Veronica walked one of the many dimly lit under-streets of Rathon.

All around her the street was bustling with activity. Certain shops, clubs, and any variety of illegal services began to eagerly open themselves to those wandering the night. A large variety of people emerged to partake in that invitation, with many who accepted usually being of an inglorious sort. She could spot that many of the under-street denizens had casters in plain sight or augments that would normally see you arrested within the mid-tiers or upper-streets.

But who was she to judge? She was a part of the trash constantly being swept into the gaping metallic scars of Rathon, but she didn’t care.

Not anymore.

Her current journey was one to help her forget amidst a haze of virtual booze and fake realities she could escape into. Veronica wanted to simply forget and continue running until she couldn’t. But it did not stop her shame whenever a pair of glazed eyes walked past her, reflections of neon lights playing across an emptiness. Minds wandering in places far from the grime and filth surrounding them.

She strode past a club with loud music that reverberated throughout the nighttime air. At its entrance transparent figures danced in an endless cycle, beckoning any passing individual into it. The sounds coming from its depths mixed with the noise of human activity, and it sounded like nothing more than discordant noise to Veronica.

A feeling of irritation washed over her, and she quickened her pace.

Veronica felt the cool nighttime air against her body as she moved down the street. A light numbing sensation came from the metallic parts fused into her body. A shiver ran through her from noticing the feel of where cold metal touched the skin.

Flashing across her heads-up-display, a warning once more informed her that maintenance was needed and nutrient intake was required. She grunted and with a thought moved the message off the display. Veronica would eat when she got hungry enough. For now, she just wanted to stop the thoughts running through her mind, silence her inner critic.

Tilting her head slightly she glanced upward. Past the haze and smoke, the sky she saw was dominated by steel, glass, and bright lights. Veronica could see the consistent flash of hover lights going through high-lanes. To her the scene was somewhat comforting, anchoring Veronica to the present moment. Though she was a broken cog, the cityscape above reminded her that the machine as a whole still ran.

A sigh laced with a robotic edge escaped into the night are, she continued down the road to The Drunk Robot.

—

Sean sat within the confines of The Drunk Robot. Staring at the rust colored liquid within a cup before him. Slowly picking up the cup, he swirled around a sphere of ice present within it. Watching, he was mesmerized by the ice’s swirling motions and its rhythmic clink against the glass. The soft lighting of the bar seemed to mix light and shadow amidst the liquid.

His thoughts began to draw him into the prison that was his mind.

One month, one month had passed since the incident and his failure. It plagued him like a constant error message that seemed to be on repeat within his mind, flashing over and over or a spell that backfired with persisting burns. A feeling akin to cringing rose through him. Sean thought he was a savant at using formulation. He couldn’t feel any more humbled.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

All of it wore Sean down, it slammed him into the concrete depths of Rathon. He felt as though the descent was not stopping. If only he could see the ground.

The glass cup did nothing but remind him of all that he could not have. All Sean had was his continued existence and understanding that he survived.

Beneath the glass surface he looked out from, he felt his form flare up from irritation. A blue glow reflecting off the counter. Sean pushed the cup away from him, slowly shaking his head.

Even with the vices available to him, nothing worked to silence his own degrading voice.

How could it? So much of what he knew lost meaning.

Behind Sean, an older model of jukebox played the energetic sound of a synthesizer created tune. The music energized the air, but for him, it sounded dull and droning.

A hand pulled the glass away from Sean, “You do this to yourself,” said a soft voice. It was Glen, The Drunk Robot’s bartender. Behind a smooth metallic counter, Glen looked at him, eyes reflecting empathy. He sighed, “Lately it seems as though my bar does nothing but draw in a glum crowd.”

Sean looked up at Glen, “At least you have your body Glen, I can’t say the same.” He clenched his hands, feeling nothing, “If only I had some of my own leftover. I would at least feel human.”

The low tune of the door to the bar opening dinged. At the corner of his vision, Sean saw a figure shuffle to a stool, sitting two seats away from him. It was a woman who was dressed casually. He looked her over, she wore a shirt with the pixelated face of a cat on the back. Dirty blond hair hung over her shoulders. From what Sean could see he noted that her slender body had few a few parts that were replaced with extends. A black faceplate covered the woman’s face, and as Glen approached a word flashed over the faceplate, hi.

Glen nodded his head and whispered to Sean, “See? Gloom.” He walked over to the newcomer and asked for what she wanted. Receiving a muttered response Glen tapped in the order onto a slim monitor and then began measuring out various powders within plastic bins laid out near a box-like machine. He poured the mixture of powdered substances and some water into a shaker. With some deft movement the bartender tossed shook the shaker for a few moments, it looked like some ancient ceremonial dance. Pouring a frothy light colored liquid into a glass he slid it down to the woman.

Slumping his shoulders Sean stared at his hands still clenched on the bar counter.

If only he could see the ground.

—

What was his name?

He didn’t know. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Was he a man or more of a machine, both?

Stumbling down a dark alley, images of the events that occurred in the past several hours flashed through his data-banks. Rendering into a surreal chain of memories replaying themselves like a video being played on fast-forward. It almost looked cartoonish.

Looking down at his body once more he felt out of place and confused. He held out a hand and examined it, high-grade metallic plate and mesh glinted back at him. Slowly articulating his fingers he could feel the thrum of motors working to move every part of him. The metallic shell he now inhabited was one out of very few choices he could make.

A disembodied voice echoed throughout his digital mind, “I’ll be here if you need help. Functions of the unit are fully in your control; however, as you possess no combat data I shall assist if you find yourself in such a scenario.” Before he could respond a low ping signaled that it was finished speaking and left. The presence no longer sharing his data-space.

Leaving the alley he walked out onto a street that bustled with activity. He fastened his coat tighter around his large frame. Then made sure that his hood obscured his optics case.

A series of flashing lights caught his attention. At a street corner near him, a building flashed a neon sign that read The Drunk Robot.

He did not wish to move among crowds and as such decided that taking refuge would be the smartest action.

Screams rang through the air as he neared the bouncer.

My night seems to be far from over. Great. He thought to himself dryly. At least he had kept some human emotion.