Doll Parts (taekook)

Chapter 2

A faraway ringing rippled closer like tiny bells chiming in his ears. Then, a strange whoosh: sand shifting. Was this Hawaii? But, wait. How did he know what shifting sand sounded like? Ah, of course, from the 'verse. That's right. The waves teased his toes, crashing into the shore within reach before pulling away and squeaking to a stop. Could the ocean do that? Not sure. Look it up.

Taehyung opened his eyes to the diagnostic box beeping, the mangled bionic arm suspended at its centre with every rip and tear on the nylon 12 outlined on the screen. His gaze strayed up to the two-phased travel poster, caught in between a beach and an ice paradise. To his right, the bed was empty; the blanket halved on its side. To his left, the synth stood in the kitchen in front of an open refrigerator. He closed it and walked over to Taehyung, dragging his feet across the linoleum.

"Sorry. I was so hungry and I didn't wanna wake you." He paused midstep, and giggled. "Oh."

"What?" Taehyung straightened in his seat. His back cracked.

He pointed. "Your face."

Taehyung brought a hand up to his cheek. Stray wires indented the skin. He peeled them off.

The doll giggled again, sat beside him, and eyed the computer screen. "So cool."

"Never had damage before?" Taehyung asked, voice scratchy from sleep. His fringe fell in spikes over his eyelids.

"I have. But not like this." The doll jutted his chin to the screen. "And they never showed me how it's fixed. Just poof and it was all perfect again."

"They? Your handler?"

"Yeah," he said, bow lips leveling into a tight line. Something about that discouraged follow up questions.

Taehyung nodded instead. On the screen, he pinched in to zoom on the three points of injury: deep lacerations on the artificial skin, mostly superficial damage on the tendons, and two minor punctures on the microprocessor.

"Yeah, I can patch this up. Give me two days." Taehyung stood up. The room quaked, and he steadied himself on the edge of the table. He sat back down, shut his eyes tight. An electric drilling from the inside of his skull. "...Or three."

"Thank you."

"Don't think I have enough artificial flesh that matches your skin tone though." He rummaged through the drawers under his worktable, took two packets out, and held each one up against the doll's bionic arm. "Unless you don't care if it matches?"

The doll looked down, abashed. "I... care."

A sigh. "I have to order some then."

He licked his lips and grinned. "If it's alright."

Rubbing his hand on his chin, Taehyung turned to the ceiling: a discoloured glob on a cross-shaped crack. He patted the cluttered desk for his phone to get the order in. Artificial flesh, skin tone #FFE2C9. He eyed the lacerated bionic arm in the diagnostic box, flesh tangled into the electrodes. No good.

Palm up, he signalled for the synth to lend him his right arm. He did so, eyes widening with curiosity. Taehyung rolled up his sleeve, flipped the limb one way and the other. More like #FFCBA3. He turned to the monitor and double checked with the diagnostic. Close enough.

Add to cart, express shipping, and finally, checkout. The sooner he fixed this, the sooner the synth would be out of Taehyung's little industrial corner of the world.

A rumbling sound. They stared at each other. The synth gazed down to his belly, then up to flash Taehyung an overdone grin.

Taehyung stretched his arms over his head and stood. His legs brittle like polymer. "Sweet or savory?"