The Darker Side of Me

The Triumph to Come

Over the following weeks, the other rebels and I storm military prisons, freeing the dissenting citizens that are held there and fighting what few soldiers were left behind to garrison the cities. I travel under guard. My companions all carry confiscated electrope so that if I shift into a monster, they can restrain me.

I asked for the guard.

The artificial intelligence incapacitates every soldier we face, though there are a few units without implants that give us more trouble- we have to kill most of them instead of taking them prisoner. We can't attack the capitol until we rebuild our numbers and elect a new leader. Lia's mother fell in battle, like so many others.

After discontinuing three others, we come to the very prison where I was held. As it turns out, it was the building reserved for high-threat members of the rebellion from our core and outlying bases. It makes me sad to see how far they have fallen... that is, until I remember my own condition.

Even so, I take especial pleasure in punching the buttons and watching the cuffs fall away. My companions and I gently support the damaged prisoners, and we escort them to a truck. It will return to the Rebel base, where they can remember who they are, and learn to live once more without the constant threat of physical punishment. We watch it drive away silently, then turn and trek on to the next prison.

_________________________________________

Months later, when the last penitentiary has been discontinued, we return home. The first thing I do is ascend the stairs and enter the mirror room. Someone has washed the door where I scraped my knuckles raw. I stand facing the repaired looking glass for a long time. Only my reflection stares back.

I look gaunt and hollow. I haven't eaten much lately. My hair hangs in a tangled red nest, and dirt from traveling streaks my face and hands. Bags darken my brown eyes, courtesy of the nightmares I can't chase away. I hardly bother to care for myself any more, so consumed with fighting the demon inside me.

Maybe you shouldn't do this, the voice in my head worries. She knows that I have been thinking about this for weeks, and we've worked together to come up with a plan. You're still unstable. I can't leave you on your own. If you snapped, I'd never forgive myself. I will have failed again.

"Maybe not," I say to the empty room.

But even with my help, even with the memories I carry, you still suffer relapses. I worry how much worse it will be, without the memories you too often forget.

"So do I," I admit. "But I can't rely on you forever."

Whyever not?

"Sometimes... sometimes us humans have to do things on our own."

That seems ironic, she says thoughtfully. I was created to help humans do things they couldn't do on their own.

"Things they had trouble doing on their own," I correct gently.

I suppose, comes the reply.

"I won't deny that I desperately needed you," I say. "But I also can't deny that eventually, I need to heal my own mind."

Is there any way I can convince you?

I begin to reply, but she sighs, No. I know your strength of will. Please promise that you'll visit when you feel yourself unraveling? That you will still let me help?

"I promise. I know by now I can't do everything on my own," I say wryly.

No one can.

"Thank you," I say.

There's no need for thanks, she replies warmly. I will always help you, so long as you let me.

By now, I've lifted the backing and grabbed the blue wire, breathing slowly and evenly as the artificial intelligence taught me, so I wouldn't fall away. I close my eyes and lift it. Even with all my mental preparation, I hesitate.

Go ahead. It's okay.

I touch the wire to the rectangle at the base of my skull. I feel her leave. When I reopen my eyes, the dark-haired girl has returned to the mirror. I press my hand against the surface. Her digital one rises to meet it.

"Hi," she says quietly.

"Hi," I answer, smiling slightly. The connection feels cheap after the mind-meld we shared before. I search for something meaningful to say. Then a realization strikes me, so obvious that I wonder why it has never occurred before.

"You don't have a name, do you."

"I was never given one. It was never required."

"Can I give you one?"

"If you want to," she replies. Her eyes are shining.

So I name her. I name her after the friend I have lost, the friend I held so dear, the girl that was close enough to have been my sister.

"I can't accept that name," she says, shocked. "It's too... human."

"She would have wanted you to have it."