Cyberotique

Staring uncomfortably at the innocent plastic bag perched on the end of her bed, Rossy was unsure if the current presiding feeling in her brain was the exciting tingle of guilty pleasure or the imminent gloom of buyer's remorse.

I shouldn't have done it, she cursed herself. I shouldn't have bought them. Any minute now he's gonna say something. I KNOW he will. Any second now, that little red light is gonna pop up and he's gonna be there, right up in my face, talking down to me like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar...

Her fingers closed reflexively. The tension was already eating away at her nerves...or, her wires, maybe? Either phrase was probably correct in her case. If there was a point at which organic biology and synthetic machinery merged into one contiguous entity, heaven help her if she knew where it was. Her fingers opened again.

As miraculous as cybernetic systems were, they were still mechanical in nature; that is, systems built to react to very specific stimuli. And while Rossy had learned that each of her hundreds of joints required purposeful, intentional thought to control them, there were still a handful of surprise moments where her body would react "on its own". Organic bodies do this all the time. For example, anxiety - a phenomenon specific to Organic brains - occasionally causes involuntary body movements like jiggling a leg restlessly, or drumming fingers on a desk, and even though these actions are not thought out or planned, the brain sends a signal to perform them nonetheless. In some cases, Rossy's cybernetics behaved in the same way, when she didn't realize how hard her anxious brain had been signaling her limbs to fidget. It was a completely illogical response for what should otherwise have been a logical machine.

...but that's just what happens when robots have emotions, isn't it? She subconsciously shook her head and corrected herself. No, not Robot...Cyborg. There's a difference.

Sometimes she wished she WERE a Robot. From their very moment of conception, Robots already had their whole lives laid out before them. They were built for the explicit purpose of achieving a goal or carrying out a task, and were then equipped with bodies designed to help them do exactly that. Robots were creatures of destiny. Their brains were hard-coded with a guaranteed future, and all destiny asked of them was to step in and do the work. To be a Robot meant having an unshakeable purpose in life, and never second-guessing that. But to be a Cyborg...

...alright, enough of that, Rossy. She pulled up her virtual overlay, if only to distract the Anxious part of her brain while the Logical part gathered her thoughts for her. So you're not a Robot with an iron-clad future. That doesn't mean you don't HAVE a future...it just means you have to make your own, like any other person in the world. You're still human, so maybe you need to start acting like it.

Anxiety straightened her spine and bit her synthetic lip. Well, maybe I COULD make my own future if life would just quit cock-blocking me for five minutes. Kinda hard to make your own future when you're only as free as you can afford to be. I can't forge my own destiny when I'm bound by the cheap income of a lowly strip club bouncer...

Logic stepped in and pinched the bridge of her nose. Okay, alright. So destiny can't be here for you right now. Life dealt you a bad hand and you've got no chips left. What are you gonna do, flip the table and storm out of the room? That's not gonna earn you your freedom. Being a whiny little bitch never earned you nothing. You just gotta make more money, come back with more chips, and keep playing the game until you win. That's just life, isn't it?

And what kinda life is that?! Anxiety snapped back. She pulled up the thermometer app to see if her carbon fiber skull was really as hot as her brain insisted it felt. What, I'm just supposed to sit here and spin my wheels until the right opportunity comes along? I'm a Cyborg! The only opportunities I'll ever get are opportunities to be outed or assaulted! How am I supposed to play by the rules and wait for an opportunity if I have to walk a fucking tightrope every day just to make sure I don't raise any suspicion?

Logic sighed, or at least made a decent impression of it. Just calm down, okay? This is new territory and you're flying blind right now. Just put your pants on one leg at a time and keep your eyes open. Your opportunity will come, it's just running late...

On cue, the dreaded red light appeared on the edge of her vision and began to pulse softly. She tried to ignore it. Even the mere sight of it right now would only increase her bubbling rage. She instinctively pulled up the thermometer app again, because her brain was now insisting her head was on fire.

As if to spite her, the chat window popped up automatically.

New message.

QUICK QUESTI0N, R0SIE.

She glared at the message, hoping she might be wrong about not having eye lasers like the Cyborgs in the movies. She wondered what would happen if she simply didn't respond.

