by Pearl Foxx
There she received compliments and favors as easily as finding dirt in the garden. Proof she was desirable, that the men wooing her considered her valuable and even the other girls who wanted to be friends with her would make her life easier. Since coming to Cyn City she realized none of it had meant anything. None of those people had been her friends. None had come to her aid or understood the situation love had put her in.
The only person she could trust was Verity. Then and now. But she was starting to feel like Enver could maybe be counted on as well.
Enver pushed open the door and the driving base music attempted to lodge itself in her soul like the pounding of a nail. She raised her eyebrows, and he smiled, gesturing for her to enter. Enver said something and gestured with his hands, but she couldn't make out the meaning of his words. She followed to the bar where Enver leaned across and screamed at Hollywood, one of the cyborgs she'd heard of but never met in person.
Hollywood had been described to her as handsome, as choirboy heavenly perfect, but all she could see was the abomination of his half missing face which had been replaced with titanium. As he spoke, she watched as his jaw worked through the gap in plesh. Metal pistons shoot through what should have been a bone mandible. The healer in her found him fascinating. She wanted to stick her finger right in the hole in his face and dig around, see if she could figure out how the metal had been attached. But the part of her who had been raised on the ecovangelical compound couldn't help but recoil at the disfigurement before her. His had been the perfect body the Earth had given him. What could have been worth sacrificing so much?
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even try to follow the conversation between the two men. She couldn’t hear them and doubted she would understand anything they spoke of anyway, this whole world was nothing but a mystery.
Enver turned and placed a hand on her upper arm.
Imogen shivered. Even in the heat of the Ball & Joint, where massive cyborgs and dancing women filled the space with sweaty heat, his touch ran through her like a cool breeze. She saw the familiar worry lines at the corners of his eyes. She had never seen anyone like him before, eyes so dark and hair so black. She never saw all of him at once. Each glimpse showed her something new, the full picture hidden from view. But she could tell he was concerned by the frown curling at the edge of his lips.
Imogen cocked her head to the side and mouthed “What?”
Enver leaned in, his lips almost touching the tender skin of her ear. His breath tickled her neck leaving her unconsciously leaning into the touch.
"Verity isn't here." He must've screamed, but Imogen could barely hear him between the loud music and the deafening thump of her heart. She leaned forward and placed a hand against his chest to keep from falling over.
Mistake.
The feeling of his hard muscles separated from her by nothing more than the thin fabric of his T-shirt made her weak. A tingle grew from the pit of her stomach flashing out across her belly and up her chest. Desire she hadn't imagined possible pooled in her loins and for a moment his words didn't register. All she could do was hope this feeling would last.
She clenched his shirt, grasping at the fabric as if it could save her from this influx of emotion. She wobbled forward on her feet, and Enver wrapped both arms around her, taking her into his embrace.
He ran a hand up and down her spine. He must think her faint, overwhelmed by their surroundings. But she did nothing to dissuade him from that thought, wanting more than anything to continue to feel his touch, however she had to go about getting it.
How was it possible that only hours ago she had sobbed over the loss Hiram? Had she become what he'd accused her of being? Were her feelings for Hiram only the shadow of what grew between herself and the taciturn cyborg who held her in his arms.
After a moment, Enver released her but slipped his hand into her grasp, his cybernetic fingers entangled together with hers. He led the way through the crowd, and despite the jostling of muscle and steel, he maneuvered his way to a door she hadn't noticed.
Enver opened the door a crack and slipped inside, pulling Imogen behind before closing it again. When it clicked shut, the sound receded, and she could think again. They stood at the top of rusted metal spiral stairs, and in the distance below, she could hear the muffled cheers of the cage fights.
She tilted her head in question.
"Verity isn't here. Her and Chance took the night off, so Hollywood is minding upstairs. And Garvan is handling the fights himself. Any chance you'd be willing to sit upstairs with Hollywood?"
Imogen gaped at him in disbelief. "You want me to sit there at the bar, with drunken hormonal cyborgs and a bunch of half dressed women? Are you serious?"
Enver quirked a smile and shook his head. "I guess not. I can't imagine you’d be comfortable. And… the idea of those Synthroid cyborgs getting anywhere near you… Well it isn't gonna happen." Enver used his free hand to reach out and run a gentle metal finger down the side of Imogen's cheek. She leaned into the touch, surprised by the intimacy of it.
"I don't like that idea at all, actually," he said
"So, what do we do?" She leaned forward, more words on the tip of her tongue but she didn't dare speak them.
Enver brushed his thumb across her lips before blinking, looking away, and dropping both his hands to decide. "We go downstairs. Hopefully, Garvan won’t mind if you sit in the back office until the fights are over."
Imogen shook her head. “If this is something you and Verity are involved in, I want to see it. I'm here. You can't keep me locked away in a tower forever."
Enver scowled and let out a huff, letting her know without words she'd won the argument, this time.
