent, and all the memories flashed in his eyes. "Yeah. We lost a battle for the first time ever. Ever. And he didn't deserve to lose. He didn't deserve to die like that..." His voice was getting quieter, and his mind was drifting, but he forced himself back into reality with a wave of his hand. "Whatever. Never mind. What's important is that he was an absolute legend. Our asshole ex-Assassin—the one who caught you both—she told everyone he's a human. And now the androids kinda...fear you."

Scarlett frowned. "They fear us?"

"Yeah," Angelo said. "Since Xander was so skilled, they're scared another human would be even better. So they decided they might as well kill them as soon as they arrive."

"And they teach us about how barbaric humans were."

Well, I thought. They still were. Androids displaying ugly violence didn't cancel out what our race had done. I couldn't infer Angelo's standpoint about Scarlett's comment. His expression didn't change, just saddened with the weight of Xander's mentioning or remembrance.

Sighing, Angelo turned and headed into Irene's place. I looked at Scarlett. Her were were set on the grass under us, arms crossed, breath slow.

"It's not our fault," I said. "We didn't know, and we couldn't have saved him."

Scarlett didn't nod. Instead, she just gestured me to follow her into Irene's house. I did.

Inside Angelo sat on a chair, leaning back tiredly, eyes on the ceiling. He didn't even notice us. "Hey," Scarlett said, nudging his shoulder. Unpleased yet unusually passive, he lifted his chin and shook his head. "Where are the rest?"

Angelo pointed at an open trapdoor in the corner; a ladder led into a basement or an underground lair. Scarlett didn't think twice and casually went down, even though I wondered why in the world she wanted to watch Irene stitch up Yaseen.

Yet I followed her. I didn't know why. I just did. My foot slipped a little on a rung and I almost dropped down the distance, but my hands gripped the ladder with intention I'd never felt, and I landed on my feet like a normal person. Like Scarlett. I should be more like her.

Irene spun towards us, taking off the gloves. The wound on Yaseen's stomach was bandaged now, and there was a small black splotch on the gauze. It blew my mind. Synthetic skin that could behave so much like real skin. It could be torn and repaired and sliced and stitched. Could leave a scar? Could it—wait. Scars. The word in my head redirected my focus, and now I saw more than that one wound on Yaseen. I saw ridges and dried wounds and relics of older battles.

"Synthetic skin can scar too?" I blurted, taking a subconscious step closer to Yaseen to inspect. Then the insensitivity in this hit me in the throat. I strode back. God, I thought more than I spoke and yet I could be this stupid?

"Yes," Irene said. "It can leave scars. We all have some. But Yaseen has the most, since he's the Tank."

"Look." Yaseen pointed at a scar on his shoulder. "This one Angelo gave me."

"Angelo? Aren't you on the same team?"

"Well, later I joined Angelo's team. We first met during a battle, and I was against him."

That...must've been awkward. Angelo had branded him; the scar looked terrible. I wondered if that was why Angelo was so protective—because he felt guilty about hurting Yaseen before he'd recruited him.

Without realizing it, I found myself looking around for Irene. She stood by a sink, washing her hands. Her silver hair was tied up. The ponytail hung over her back. She turned around, and even though I had enough to time to stop staring like a creep, I met her gaze. Her eyes reminded me of Epsilon's. A sad, soft version of them. She stared back, lingering on my blue eye. Then she quickly averted her gaze like I was a temptation, or a burden, or a memory. Maybe all. Maybe none.

Irene cleared her throat. "So. Now what?"

Silence. We didn't know what. But then the boss came in, all his anger and sadness stashed aside; he dropped on his feet by the ladder.

"Now we train them," Angelo said. He set his eyes on me. "A lot."