somebody ; minsung

III ; stranger

The city is different in the light of day, humans and androids walking side by side, overcrowding the sidewalks. The skytrain flies on electromagnetic tracks above the crowd, weaving between skyscrapers. The roads are clotted with traffic and pedestrians, motorcycles and street vendors jaywalking with carts of pretzels and bibimbap waffles.

I'm drawing eyes like a magnet. I managed to find a tarp in the junkyard, something to cover my armour, but I doubt it's doing anything to help me blend in. I go into the first clothing store I see, slip past the clerk and into a change room with the first set of clothes my hands touch.

I stop and stare as my eyes hit the mirror. There's a stranger in the reflection. His hair is dark, expression confused and awed, one eye a matte black, no iris or pupil. There's a tattoo below my collarbone, a key drawn in dark blue ink.

The gash in my shoulder has crusted over with a gummy froth, like foam from a fire extinguisher. Halfway down my chest my skin ends and the smooth, almost glass-like blue armour begins. Off-white scales are scattered over my body in a seemingly random pattern, covering my back but not my front.

I turn, crane to look over my shoulder. There are rows of hubs and outlets up and down my neck. I'd been attached to all sorts of wires and cables back at the facility — had I been charging, updating, syncing?

I close my eyes. I feel... numb. Maybe a normal person would be reacting differently — dizzy, panicking, crying. But I'm just numb.

Unauthorized Android E2 Genus approaching.

The voice on the other side of the curtain is automated.

"Hello, sir, my name is Kyu, is there anything I can help you with?"

I say I'm fine and wait for the droid to leave. I yank the clothes off the hangers, shimmy into a pair of jeans, a Coca-Cola t-shirt and varsity jacket. I push the curtain aside, looking out into the store. The mannequin-like android is roving the aisles, reorganizing the clothing racks.

I walk up to the front counter, spinning a display of keychains. The clerk is a bored-looking human, nose buried in a magazine.

"It's crazy what happened to Minho, huh?" I say.

They look up, arching an eyebrow. "Who?"

"That guy who went missing... I heard the government got him."

"Never heard of a Minho. You gonna buy something or what?"

"Oh... right. I'm very sorry for this."

I bolt out of the store, knocking over a rack of clothes on my way. The alarm screeches. I shove through the crowded sidewalk and flee up the street.

I hear the clerk shouting at me. "Hey — stop! Kyu, get him!"

The droid comes sprinting after me, fast and agile on its feet, gaining ground easily. I veer onto the road, squeeze past double-parked cars and run between the lanes.

Activating escape protocol.

Tendrils of sapphire material grip my feet — I stumble and fall to the pavement. Hoops have fused to my ankles, as tall and wide as bicycle wheels, razor-thin like ice skates.

I push myself to my feet and catch a taxi cab's bumper, letting it tow me down the street. The droid is drawing closer with every stride, eyes fixed on me. I scale the side of the car and push away, reeling for balance.

A hand grabs my arm, hard and tight like a manacle. I spin around, swinging my fist, but the droid blocks me, catches my wrist.

Obstacle imminent.

Someone has opened their car door ahead.

I only have a second to react.

I force the droid in front of me, drive the blade of my wheel into its chest as the door slams into it. I throw myself heels over head, land upright and propel myself forward, clearing a yellow light.

The top half of the droid is still clinging to my arm.

|||

I'm sitting on a fire escape 20 storeys high, the android's wrecked bust in my hands. Its innards look nothing like mine, sparking, leaking fluid. The wires inside its core are still raw, it doesn't even try to protect the wound with foam.

I look over the edge at my dangling feet. My jeans are ripped up to my knees on either side. After my stint as a vehicle, I'm eager to know what else my body can do. Springs, wheels, a whole server inside my brain — the possibilities seem limitless.

I raise my hand, squinting at it. If wheels can fuse to my feet, what about a sword to my arm?

The glass-smooth material begins to shift and flux.

Offensive weaponry protocol pending.

Pending.

Access denied.

My hand stiffens again. So there are limits. I roll up my sleeve, turn my arm sideways, palm facing in.

Defensive weaponry protocol pending.

Access authorized.

My arm shoots outward in all directions, a shield of armour. I smile, awestruck. It retracts easily.

I think I understand; anything destructive, offensive, is prohibited, while self-defence is allowed. I have a feeling there's more that I can do, capabilities locked behind closed doors.

One thing I can't do, apparently, is heal damages to my armour. The wound in my shoulder is starting to affect the skin around it, turning it purple like a bruise. My server locates an android repair shop south of the city in August District.

I scale the fire escape another dozen storeys to the roof, taking the robot bust with me. The morning rush hasn't abated under the silver clouds. Skytrains are all around, whistling through the open air. I just have to catch one.

The Cormorant Line en route, arrival estimated at 11:07 hours, fare ₩2,700.

The train — a cool silver bullet the length of 3 city blocks — is coasting at 80mph below me. Its tail crops into sight, moving fast like a snake through the grass.

I rise, turn my back and let myself fall. Shuttered windows fly by at light speed. My armour shoots from my hand, a staff with a snare at the end, slamming and catching on the steel of the skytrain. I ride the last car, sailing on invisible rails. The city is gunmetal grey and small under my feet.