Artificial

by Jadah McCoy

  The mask is far away now, terrorizing someone else.

  I break away and weave through the crowd toward the cages. I have to get there. I have to know if they are still alive. If they aren’t there…

  “Wait!” Bastion whispers behind me.

  I ignore him. No argument he can make will stop me.

  My shoes slide on the filth lining the street beneath my feet. It covers the walkways, staining them black. I reach out and catch myself on the rusty bars in front of me. A million, million hands reach for me, suctioning to my body. They pull me in until my hips bang against the bars, men and women, young and old, crying and spitting as they yell in my face. There are so many voices I can hardly tell what they’re all saying.

  “Please!” I try to wrestle their hands off me. “Serge! David!”

  I peer into the cage, trying to see through the mass of people, all of them trying to be heard at the same time. I glance behind me. The androids give this area a generous berth, and Bastion is loitering at the outskirts of it, trying not to look terrified. I don’t see the glimmer of the mask anywhere, but I can’t imagine it will take him too long to discover my whereabouts.

  “Serge!” I call into the crowd again. “Serge!”

  Suddenly the bodies part, pushed aside by strong arms. And there he is, whole, alive, precious.

  “Syl?” Serge sounds as though he can’t believe his eyes and ears.

  I thought I would never hear that voice again.

  My hands are on his arms, and his are on mine. We press together, so glad to see each other alive again. Dirt and gore covers him. A puckered red scrape trails down his arm and a purpled bruise dots his eye. He looks as if he belongs behind these bars, like a wild animal.

  And over his shoulder stands Lucca, his dark hair slicked back with grease and grime. He gives me a curt nod, and I return the gesture.

  “Lucca,” I say.

  “Sylvia.” The quiet disdain in his eyes is hard to miss.

  She’s a Cull. She should be put out of her misery. I remember the deafening click of the phaser cannon locking on to me. The way he was all too eager to end my life.

  I will never forget it.

  A trillion questions jumble in my brain, choking it. I shake my head to rid myself of the fog. I don’t have much time. The mask will make his rounds and see me. I have to figure out a way to get them out of this cage.

  I glance to my left. There’s only one door, and it’s padlocked. A bit primitive for a civilization like this. Someone must have the key.

  “How do I get you out of here?” I ask Serge.

  “Those masked guys, they take people out of the cage every night. Last night they took some of us and lined them up down in the pit. Some were bought and taken away. The others… there just wasn’t room for them in the cage.” He shakes his head, a grave look on his face.

  “Make sure the masks take you and Lucca tonight. We’ll figure it out from there. Is there a boy named David in there?” I slip away from the bars, stepping back from the cage.

  A question passes over Serge’s face, but he doesn’t voice it. “There was a boy last night,” he says. “I’ll look, but I don’t know.”

  I don’t have time to ask whether the boy was sold or killed. I’m out of time.

  “You and Lucca get yourselves to the pit.”

  Serge nods. I turn away and slip into the cover of the android crowd. Bastion falls into step beside me.

  “I am… happy you have been reunited,” he says, as though saying the words makes him uncomfortable.

  He’s… happy? I look up at him. If it were not for him, I might not have ever seen my friends again.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Really.”

  He half nods. “How are we going to do this?” His tone suggests it will be a difficult task.

  “We’ll need a distraction.”

  He glances around. “I can think of something that might get everyone’s attention.”

  They trudge across the lit stage, poles with ropes at the end around their necks. There are seven of them—three beaten-down women and four pissed-off men. Serge and Lucca are among the group. No boys. David is not there.

  There’s no time to process the unending sorrow that fact instills in my heart. One miscalculation and our whole plan goes to shit.

  Bastion left fifteen minutes ago with the promise he would be back in ten. Fear curdles in my stomach. What if he doesn’t come back? What if I lose the only chance I have of saving Serge and Lucca? What if we’re left in New Elite with no one to help us?

  I push those thoughts from my mind. If that’s the decision he made, nothing I can do will change his mind. If it comes to that, we’ll just have to think of a Plan B.