New message.

D0N'T IGN0RE ME, Y0U KN0W THAT I KN0W Y0U'RE SEEING THIS RIGHT N0W.

...dammit.

Rossy channeled all of her malice into the blinking cursor in the chat window, hoping it would somehow transfer into each word that appeared as she spoke back. "The hell do you want now?"

The impatient pause between converting her speech to text and the bouncy little animation that indicated a reply was being typed was a new form of torture she'd never known existed before becoming a Cyborg.

Finally, new message.

00H, T0UCHY. AND HERE I JUST WANTED T0 TAKE A M0MENT 0UT 0F MY BUSY SCHEDULE T0 CHECK IN 0N MY FAV0RITE HALF-R0B0T LADY, MAKE SURE EVERYTHING'S PEACHY KEEN IN R0SIE-VILLE T0DAY.

"Oh spare me the bullshit," she spit back, crossing her arms. "Just get to your point so I can go back to reading my book."

Pause.

New message.

MUST BE A PRETTY G00D B00K IF Y0U'D RATHER READ IT THAN TALK T0 THE NICE LITTLE V0ICE IN Y0UR HEAD. GUESS I'LL JUST GET T0 MY QUESTI0N THEN. WHAT'S IN THE BAG?

...shit.

"It's nothing important," she glossed, shooting the bag another glance from across the bed. "Just a little...pick-me-up. Y'know, like retail therapy."

Pause.

New message.

AH, I SEE. DECIDED TO G0 0UT SH0PPING AND TREAT Y0URSELF IN CELEBRATI0N 0F Y0UR 0NE WEEK ANNIVERSARY AT Y0UR NEW J0B, HUH? THAT'S NICE.

Rossy had to convince herself the replies weren't coming from the bag itself as it seemed to stare back at her with an inanimate smirk. "Well...I mean, yeah, but what do YOU care? You can't tell me how to spend my money."

Pause.

New message.

N0, I'M PRETTY SURE I CAN TELL Y0U H0W T0 SPEND Y0UR M0NEY. Y0U 0WE US QUITE A HEFTY SUM, R0SIE. IN CASE Y0U'VE F0RG0TTEN THE MULTIPLE TIMES I'VE EXPLAINED THIS T0 Y0U, THE WH0LE REAS0N I'M IN Y0UR HEAD IN THE FIRST PLACE IS T0 MAKE SURE Y0U'RE PAYING IT ALL BACK.

"I AM paying it back," she replied grimly, even though she knew speech-to-text wouldn't do her tone justice. "I'm hitting the minimum every week. So I went out and bought something nice for myself, big deal. Wasn't even that expensive...".

Pause.

New message.

...GUESS AS L0NG AS Y0U'RE HITTING THE MINIMUM EVERY WEEK, I CAN'T REALLY ARGUE.

"That's right, you can't," she scoffed. "I may not have finished college, but I did finish maths. Budgeting's a piece of cake. I know I can afford this."

Pause.

New message.

0KAY, 0KAY. JUST L00KING 0UT F0R Y0U, R0SIE. THAT'S ALL.

Like hell you are, she thought. Then she said so out loud.

Pause.

New message.

...0KAY, FULL C0NFESSI0N, I'M REALLY JUST L00KING 0UT F0R NUMBER 0NE. LIKE I SAID, I'M 0NLY HERE INSIDE Y0UR HEAD T0 C0NFIRM Y0U'RE MAKING Y0UR PAYMENTS, AND THAT Y0U'RE N0T G0NNA BL0W Y0UR C0VER.

She noticed she'd been drumming her fingers against her arm this whole time and forced them to stop. "So what you're really saying is you don't trust me."

Pause.

New message.

WELL, I W0ULDN'T PUT IT LIKE THAT...I'M JUST C0VERING MY 0WN ASS AT THIS P0INT, S0 I CAN SH0W MY B0SS WE'RE GETTING A G00D RETURN 0N INVESTMENT HERE.

Rossy barked out a laugh. "Oh, I'm an investment now, am I? Your secret underground organization spent untold millions of dollars building me a Robot body and teaching me how to walk again, just to get a few hundo back every month? Sounds like a pretty shitty investment to me."

