The Cyborg Retaliation

Lost Fuse

I took a shaky breath as I shut the door behind me and sunk to my knees, the cool metal of my front door doing nothing to alter my wire heart; which beat away steadily in my chest despite gasping for breath.
I shut my eyes tightly and tried not to think about the thousands of cyborgs still connected to the network; not understanding why I  had been the one to escape. As I  did every day since u had opened my eyes in the middle of that forgotten field and had stumbled through the wheatgrass and discovered towering buildings and hovercrafts flying over head, I shut my eyes again and tried to remember.
Of my escape.
Of how I was set free.

Nothing.
Someone, or something, had tampered with my memories. The first memory installed in my brains system was when I opened my eyes to a dull grey sky, and felt the grass brush gently along my skin; looking around in a confused daze to see that I was completely alone.
I got to my feet, clenching my jaw and throwing down my bag onto the seat next to the window that overlooked the city below me. I yanked open the door that led to my basement below.
The darkness called out to me, the promise of truth beckoning me down into the shadows, and gripping her hand on the door knob, I closed the door behind me and it clicked shut ominously as I descended into the deep.

It was only dark for a moment as my eyes flickered into night vision mode, casting an eerie green glow over the walls and the stairs as I continued down into the earth.

I entered the large room, white lights flickering on at her arrival, numerous machines and metal equipment greeted me with vibrant electricity, and I shut my eyes, breathing in the feeling of the fuse in the air.
There was a single large screen in the centre of the room flashing with various numbers and codes; mostly from the cyborg program that I was attempting to crack, to try and understand why these cyborgs had suddenly turned violent. I shook my head and laughed humourlessly, opening up a large metal filing cabinet and carefully looking at the silver discs before I  came to the final one that made my fingers tremble slightly.
I had downloaded every memory onto a disc each week, so with the help of the SAAM - sensory and auditory manipulator - I  could slot a memory disc into the back of my head and revisit the memory, feel, see, touch and smell everything exactly as it had been when it happened. I took out the silver disc, turning it over in my shaky hands that i attempted to steady.
"Heart rate increasing. Perspiration levels rising." These words flashed across my visual monitor that was built over my retina.
I sat down on a silver chair, spinning around slowly on it as I stared at the disc; as it caught the white light and I could see my deathly place reflection over my face, my metal implants around my jawline covered by a mask that I claimed was to prevent radiation contact. Since the city was practically a radiation bath, many of the pure humans - as they do fondly referred to to themselves as - donned gas masks when they went out into the open air, to protect themselves from the toxic, high levels of radiation that sluggishly floated over the building, bathing the sky in a rather sickly orange glow most of the time; although that was only at night, when they turned off the holographic overlay of a bright blue sky dotted with perfect cotton ball clouds. That sickly image was only there for a few moments as they switched from the azure lies of blue to a midnight deception with a synthetic pearl moon. Our chance at a real pearl moon had disappeared long ago. No one had seen the moon in decades; as it was hidden behind a veil of toxic air and constant clouds. Sometimes I wished I could see the sickly orange glare all the time, as if somehow it would jolt my memory and make me remember, give me an answer to save every other Cyborg in Envad, making humans and cyborgs walk as equals again, even on this sick and tainted world.

I got up off the chair, taking a deep breath in and noticing the way my metal heart beat steadily on my chest, no lulls or skips in rhythm.
The SAAM blinked steadily just in front of the screen, its flat metal bench and metal arch crowded with dozens of blinking lights; and I lay down on the bench, muttering to myself as I reached up to flick a few buttons and then lay back on the metal; the cool surface brushing my fingers and the back of neck. I reached towards of the back of my head, and pulled my hair away, revealing a small slot just under my upper neck; and taking a deep breath, I slid the disc into the slot and lay back, my eyes fluttering shut and my visual receptors going blank.