  Serge stares into the crowd. I know he’s looking for my face, but I doubt he can see me beyond the blinding lights above the stage. A few masked figures form a wall behind them, blocking any attempt at escape. Their happy masks cause a shiver to trail down my spine—this is so surreal. I wonder if somehow I’m still in that tank, if I just never woke up and this is my real hell.

  “Pontus! Pontus!” the audience begins to chant.

  A man steps onto the stage. I’ve seen him before—his white hair and black pit eyes.

  Pontus is dressed in a rhinestone-studded suit that shines like the sun under the light orbs. His hair is a fluff of white cloud on top of his head. A small black contraption protrudes from the side of his face toward his mouth. He speaks into it, and his voice echoes into the night, above the dull roar of chatter in the audience that’s dying down.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the meat market!” he says. His smile is white and perfectly symmetrical. Deceiving.

  The crowd around me claps and cheers. I clap, too, so I don’t stick out from the herd.

  “Last night the audience picked some fantastic winners… and passed on some very sad losers.”

  The announcer makes an exaggerated pouting face and gestures to a pile of bloody bones and guts in front of the stage. The whole crowd makes a sound of dismay. My stomach turns.

  It’s a skit, all rehearsed. How many times have they done this? How many humans died for the sake of their entertainment?

  “These seven Organics behind us… well, their lives are in your hands, my good people. Which ones will be bought, which ones bred, and which ones euthanized?” He paces the stage, stopping for a few moments in front of each human man and woman. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  He throws his arm in the air and wiggles his brows in amusement.

  I glance around, hoping to see Bastion’s face in the crowd somewhere. It’s been a while since he left me here, and worry bubbles in the pit of my stomach. He’s coming back, I tell myself. He will come back.

  One of the masks on stage pushes a woman forward by the pole attached to her neck. She stumbles, fighting the shove. Tears and snot trail into her fire-red hair and run down her face, glistening in the hot light. She’s young, younger than me. She’s dressed in clothes that could barely pass for rags now. There’s a rainbow of bruises splattered across her whole body—purple, yellow, green.

  I want to save her. I want to save all of them. But there’s no chance that a group of Organics that large wouldn’t be recognized and apprehended. The best I can do is free them, give them a chance at survival.

  With a click, the rope around her neck slithers back into the pole and releases her. She stands there on stage, trembling like a scared animal. Maybe that’s all we are to them—scared animals.

  Pontus circles the girl, inspecting her. He swivels her head around, pulls her hair, smacks her rump.

  “Good, strong birthing hips. A prime candidate for breeding. Any of you ladies and gentlemen out there need an additional mother for your collection? Any fine Metro folk in need of a newborn pet? We have a prime Organic here.”

  “Fifty,” calls a voice in the back.

  Everyone turns around to look at the source of the voice. It’s a male android I saw earl
ier, leaning against the wall with chains dangling from his clothes.

  Pontus nods in the man’s direction. “Very good. She is quite a beautiful Organic, though. Look at her coloration! Very rare, indeed.”

  “One hundred,” says a female voice to my right.

  She’s what Bastion pointed out as “Metro.” Her skin is ebony with glowing red markings trailing across it. Her eyes match the markings, and her dark hair is tied into two buns on either side of her head.

  “Well—” Pontus says. He’s cut off by another bid.

  “One fifty,” the man with the chains counteroffers.

  “Two fifty,” the Metro lady replies.

  “Four hundred,” the man says, sounding stern.

  “Five hundred.”

  “One thousand!”

  Pontus makes a face of overzealous joy and looks back and forth from one side of the crowd to the other. “My goodness! Sold! Come claim your prize, sir.”

  The male android pushes away from the wall and weaves through the crowd, which parts for him as much as it can… which isn’t much, given the overwhelming amount of people gathered in the small slum square.

  “Sorry, lady,” he says as he passes the Metro woman.

  She doesn’t acknowledge him. Her expression is blank, yet it somehow still manages to convey her displeasure.