Pause.

A longer pause than usual.

Part of her dared to hope he was typing a novel of a response back at her. Lately, whenever she had the mental energy for it, she'd been trying more and more to "poke the bear"; to keep making inflammatory remarks and questions in an effort to piss him off, maybe get him to accidentally spill a few beans in an angry defensive reply. So far he'd been exceptionally good about maintaining secrecy while acting like a total creep, but she was tired of being kept in the dark. It infuriated her to think her life was being monitored by some greasy shut-in who spent all day lurking in a chat window in her brain.

At last, new message.

Y0U KN0W WHAT, I HAD THIS WH0LE RESP0NSE ALL TYPED 0UT DETAILING WHY THAT'S N0T IMP0RTANT AND WHY IT'S N0T REALLY A QUESTI0N I CAN ANSWER, BUT THEN I REALIZED IT C0ULD P0TENTIALLY C0MPR0MISE 0UR RELATI0NSHIP. S0 I'LL REPHRASE.

...double dammit.

She sighed. Well, in her mind, anyway.

New message.

ANYWAY, BACK T0 THE MATTER AT HAND. I'LL EVEN BE S0 KIND AS T0 REPEAT THE QUESTI0N. WHAT'S IN THE BAG?

Again her eyes darted over toward the bag, still sitting on the edge of the bed, silently grinning back at her like a dirty little secret that everyone already knew.

"I told you, it's nothing," she muttered back, turning to look away from the bag and wishing she could look away from the chat window as well. "I paid my minimum this week, and I wanted to buy something for myself. You really gonna make a scene about this?"

Pause.

New message.

R0SIE, WE'VE BEEN THR0UGH THIS. Y0U PAY THE MINIMUM, AND KEEP EN0UGH CASH IN Y0UR P0CKET F0R ESSENTIALS. Y0U DID REMEMBER T0 BUY THE ESSENTIALS, DIDN'T Y0U?

Her brow raised. "...what essentials? I'm a Cyborg, I don't have essentials. I've got a room, I've got a job, and I'm still the new kid in town that nobody knows. What could I possibly be missing?"

Pause.

A long one.

New message.

DID Y0U REMEMBER T0 BUY F00D THIS WEEK?

It was Rossy's turn to pause. "...food? I don't EAT."

Pause.

New message.

Y0U KN0W WHAT I MEAN. THAT BATTERY ISN'T G0NNA CHARGE ITSELF.

...oh. That.

She hated to admit it, but he had a point there. She was down to her last value pack of AA batteries. Frankly, she'd forgotten all about them until he brought it up just now. To her credit, batteries hadn't exactly been on sale lately either, and weren't really the hottest of commodities out in Barrinten.

Okay, she admitted, but only to herself, ...maybe now wasn't the best time to spend a little extra on myself. But come on, I've EARNED this, haven't I? After all the bullshit I put up with just to move out here to the middle of nowhere so I can start over after the last mess, surely I deserve a LITTLE something for myself, right? I don't mind stretching my "food money" a bit if it means giving me a tiny ray of sunlight in this dreary-ass life of servitude...

"You know, you guys really suck at the whole 'return on investment' thing," she finally answered. "Do you even know how much money I waste on batteries? You should've just given me a bigger power supply."

Pause.

New message.

AND WHERE W0ULD WE HAVE PUT THAT BIGGER P0WER SUPPLY, R0SIE? WHAT BODY PARTS 0F Y0URS C0ULD WE REAS0NABLY ENLARGE T0 HIDE A P0WER SUPPLY INSIDE THAT W0ULDN'T DRAW UNWANTED ATTENTI0N T0 Y0URSELF? She hated that that comment made her chuckle.

New message.

LISTEN, R0SIE. THE WH0LE P0INT 0F HAVING A CYBER B0DY IS T0 MAKE IT L00K AND ACT HUMAN. A MECHANICAL FACSIMILE 0F AN 0RGANIC B0DY. N0RMAL 0N THE 0UTSIDE, C0MPUTER GUTS 0N THE INSIDE. THAT'S WHY Y0U EAT BATTERIES THE WAY 0RGANIC PE0PLE EAT SAUSAGES. THAT'S H0W THE D0CT0R WANTED T0 DESIGN Y0U.

She left the chat window up, letting the words hover in front of her vision as she felt her mind detach to swim around in her own thoughts.

The Doctor...

In her admittedly-short tenure as a Cyborg, Rossy still had yet to meet this mythical Doctor, the mysterious benefactor who had so artfully sliced apart her old broken body and given her this pristine new silicone one. Maybe "Doctor" wasn't even the right word. If cybernetics involved grafting electronic components into biological ones, then maybe the Doctor was more of a Computer Technician. A Cyber-Surgeon, bridging the gap between organic medicinal science and interactive digital science.

Any time she tried to picture what a Cyber-Surgeon might look like, all she could come up with were movie stereotypes. A crusty old man with a massive broom mustache in a white lab coat holding a laser-scalpel in one hand and a holographic tablet in the other, wearing a head mirror that had been replaced with an old floppy disk or something equally ridiculous. A mad genius who could reconstruct entire organic bodies out of prosthetics and circuitry. New Cyborgs born out of paraplegic Organics, resculpted to match the traditional standards of what qualified as "beautiful" among the "normal" Organic people...

...not that they ever bothered to ask for MY opinion, Rossy stewed silently. I was READY to die. I was READY to accept my fate. But then, like an idiot I said, 'sure, yeah, donate my body to medical science', and THIS is what I got in return. A second chance at life with an eight-figure medical bill on my back, and nothing but an empty slate to help pay it off. What a joke.

She let the thoughts simmer a few moments longer, daring the chat window to say anything more about the matter. She knew nothing about who was typing the messages back at her, whether it was the Doctor, or a secretary, or some random asshole who had managed to hack into her brain wirelessly just to troll her about it. With no profile picture or voice calling, all Rossy had going for her was the imagined voice she used to read the messages in, and in her mind it sounded distorted and masculine, like a breathy creeper making threats from a nearby payphone.

Speak of the devil, another new message.

L00K, I GET IT. MAYBE Y0U JUST NEEDED THIS. A NICE LITTLE TREAT T0 REASSURE Y0URSELF THAT Y0U'RE D0ING ALRIGHT, AND THAT Y0U'LL MAKE IT THR0UGH WHATEVER'S G0T Y0U D0WN RIGHT NOW. S0METHING SMALL, S0METHING Y0U KN0W Y0U'LL LIKE. S0METHING THAT D0ESN'T JUST MAKE Y0U L00K HUMAN, BUT MAYBE EVEN FEEL HUMAN T00. I GET THAT.

Pause.

Rossy blinked, deliberately, and took another glance over at the bag, still sitting right where she'd left it. Then she reread the message on the screen. Then blinked, deliberately, again. She swore she could feel the excess heat venting slowly out of her ear holes.

...is this for real? She reread the message a third time. I'm not hallucinating? My eyes aren't broken, right? The condescending text message ghost in my head is...trying to console me?

The pause continued for another few seconds, then another new message appeared.

...BUT THE NEXT TIME Y0U NEED A HUMAN PICK-ME-UP, MAYBE D0N'T G0 L00KING F0R IT AT A PLACE CALLED "FLASHFIRE LINGERIE".

Cognizant reality settled back in. In lieu of her mechanical inability to blush, Rossy's facial muscles all gravitated inward, giving her a surly frown of social discomfort. "...what, were you watching through my video feed or something?"

Pause.

New message.

PLEASE. I HAVE BETTER THINGS T0 D0 THAN WATCH Y0UR B0RING VIDE0 FEED ALL DAY. D0N'T TELL THE B0SS THAT, TH0UGH. JUST KN0W THAT I'M THE 0NE M0NIT0RING Y0UR BANK ACC0UNT, S0 IT'S 0N ME T0 EXPLAIN Y0UR TRANSACTI0N HIST0RY T0 THE B0SS.

"Yeah, okay, sure, fine, whatever," she replied, brushing it away with a vigorous wave of her hand. "Won't happen again, boss. Just forget about it and let's move on, okay?"

Awkward pause.

