To Be Determined
"Well, well, well. What do we have here, P1ckLeZ?" The bio-freak looms over Simbee-218 and me. His gender-tag flares bright blue, and I struggle to keep my eyes from rolling just yet. Glad to see toxic masculinity isn't dead.
P1ckLeZ, however, doesn't bother to glare at their companion. "Customers, Brek." Their vid-implant turns to scan us, though. "Preferably paying customer, I trust?" While the Cyborg doesn't give off the air of overcompensation, they certainly make it clear that they aren't in the mood for getting their time wasted. I access my account and allow a one-time flash of my credit level and social status. While P1ckLeZ doesn't look impressed, they don't look annoyed either. I take it as a win.
P1ckLeZ turns their vape pen off, takes their time standing, and then picks up a scanner from the rickety table. "Gotta check your sub."
I hold out the underside of my wrist to them. He gives it a swipe with the scanner, which lights up the DNA result icon. He glances back at me. "Natural?"
I nod and roll the syntheweave sleeve back while P1ckLeZ returns behind the table to start tapping on a datapad. "Yep. Purebred, vanilla H.s.sapiens," I say in a tone that douses any hint of pride—typical of the more arrogant members of my subspecies—with irony, plus a dash of contempt. It is an authentic tone.
Brek snorts. A part of his lip curls and one of his eyes squints at me. "Ya comin' over to our side, or are ya just here to preach to the corrupted?"
I hold up my hands and shake my head. "No-o-o," I draw out the emphatic response. "Nope. Not the preachy kind here. Not me."
Brek's snarl turns into a knowing sneer. "So. What side ya gonna pick?" He glances at P1ckLeZ and the sneer becomes a teasing smirk. "Not a Tin Can, I hope."
P1ckLeZ doesn't even look up from the glowing screen. Faster than shattering glass, a split unzips in what I had assumed was the perfectly natural skin over their arm. Panels fly open followed by a razor sharp blade, which lashes out to lop off two of Brek's fingers. While Brek screams and grasps his squirting hand, the blade, in stark contrast, hisses back slowly into the cybernetic arm like a poisonous viper returning to its nest. The seam reseals, and I have to blink a few times to believe that the skin still isn't real tissue.
Brek continues to yowl and spout obscenities until the Cyborg sighs. "Quit your whining, little Squishy. It'll grow back."
"It still fucking stings, man. You didn't have to do that. I had a date later, and she ain't the kind who likes blood." The New Human makes his way over to a wall-mounted med kit, flips it open, and grabs a packet of gauze. He seems pretty capable at bandaging himself with one hand, making me think this hasn't been the first time.
P1ckLeZ, meanwhile, taps a few keys. "I can get you in to see the doc in thirty minutes. Maybe twenty if he doesn't bother cleaning up." They reach for their vape pen, then brings it to their lips. "You good with that, Vanilla?"
I glance at their arm and swallow. Then I give them a curt, silent nod. P1ckLeZ either gives me the barest hint of a smile, or at the very least an expression that reads how glad they are not to be making things complicated...which is understandable. Complicated at a back-alley chop & grow shop probably isn't desirable for anyone but the police drones.
They pick up another scanner. This one looks a little scarier. I take a step back.
"That bot yours?" P1ckLeZ gestures at Simbee-218 with the scanner.
"Yeah."
"What Level?"
"She's a Level 3," I lie. I reach for her hand. She takes it. It feels like a silk pillow and rose petals and certitude.
P1ckLeZ smirks. "Yeah, you gotta have a Three for a decent sexbot. Twos just don't cut it and Fours are too lipy, you know?" They hold the scanner up to her head, but pause. Their vid-implant hovers the question over me. I nod my permission. So, they scan her, literally from head to toe. The device beeps and whirs. But it issues nothing more than a few yellow lights on a tiny readout. They tap the scanner a few times and snort. "Hell of a Level 3. Refurbishment?"
I half-shrug and look off to the side.
They shrug in return. "I understand. Kind of a shame to dumb down something as pretty as this, though." He throws the scanner next to the first one and grabs the data pad. "I'm still going to need to see its registration."
I punch up the registration and authorization and show him. They grunt their acknowledgement.
"'Kay. Show me the kill switch."
I brush back the lock of strawberry hair that smells as good as it looks. I trace my fingers behind the ear I'd rather be doing something else to. Then I step back and thank every one of the Human gods that I remembered to suppress Simbee's shiver response before coming here. "For a back-alley, you sure are thorough."
They shrug and examine the switch. "Can't be too careful." They grunt and meander back behind the table again. This time they sit and take a long drag from their vape pen. "There's a crate or something over by the wall. It's more comfortable than it looks."
They eye me for a while when I offer the seat to Simbee while I stand against the wall. The Cyborg frowns and then finally shakes their head, saying nothing more to me. I think they forget about us entirely when Brek tells them about how his Adept date is looking forward to trying out her new glow-in-the-dark, inflatable tits.
sub
slang, noun.
- subspecies.
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