  He breaches the front of the audience and steps into the pit, toward the stage. He tramples over the gore, not even attempting to avoid the bloody mess, his boots crunching on the bones and body parts. His feet leave a wet trail of red as he steps onto the stage.

  He unclasps one end of the chain from his belt and makes a circle around the girl’s throat with it, once, twice and then reclasps it to his belt.

  The young girl breaks down into sobs, face shining with tears. “No!” she screams, long and loud, and collapses to her knees as she covers her face with her hands.

  The crowd rumbles with a few quiet laughs.

  I bristle in my spot, my jaw clenching. My whole body tenses. Can my neighbors sense my hatred for them? To me, it almost seems like a tangible object, a heavy stone settling into my chest, burning hot, hot within me. If only I had a knife. I want to slice their fake skin open, feel the wires go limp and jagged within them as I cut. Make them fear, make them hurt.

  “Quiet, you,” her captor says as he jerks on the chain.

  She chokes and pulls at the tight metal collar around her throat as her captor walks down the stairs. The chain isn’t long enough for her to remain standing, so she crouches behind him and follows along like a child imitating an animal.

  Humiliating.

  Another moment and the man is gone with his human “prize.” The faces of the others on the stage communicate their terror. Will that be their destiny, too?

  With crippling dread, I realize who is next in line: Serge. The mask pushes Serge forward. The pole releases with a sharp click, and the rope around his neck slips away.

  Pontus does a lap around Serge, who meets the announcer’s gaze the whole time. Serge’s hatred glows in his eyes. He’s taut, ready at any moment to react to my signal. He’s waiting for me. He and Lucca are depending on me… and Bastion.

  Where the hell is Bastion?

  “Look at this strapping male specimen!” Pontus smacks Serge’s back. “Perfect for menial labor, perhaps even for breeding!”

  At that, Serge leans back a bit and spits right into Pontus’ right eye. The crowd gasps. Murmurs of “disgusting” flit around and around. Behind Serge, a mask stomps forward, ready to reprimand.

  Pontus holds up a hand to the mask. “No, no, no. Quite all right,” he says. “It’s only an animal, after all. What can you expect?”

  He wipes his eye with a handkerchief and laughs darkly.

  “Perhaps,” he continues, raising his voice, “this one is only good for euthanizing.”

  The audience erupts into cheers and excitement. They whistle and scream into my ears, and I press my hands against them, trying to block out the harsh sound.

  Two masks come up behind Serge. He fights as each one takes hold of one of his shoulders, pressing him to his knees on the stage. To the right, Lucca is silent and still. His expression is blank in the face of his friend’s potential death. Why isn’t he reacting?

  Pontus claps and laughs with the audience as he watches Serge struggle.

  “No,” I whisper under my breath.

  Panic shoots through my torso like a lightning bolt. I can’t let this happen. I have to do something now.

  I push past the androids in front of me, but then—

  “Help!” A panicked voice echoes above the cheering of the crowd. A few androids hear the cry and stop cheering to glance around.

  “Help!” the booming voice calls again, louder this time. “There’s been a murder! Another Glitch has been murdered!”

  And then silence surrounds me before a different kind of sound erupts from the crowd. It’s nothing short of chaos.

  Androids who are obviously from the slums scatter, pushing and shoving as they flee to the safety of the winding slum streets. What look like guards scramble to surround Metro androids who are ushered out of the crowd within their bubble of hired muscle. There are whispers of “murder” and “terrorists” all around me.

  “Citizens, please remain calm,” chant the masks on the stage in their unsoothing monotone voices.

  I’m caught in the crossfire of a mad rush out of the area. This is my chance. This is the distraction we need. I fight the flow of people as they bump into me, but it’s hard to fight the traffic, and for each step I take forward, I’m forced two steps back. Then a weight presses against my shoulders, pushing me forward. I turn and Bastion maneuvers himself in front of me, taking the brunt of the madness around us.

  “Bastion!” I yell over the noise, surprised. “You came back.”