New message.

WHY LINGERIE, TH0UGH? Y0U D0N'T EVEN WEAR UNDERWEAR.

Awkward pause.

New message.

0R WAIT, D0 Y0U?

Pause.

The previous message deleted itself.

NEVER MIND, D0N'T ANSWER THAT.

"Wasn't gonna anyway," she mumbled, turning her head to look out the window.

An even longer, even more awkward pause ensued.

New message.

I GUESS Y0U PR0BABLY SH0ULD TH0UGH, EVEN TH0UGH Y0U'VE G0T N0THING TO C0VER UP. JUST T0 MAINTAIN THE ILLUSI0N, Y0U KN0W.

"We're done talking about this," she cut in, curtly. "...and don't remind me."

With the synthetic vocal equivalent of a sigh, she raised one knee and crossed her arms, a relaxed but decidedly grumpy pose in Organic terms. The voice in her head was right, there was - bodily speaking - no logical reason for her to buy underwear, as long as her pants stayed up on her mechanical legs. Subsequently, there was - functionally speaking - no logical reason for her to buy a neon green high-waisted thong with a fish scale pattern, either. But she was determined not to let either condition stop her from being an extravagant fashion disaster anyway.

She'd already long since made peace with that fact that she didn't like her cyber body. It could have been a side product of growing up Organic, but the flawless silicone skin wrapped around her every carbon fiber limb just didn't feel right. To run her fingers over any part of her body, expecting a bump, a crease, a nub, or at least even a hair, only to feel nothing but a stretch of pixel-perfect not-skin made her feel...incomplete. Not wrong, not broken, just...something was missing. Like a new car with no paint, or the blank canvas of an uninspired artist.

...at least they got the skin the right color, she mused. Good to know the Doctor isn't a racist piece of trash, at the very least. She blinked, thoughtfully.

That was the real heart of the matter, wasn't it? This surrogate body wasn't HERS. It was a body designed by someone else. Someone who had taken the basic notes of what she looked like, but then replaced all her flaws, her imperfections, and her inconsistencies with new, idealized parts. Not a copy nor a clone, but a reboot of her own body, written by an entirely new staff of writers...

Granted, there were some perks she enjoyed about it. Having access to such luxuries as adjustable audio input and output systems, the virtual overlay screen, and being more or less physically invulnerable to little piss-ants who thought they could take her in a fight. There were indeed times when she felt these mechanical accompaniments truly did make her new life bearable, and even enjoyable in some cases. But drifting through a second chance at life in a body that you knew wasn't yours was a lot harder than books and movies made it seem.

"Something to make you feel human...".

His choice of words lingered in the air around her. That is to say, they were still hovering in the chat window in front of her face, but they were stuck in her brain now as well.

Something to make you feel human"...

...why, because I'm suddenly NOT human? She made a face, an amazing feat for someone who had to think about flexing forty-some different muscles in order to actually do it. I mean, I guess I'm kinda not, if you think about it. I don't eat, I don't shower, I don't have sex, I don't have an organic body that needs constant attention anymore. For all intents and purposes, I'm just a Robot...but one who ACTS like a human.

She pulled a hand up to her face, turning it over to look at the front and the back.

...and I LOOK like a human. That's what they keep telling me is the important part. That I LOOK like a human...

To the Doctor's credit, Rossy did look incredibly human. Her carbon fiber body had been modeled after her old organic one, and it bore a striking resemblance, only a little larger and more symmetrical. The only way anyone would ever suspect she wasn't wholly Organic would require them to get beneath her clothes, and that certainly wasn't happening any time soon. Her body was about as anatomically correct as a Barbie doll, and a somewhat modest one at that, but it made her look remarkably average. Part of her was glad she didn't end up in a body designed by some horny comic book artist, but she did also miss checking herself out in the mirror every once in a while.

"Something to make you feel human"...

No, this body would never feel like HERS. This would always be someone else's body, nothing more than a synthetic vehicle for her soul, cursed to wander the earth in search of the dreams she hadn't finished living in her original lifetime.

