I jerked back, thrashing, a scream dying in my throat as brackish water rushed into its place. I was drowning. No, please, no. Flailing harder, I threw off my waterlogged hoodie. Panic rose as pressure built in my chest. Then the darkness faded, glimmering spears of light lending orientation to the world. It wasn’t my watch. It was broader, bigger. Kicking, I shot up, bubbles rolling along my face.

I broke through the surface and gasped, hacking out lungfuls of water. Above me, where the dumpster once perched, a column of mushrooming fire bisected a smoldering sky. A swell of guilt and anguish wracked me, nearly pulling me back under. How was I still alive? I kicked to stay afloat, the image of those metallic fingers seared into my brain.

Lifting my arm, I half expected—hoped—to find I’d imagined the whole thing. But no, it was unmistakable … a robot’s hand, flesh eaten away to the wrist, each finger articulated metal like the arm of a tiny construction excavator. Jesus, someone had built this thing.

I flexed, and sure enough it moved.

A tide of nausea crested and broke, my body throbbing with pain. This wasn’t real. I had to be dead. How could I not know I was a fricking robot? It didn’t add up. Robots didn’t eat. Or bleed. Or menstruate. I flung up my other hand, the familiar skin and knuckles bringing me no comfort.

Reeling, my mind aswirl, I picked a direction and paddled. I had to get to land or I could still drown. Where was the sailboat—or the chopper?

Shivering, I kicked harder in the churning water, keeping the towering bridge piers in my peripheral. I wasn’t raised to be Ko Prime’s human pilot in some experimental program after all; I was a robot too. Did that mean someone was piloting me? No, that didn’t make sense. Robots were empty vessels, and I certainly could think. At least, I thought I could. Ugh. My brain hurt.

My arms were already growing heavy. I had to get out of the water, but what would I find when I did? Had Mom … died in the blast? Had I killed my own mother in trying to save her? The heat in my eyes blurred the waves into impressionist art. And Matt. Matt! I hoped to God he was far enough from the nuke and would live to see another day. Oh, man. The last words I’d said … Yelling at him for trying to help.

Snot and tears mingled with bay water. I willed myself forward, my arms burning with exhaustion, my lungs on fire. The stitch in my side had spread to my shoulder. I wasn’t going to make it. If there was any solace to be had, it was that the dumpster portal was at the bottom of the bay now, sparing Mom from extradition.

Fuck, she knew. The realization struck me like a fist to the face. Mom had known all these years I was a robot. Never letting me fly on a plane, probably because of those airport security scanners. Always making me go to her “doctor” friend from book club whenever I was sick. She’d kept it all from me—because it tied into everything else she’d lied about. The other world. Otokotronics. Dad.

A swirl of images flooded through me as I swam, dread growing inside me with every slowing stroke. That gunfight in the alley, lights shuddering out as my EMP blanketed the area, the shadow of Stanton’s bot tumbling to the ground. If I was a robot, why hadn’t I fallen too?

Tetherball with Matt in fifth grade, leaves in the air. Me finally winning, him yelling at me for cheating. A shoving match, the blacktop coming up to meet me. The sting of a skinned knee, the welling blood. If I was a robot, I was the kind that bled. Like Ko Prime. Like Athleisure.

The security camera outside the office building, that light pulsing in my eyes. It had said Invalid—because I’m not. Not a valid person.

And Dad’s watch ticking through walls when I was clear across the apartment—or bound in a fricking van—something no human could possibly sense.

Jeeesus.

After what seemed like a lifetime of water and sky and wheeling gulls, the tree-lined shore drew close, sloping up to a stand of cypress and buckeye. Gravel bit my knees, and I collapsed in the shallows before crawling ashore in a haze of exhausted relief.

But then the world seemed to drop out from under me like that free-fall ride at Great America—just without stopping. I shut my eyes, only making the vertigo worse. In fact, now there was a rotational component. Wonderful. Existential bed spins. I struggled to stand on the rocky beach, trembling head to toe. Sodden cutoffs dripped onto standard human-shaped legs. I must have kicked off my boots.

Thin, silvery fingers shone wetly in the sun, the flesh of my arm ending at the wrist as if it had been chewed off—which I suppose it had. It was oozing red and hurt like hell, but not like I was at immediate risk of bleeding out. