Short story collection

Tin Man - Part 3

Religion was almost phased out of existence in America. Faith died like a light bulb. It started strong with a bright light needed to guide others in the darkness. And when it was inevitably consumed by advancements in science and technological innovation, it became something people mocked.

  Haywood was different, however. The people here, including Valentinos, believed in something far greater than themselves before and after death.
  Tin Man didn't know if he was religious before his injuries and transition, but he could understand the appeal. If not that, then the desire to hold onto something so tight that it felt like it returned your embrace.
  It was all very human. The idea, the meaning, and the hundreds of years of history. Tin Man reckoned that's why he took up one of the many pews in a cathedral left untouched by Night City's corporations. To simply feel human.
  "Good evening." Tin Man's HUD put up a string of subtitles when it detected an aged voice with a thick Spanish dialect.
  "Good evening, Padre." Tin Man replied. He needn't look at the old man seated beside him.
  "I admit, I never thought I would see you here."
  Padre, otherwise known as Sebastian Ibarra, was as tough as he was kind. He was a Fixer as well as a priest. Tin Man found the irony in his chosen profession understanding.
  "Padre." Tin Man gave a long pause as he looked at the stained glass window of the Virgin Mary. "Question."
  "Mm, go ahead." Sebastian hummed with an air of wisdom and patience.
  "In my..." Tin Man turned away from the colorful display to look at the priest in full. "Apologies."
  "You haven't done anything wrong." Padre reassured him.
  "Emotion: Anxious. Status: Unsure. In my old life, did I ever come here?"
  "I'm not sure." The older man crossed his arms and let his legs stretch under the pew before them. "Maybe. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here every sunday."
  "It sounds logical." For once, Tin Man didn't run the numbers. "Question."
  "Mm."
  "I feel... incomplete, Padre." The voice omitted from the menacing mask lowered and sounded almost warm. "I enjoy my new life. I no longer experience true emotions. I avoid the stress Night City has to offer... Counterpoint: I want to feel again. I met a girl recently and my face turned her away. When it happened, I felt... pain. Statement: At that moment, I felt like nothing more than tin in the shape of a man..."
  "There is nothing out of the ordinary from what you desire." Padre eased his thoughts with his voice of honey and gravel. "Wealth. Happiness. Love. It's everything we humans desire. If it's what you want then your faith can guide you."
  "Emotion: Drained. I'm not sure if I can experience faith."
  "Faith can go beyond what you perceive it to be. It can be faith in yourself."
  "I see." Tin Man nodded.
  "Have faith in your abilities." Padre hummed. "You'd be surprised what it can get you through. If you can start small then you're on the right track."
  "Emotion: Unsure. Padre. I—"
  "You can start by changing that." He pointed to his throat, ultimately referring to his speech. "Tell me what you wanted to say but without the need to specify your current state."
  Tin Man knew he could. All it would take is a simple mental command to unshackle his brain from his CPU, giving him free rein over his movement and speech. He would be human, or the closest thing to it.
  "Emotion: fear." Tin Man turned back to the colored glass with a dimmed light in his eye. "I'm not sure if I can bear such a thing."
  "Then have faith." Padre said calmly. "There's no one here to judge you for who you are."
  "Acknowledged." Tin Man replied after a long moment of blissful silence.
  One by one, he removed shackles, safeties, and limiters. Slowly, his heart began to beat faster and faster until warmth coated his body. He knew if he wasn't careful he would seize up from the overwhelming information available at each question or mental image in each hundredth of a second.
  The necessary chemicals fed into the human brain suddenly spiked with the tips of his fingers tingling and his prosthetic arm suddenly throbbing with an unknown pain.
  Colors became more vibrant and Tin Man suddenly became more aware of the cold metal fused to his spine.
  "It's..." His voice began to clear, becoming less anonymous and more distinct. "Cold."
  "Hmm." Padre raised a brow at Tin Man's voice. He found it to be lower than he expected. "I don't leave the heater on when nobody's around."
  "I meant my implants." His voice shook with an unexpected chill traveling through his body.
  "They usually are." Padre watched as his posture began to visibly change. First, his muscles became less taught before he ultimately slouched with his elbows to his knees.
  His audio drivers simulated the sounds of a deep and shaky sigh. Leaving him to bury his head in his hands as the memories of his last day in Trauma Team returned.
  The burst of hot air touching him was no longer suppressed. Neither was the wet sensation covering his body as he lay unconscious in their ambulance, barely clinging to life thanks to his armor and helmet.
  If he had eyes he was sure they would be squeezed tight in a vain hope of easing the headache he just experienced.
  "Phantom pain." Tin Man growled. "Now I remember why I kept all of this suppressed for so long..."