In the main room, the concrete walls and ceiling vibrated with screams. Imogen glanced around to see humans frothing at the mouth, as they watched two men inside a metal cage flying at each other with no apparent rules of conduct. Blood flew from the mouth of one of the gladiators, splattering across the wrestling mat. The whole thing reminded her of something out of time, the kind of violence for sport that dominated so much of pre-melt American culture.
She stopped walking, mesmerized by the nearly naked warriors scrambling to get an advantage over the other. Muscled beyond reason, the power each of them contained was unimaginable. Cybernetic enhancements flew at human bodies, both using every advantage they had. They rolled on the mat, grappling with hands and legs, pulling their bodies together almost like frantic lovers.
Imogen gasped when Enver touched her arm, breaking the spell. He pulled her toward him and mouthed the words, Stay Close before dragging her toward one of the back walls.
She wanted to stay, to see how the battle would end. Would it result in songs and poetry about the victor’s glory, or would another cyborg be alive only for the grace of Enver’s skills?
When they’d almost reached the back of the room and a large wooden door loomed before them announcing her further seclusion, a roar went up from the crowd and metal fencing rattled.
Enver dropped his hold on her and turned toward the epicenter of the fight. One cyborg stood in the middle of the cage, his arms held up in victory, blood pooled around his feet under the man lying next to him.
"Shit." Enver said loud enough Imogen could actually hear the words. He stood for a moment, his eyes vacillating between the battle ground before him and Imogen. Something caught his eye and he froze.
Imogen followed Enver's line of sight toward the dark-haired man with a shiny complexion and titanium teeth.
Enver’s shoulders slumped, and he gave a sign that could only be interpreted as an apology before changing direction and heading toward the cage.
She wasn't certain if he intended for her to follow or not, but she certainly wasn't going to stand there in the crowd of celebrating humans bickering with the losers over the legitimacy of the win.
Enver passed the dark-haired man without a glance and headed straight into the cage. Together with the victorious cyborg, he lift
ed the unconscious man from the ground.
Imogen followed as they set him at the bar, his body slumped forward over the wooden plank before him. In the comparatively quiet room now that the actual fight had ended she leaned in to whisper in Enver's ear. "You said there’s a back room, why not treat him there?"
He scowled and surveyed the room before replying. "Garvan likes for people to see the damage on full display. He says it's part of the show."
She trembled with the cruelty of that sentiment. But as soon as her eyes landed on the injured man, all thought left her mind, and she focused entirely on the injury before her. He was a cyborg, twice as wide as her own father had been with a metallic exo-spine running from the back of his neck down into his pants. He had two cybernetic legs that twitched despite his unconscious state.
Enver examined him quickly with sure competent hands.
Imogen wondered what he could sense with his cybernetics. Did he feel the man’s pulse through his skin, without having to search for an artery the way Imogen did? Or could he diagnose internal injuries through nothing but touch? How deft those hands must be to be considered medical instruments. She took in Enver's profile and imagined those strong tentative hands on her body, wishing they could return to the moment in the stairwell. What had it meant? Did he feel the something more between them that she was so certain grew?
Enver smirked when he caught her staring and leaned in close again to whisper. "I think the neural connection between his biology and the exo-spine has been severed. Otherwise it he just took a solid punch to the jaw and suffered nothing more than the humiliation of his brain getting knocked around."
Imogen could hear a slight mocking tone to his voice and released the breath she'd been holding. If Enver could joke about it, the injury couldn't be too serious
"Do you mind if I check?" she asked. She wanted get closer so she could inspect the cybernetics used on the man. She'd never encountered anything like it before.
She should be frightened, intimidated by the roar of the crowd as it ramped back up for the next fight. But instead curiosity had its claws in her, and she wanted to understand the machinery before her.
Enver held his arm out gesturing for her to go ahead.
She stepped forward and placed her hands on the side of the man's neck, closing her eyes and listening for that telltale thump of a healthy heart. Despite being unconscious, his heart rate still spiked well above normal, but she listened long enough to be confident it wasn't an indication of anything serious. He probably still had adrenaline coursing through his body.
She ran her hands over the shoulders, checking the joints and poking her fingers into the massive muscle tissue of his arms. Each trigger point she touched elicited the response she would expect from an unconscious person who was otherwise healthy, and each pain point she pressed made his muscles retract. When she was certain there wasn't a deeper injury, she moved around and began manipulating the exo-spine.
She wished she had her listening device but made due by wiggling her fingers beneath the cybernetics until she found the point where the titanium pierced his flesh. If she pressed hard enough, she could even feel the small connective links beneath the muscle that fused the biology with the exo-spine. As she manipulated her way up and down his spine, she found a spot between vertebrae five and six where one of the connections had been broken.
"Here, right here. The neural link has been broken off from the exo-spine, but it appears to still be embedded in the biology.” As she spoke she stared up at the ceiling, concentrating on seeing with her hands.
"So, there's nothing wrong with the cybernetics themselves, the neural link is still intact? It’s just a question of the machinery needing to be reconnected?" Enver leaned down to examine where her hands had stopped.