  “Of course I did,” he says. He grins and laughs. His smile is actually kind of devastating. “How’s this for a distraction?”

  He’s having fun. What a strange android he is.

  We push through all the scrambling and crouch at the side of the stage, regaining our bearings.

  Pontus is yelling, but his words no longer echo through the square. The device attached to his ear must not be on.

  “Show’s over,” he says as he brushes some dirt from his expensive suit. “Get these foul beasts back in their cage and out of my sight.”

  The masks hurry to drag them back to their confinement so they can begin restoring order. The two masks restraining Serge have abandoned their task to deal with the chaos, but not before giving him a good crack on the skull, if the fresh blood trailing down his neck is any indication.

  Pontus kicks one of the women as a PIC drags her away, and she yelps in pain. He laughs and cuts his eyes to Serge.

  “Strapping.” He spits the word as he takes the device from his ear and places it in his pocket. Then he rolls up his sleeves over his generous forearms. “Guess it’s just me and you now.”

  No. No, it’s not.

  I sprint around the corner and gallop up the stairs. Serge turns, his gaze meeting mine. He grins, and it’s not reassuring—it’s almost frightening. The feral look of someone fighting for his life.

  Pontus also looks in my direction. “Lady, what are you—”

  “Looks like it’s your unlucky day, robot.” Serge lands a forceful blow right to Pontus’s nose.

  The android crumples in half, holding his face. Black liquid spurts from the wound. A yell leaves his mouth. “That will be an expensive fix, you little shit!”

  He straightens and steps in closer to Serge, who shakes his bleeding hand at his side. The skin on Pontus’s nose is ripped and hanging off, revealing the shiny metal exoskeleton beneath.

  Shit. I have to do something. I have to do something!

  To the right side of the stage, lying on the ground, is the pole that kept Serge captive. The end of the rope is sharp and pointy. I don’t have a knife, so this will have to
do. I scramble over to the pole and pick it up. It’s awkward and flexible in my hands.

  In front of me, Pontus is grappling with Serge. They’re spinning in slow circles, each fighting for the upper hand. But it’s no secret the android is stronger. Serge won’t last long beneath that mechanical vise grip. I know—I’ve felt it before if the bruises on my wrist are any indication.

  The humans behind us have seen what’s going on and fight against the PICs putting the others back in the cage. I can tell by the escalation of yells coming from that direction. A scuffle and the sound of monotone threats echo behind me, but I don’t have time to process it.

  I run toward my friend and his attacker, my hatred steeling my body for the strike. With a battle cry, I shove the pointed end of the pole into Pontus’s side—a fatal blow for a human, but not so much for him. He releases Serge, who tumbles back and slides off the stage.

  Pontus twitches uncontrollably in front of me. The pole lodges diagonally from his waist through his left shoulder, tearing the expensive rhinestone suit. His head lolls to the side. The blow must have hit a sweet spot, crossing some wires that aren’t meant to be crossed.

  This doesn’t stop him from pursuing me. With jerky movements, he pulls the pole from its spot in his body and brandishes it in front of him—at me. I glance to the side but don’t see Serge.

  Pontus takes quick steps toward me, and I shuffle backward. My foot catches in a dip, and I trip, cracking my head on the ground. Vision swimming, I pull myself away, but Pontus is gaining on me.

  Behind him, Serge is finally up and frantically limping toward us.

  But he’s too slow. It’s too late.

  “Syl!” Serge yells.

  The android lifts the weapon above his head with both hands. I hold my arms up, though it won’t do much to stop him. His face is maniacal with joy. I close my eyes, bracing for the crippling pain I know I’ll experience at any moment.

  It doesn’t come. A loud clatter echoes to my left, and I open my eyes.

  The pole lies at my side, rolling away. Bastion stands behind Pontus, holding him by the throat.

  “Go to sleep,” Bastion grits out. He presses something into the port on Pontus’s neck, and the android powers down with a buzzing sound. Bastion releases him, and he collapses against the stone with a thunk.