Image of a flat wooden structure in the outline of a building, shown from behind. Wooden beams prop up the structure, and it sits atop a larger building with a hole in the side of it. Behind it the sun blares through the clouds. [https://i.vgy.me/PJTECH.png]

Enevelen wandered along the outskirts of the town, music quietly playing in her ears. The rear of the buildings she often wandered past looked to her like cardboard cut-outs, an impressive mechanic's office, a bar, a café, something resembling a hotel, but then on the reverse side of the building a drudgery of dry scaffolding. Wooden planks, metal structures, things that were not meant to be seen. She felt it was a mockery of a town. From this end, which no one seemed to walk, as it was effectively just the desert, it all seemed a sham. She knew it was.

The music was that of Xy. She had downloaded his recordings from the internet years ago, very nice tunes. Long, instrumental things, and a soft and friendly voice. The light twangs and picks of an "electrical acoustic," something she understood to be a model of guitar or something. She wasn't sure. Knowing what had become of him made the music sadder, or maybe more beautiful...? She presumed it was the fragility of it that made her feel that way.

Today she would be human, she had decided. She would take a walk, like she had used to on off days in military training, or even before when she had been an unaugmented teen wandering through her hometown to avoid her parents. "My god, my parents," she thought aloud. She hadn't thought of them in years.

She had taken a loan of a couple thousand credits from a local shark to fix her legs. Within a month she'd have it paid off, she affirmed. So what if a job or two went south, she'd be alright. Where would the credits come from, though? Maybe she could sell something, or take on more smaller-paying jobs like the one with the.. key...

However she'd do it, she'd figure it out. She was a tough girl.

What did the key go to? It had bothered her this past week. Maybe it was to some ancient chest, like the one she found it in. The only thing that could open it, an essential item that could not be replicated. No but, that moron... couldn't someone just pick the lock of whatever it went to? She picked the lock to its housing so easily. Why would he even need the damn key? Why would he pay thousands for something so easily replicable? Perhaps it was more complex of a lock than she suspected?

Or, maybe like so many others of his kind, he was a commissioner craving an item of sentimental value. Idiot, putting her through that for such a small thing. She'd never find out, and he was so upset when she told her what had happened. She couldn't help but feel sad for him. She'd never really know what it was for, unfortunately. He didn't want to tell her.

She had taken the week off to relax and get some perspective. The past month had been absolutely dreadful, and she did not want to go into the next month feeling as frustrated and... dysphoric as before. It was dysphoria she felt. Body dysmorphia? She was... disgusted with herself, but she didn't want to be. With her body. With the... thing... she had become, because of her work. She didn't want to feel like that. She had taken some time an hour earlier to meditate with Chlorophi under an awning near a pond. It was nice. She thought about her old master, Nnolyth-Ma. Nnol had taught her mindfulness techniques.

She began to wander into the town itself, away from the outskirts. Enny watched as the other cyborgs went about their daily routines. She nodded at a few, and they nodded back. Some tipped their hats, those who had one. She wondered if they recognized her as a woman, or more masculine. She'd ask them if she truly wanted to. It would be interesting to her to know what she looked like to these people. She leaned herself back against a fountain in the middle of the town. Some of them were very strange, she thought. She didn't like that they all just seemed to be walking in circles, but she supposed they did likely have jobs and hobbies, even if they weren't getting much in return for it. Credits, sure, but what else? What was there to gain, other than just staying alive?

Maybe she was being judgmental. After all, she noted, one could say she was doing the same. Maybe, she thought, she should have more ambitious goals than just paying off a loan and affording repairs.

Her parents had been unpleasant people, but she had enjoyed their company while they had been alive. Her mother, she remembered, had been a pharmacist, her father the owner of a gun store. It was somewhat ironic their two trades, she always felt. Her mother had been well-liked, known to the town, and had had good relations with all the other teens. They'd come to her store for medication and treatments. She wasn't always easy to talk to (what the hell is a "Venlafaxine?") because of her focus on her work, but she was always willing to help.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Her father, a kind man, was very relaxed around her, but wasn't much liked by the town she remembered. He had a difficult sense of humor that often angered people. He didn't make many friends, but she remembered getting along with him. He was the first to interest her in firearms, teaching her the ins and outs of rifles and pistols. They had discussions about the ethics of bump stocks, she remembers. It was funny, retrospectively. An old technology. What would her dad think of the light-energy weaponry she used now? He'd likely be jealous. She remembered him taking her to a shooting range to fire at targets with a BB gun. It was exciting.