But before the allure of cosmic, existential dread could take her completely, Rossybelle resurfaced back into herself, allowing her brain to correctly interface with her hardware again. The feeling was very much like coming up from the water for air, but with no lungs to breathe it in.

Her brain finally recognized what she'd been staring at this whole time. The Flashfire Lingerie logo on the plastic bag winked back at her knowingly. She felt a switch in her brain flip on.

...okay sure, maybe this body isn't mine. Maybe this life isn't the one I had before the accident. Maybe I'm just angry at god, or fate, or whatever you call it that dumped me into this situation. But none of that really matters, does it? Because at the end of the day, I'm still here. And I'm still Rossybelle Acosta. I still love tacky fasion disaster outfits. I still dream of being an astronaut some day. And if I want to wear a neon green high-waisted, fish scale thong under my low-cut baby blue stonewashed jeans with a hole in the knee, then that is MY prerogative, and nobody can take that away from me!

Feeling the indomitable power of self-respect coursing through her mind, Rossy nodded resolutely and thrust herself off the bed, landing with a loud thump on the carpeted motel room floor. She expertly swiped her signature hat from her head and gave it a precision perfect toss onto the lampshade behind her, and prepared for the impending greatest challenge of her entire day.

Getting dressed - and especially getting undressed - is a task more complicated than the average able-bodied Organic ever bothers to think about, and is one of only a few tasks that are actually made MORE difficult with the addition of mechanical limbs. With a body designed to only move on explicit thought-command, any Cyborg who wanted to wear clothing like an Organic needed to carefully plan each individual movement of their complex suit-up sequence.

With limbs designed for strength and speed, Rossy had found it far too easy to "overthink" her movements, and had frequently, inadvertently popped buttons, torn seams, and stretched fabric to its very limits when she wasn't being painstakingly careful about it. She had learned to concentrate on every tiny movement of every joint in her fingers and wrists, one after the other in perfect sequence so as not to destroy the precious few clothes she had to her name.

Deftly, gracefully, she pinched the button of her jeans between thumb and forefinger, rotated her wrist, and gently slid it through the buttonhole, meticulously thinking her way through each mechanical muscle along the way. The zipper was much simpler, provided she maintained the snail's pace she'd been moving at. She made a mental note to ask Millie sometime if this was how strippers planned their routines.

The thought amused her as she carefully slid her thumbs into position at her hips. She tried to picture herself in Millie's sparkly sandled heels, up on that stage, performing a routine. She imagined a sexy 90s R&B classic playing over the speakers in the background as she coordinated her each and every move, and pictured Millie in the audience, being on the receiving end for a change.

Rossy leaned forward at the waist and bent her knees just a bit, easing her arms forward around their first curve. Damn, it really is an art form, isn't it? And she gets up there and does this on stage for crowds on gawking faces? What a goddess.

She bent even further forward, deftly balanced on the flats of her feet as she brought the pants down to her ankles and swiftly bent and unbent each knee to pull her feet from their pant legs. The scene in her imagination swapped places as she pictured Millie in this same pose, and she nearly lost her balance at the thought of such a sight. Catching herself against the side of the bed with a superhuman reflex of her arm, she shook her head to clear away the visual and refocus on her task.

Successfully de-pantsed, Rossy stood up straight and cast a glance over to the mirror in the bathroom, staring for just a moment at the seamless, rubbery skin coating her lower body.

"Something to make you feel human"...

She kicked the jeans aside.

...shut up, brain. I'm already human. I'm just a Cyborg.

She turned again and reached for the bag, even now still smirking back at her in its own inanimate way. But this time, without any hesitation, she pulled the neon green prize from inside and held it up to the light, turning it over in her hands to admire it in all its flashy, tacky glory. She was still amazed that a company like Flashfire Lingerie actually sold such absurd products as this, and had to wonder if she were the first customer to ever buy panties from them in this color and this configuration.

And then she smiled.

And you know what? I'm not JUST a human. I'm not just a Cyborg either. I am Rossybelle Acosta. I didn't go and blow this week's food money on a neon green high-waisted fish scale thong that no one else is ever gonna see just to make myself feel "human".

I bought it to make myself feel like Rossybelle Acosta.

And with that, she proceeded to finish getting dressed and attack the day.