"Exactly." Imogen gently pulled on the exo-spine torquing it away from the human body and causing a grunt from their patient. "If we can pull it back enough to fit the tubing—" She forced the flesh down away from the cybernetics so the neuro- connector popped back through the pierced skin.
Enver quickly grabbed the small tube pulsing with blue light and pulled it out as far as he could. The tube pulsed quickly, visibly trying to retract away from his hold but his strong cybernetic grasp didn't let go.
"Now just slip the tube back in right here.” Imogen gestured with one of her free fingers to an almost imperceptible opening.
Enver slid the tube in easily like a master quilter threading a needle. The exo-spine clamped down on the tube, and they both wrenched their hands away just in time for his whole body to jerk and then collapse across the bar in front of him.
The cyborg’s legs stopped twitching and the man snored.
Enver studied Imogen with an unfamiliar expression. She couldn't be sure if she would be scolded or praised for stepping in. The link between them pulled on her and just as she worked up an apology a wicked smile flashed in his eyes.
"So, any chance you'd be interested in hanging around at the fights with me tonight?
She didn't have a chance to respond before another bloody crunch could be heard from the cage.
Chapter 12
Imogen
Imogen stood outside the Ball & Joint waiting for Enver to return with his motorcycle. Drunken cyborgs and delighted fans passed by, returning to their homes of squalor. Sometimes stopping to piss against one of the concrete walls of the alley, and sometimes tripping with a laugh as they struggled to get back up.
She rubbed her hands together trying to slough off the last of the dried blood. They’d come without Enver's medical kit or supplies, having meant to return back to the Ward after lunch, but Imogen was proud of the work she’d done that night. Not having the tools they needed just forced them to be innovative. She'd been especially entertained when Enver poured a bottle of vodka directly on a man’s shoulder before slicing into it with a knife one of the patrons wielded. It was amazing the kind of things she saw during a cyborg cage match. The impromptu surgery had been to remove a tooth that had flown from the cage at such a high velocity it had embedded itself into the man's plesh.
Happiness swelled inside her tired heart. It had been a long day, but the excitement, the vitality of no holds bars fighting, the rawness of it spoke to her of truth. A kind of truth rarely heard and never seen on the compound. The kind of truth she’d been searching for.
Up the street a bright light blinded her, and the building growl of the motorcycle announced Enver's approach.
Imogen’s heart sped up. Her pulse raced, and she wanted to smooth down her hair but stopped before her bloody fingers reached the short do she sported. She was ugly and unworthy, old expectations whispering in her ears.
Enver pulled the bike up to the curb. The headlight left spots in her vision but as they cleared, the quiet patient face of the cyborg medic greeted her. His too long hair had been ruffled by the wind, and despite the late hour, his cheeks flushed. He looked alive.
She imagined he felt what she did, that this humming in her blood was the real reason he worked at the Ball & Joint. He may be altruistic at his core, but she suspected another part of him loved the adrenaline, the constant surprises, and the fast-paced action of the cage fights. When they didn’t have a patient, she’d watched him as he'd watched the matches. His eyes lit up, and he bounced on his toes with every punch thrown. She couldn't help but wonder if he was tempted to fight himself. Despite the hulking bodies the cyborg contenders possessed, he had to be at least as strong of them. His body was defined in controlled hard muscles.
"Are you coming, or you just gonna stare me all night?" Enver yelled over the engine.
She swept her leg over the back of the bike and climbed on, this time with no hesitation about wrapping her arms around Enver's chest. He smelled wild. Blood, sweat, adrenaline, and the faintest hint of the ocean breeze filled her senses. If he had looked alive, he smelled even better.
She leaned against his back like a lover's embrace. This time she didn’t hold her own
hands but pressed them flat against his chest and stomach.
He paused, taking a deep breath before hitting the accelerator and flying them out into the darkness.
The night whipped by in shadows and the flickering light from the few remaining street lamps. From behind Enver, she couldn't see much of anything, so instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the whooshing sound of the wind around them. With every turn and lean, her hips matched his movements. Together they navigated the night.
The late hour filled the air with a cold breeze, and Imogen marveled at the disparate feelings of Enver against her front and the cold air stinging the rest of her. She leaned a little closer, clinging to him as tightly as she dared. Her fingers gripped his body, and a powerful need to be even nearer to him threatened to overcome her restraint.
Imogen knew the moment they returned to the Badlands. Here the cold had nowhere to linger, the moisture had no buildings to cling to, and instead the day's heat radiated back up at her from the sunbaked dirt blooming behind the bike. She breathed easier now that they were home.
When had this wild place become home to her?
Everything she had known before coming to Cyn City screamed that the Badlands were the very last place she should be. This patch of land between the city and the deserts, abandoned and lawless, was everything she'd been taught to avoid.
Being here offered her something she'd not expected needing. The feral land allowed her to access a wildness within herself. Her whole life it had been Verity who was the wild one, Imogen simply following along behind for the thrill. But here she learned to embrace her own independent nature and every day discovered something new about herself. Like the joy it brought her when Enver had stroked her cheek and the burning she felt in her gut at the hope he would do it again.