She wouldn't end up like Xy if she took a week off, right? Just one week? Every so often? She took good care of herself. Or at least, she tried to. She worked hard, she did. Every day she would always give it her all. Xy didn't do this, he was too carefree, which of course adds to his appeal as a tragic musician, she supposed. He did it to himself though, didn't he? His syrupy metal voice cooed in her ears as she processed this, his guitar clicking away in her ears. What an interesting guy. Maybe she'd be dating him if she didn't resent him for letting it all slip away. And, of course, if he wasn't... dealing with the memory loss (poor bastard?) and.... the spiral. She wouldn't fall down the spiral. That's not her.

The key probably went to an old antique car. The commissioner probably kept his car for sentimental value, and maybe he even kept it functional, replaced all the old parts and got it almost up and running. The key would've started the car, and it would've been great to have the original key to start the car. You could hot-wire it, and even pick the lock without any issue, but it would've been great to have the key. Maybe he had it, pawned it, or lost it to the scavengers... Or maybe, since it was being held in a chest with old relics like bills and things, it was a gift to a friend. Friends with a scavenger, now that was an interesting concept. Maybe it was given as a sign of trust to the scavenger, but the scavenger refused to give it back, so the commissioner had it stolen. Can you imagine an old twentieth-century, twenty-first-century car, like a... Ford Sonanta (was that a car?) rolling around the sand dunes, this gasoline-guzzling, environment-destroying thing, rumbling through town, y'know, no need to walk to the ocean, fuck it I'll just drive my four-door sedan! Amazing. She could plow down other hunters in that thing. Wasn't there a movie like that? Mad Mex? Or was that a restaurant? Can't believe cars used to run on gasoline. Electric was much better. Look at the state of this planet, honestly. Still, would've been fun to see. The car, if it was a car. If there was an "it" at all. Maybe it was just a key. Could it have been to his old apartment?

Enevelen had wandered off from the town, off the trail, and into the dunes again. The sun was burning her somewhat, the darker parts of her frame were beginning to sizzle as they often did. Her internal human flesh had been hydrated enough, though, so she'd live, even if she had to walk another hundred miles. She could feel her internal air conditioning flip on, little dribblets of perspiration crawling down the interior of her visor. Wish she had a wiper, like a car. Ha. She was a bit like a car, wasn't she?

Nnolyth-Ma had taught her to breathe deeply when she became stressed. She did so, as practice. She breathed in the hot desert air, her rubber lungs filling and her chest expanding against the metal chassis. She held her hands to her chest to direct the feeling. And then. Out again, her chest falling as her rebreather led the carbon from her lungs, out into the earth. She felt like a tree, almost.

A tank crawled into view, its image shaken by the heat, but slowly settled as she approached. This startled her at first, before realizing that it was simply an unmoving piece of scrap lying amongst a neglected scene of war. It was a decommissioned battle tank, from the last era of fighting before the Peacemaker era. It had been the most wasteful, and disgusting of the many wars. There had been no goal, other than a possible annexation of another country. She couldn't remember which. Maybe it had been several. The tank sat amongst crowds of burnt-out cyborg corpses, dead, lying aloof in various states of decay. Nothing dangerous about them now, she supposed, though, she kept her distance.

She had fought in this war, she remembered. She recognized the armor of the soldiers. Grey metals, long fabrics of burned-out LEDs, dead in the desert heat. In the past, they had been strips of bright green. Not so stealthy, but designed for intimidation. Like a green army of neon signs. Honestly? It was laughable to her now. How could they have considered these outfits remotely practical for warfare? So full of themselves...

She wandered along the side of the tank, and out of curiosity, she pulled herself up and onto the roof of it. The vehicle had sunken slightly into the sand, causing it to lean onto its right rear corner. She climbed up this corner and took hold of the cannon for balance. A man's corpse lolled out of the cockpit, which she pushed aside.

Pulling her head down into the cockpit, she carefully took observation of the space. It was dried out, the elements having taken full dominance through the viewports of the space. Neglected tech and objects were strewn along the space. Had an explosive been detonated inside? She found a leg amongst bottles of alcohol in the corner. A bit strange. She wondered who it belonged to. Pulling herself out, back into the desert sun, she surveyed what else surrounded the tank. Bodies, sure, possibly one or two more vehicles, having been devoured mostly by the dunes. Lifting herself out, she swung her legs over the side and fell down onto the sand below. As she landed, her feet slipped on something metallic half-buried in the sand, and before she could react,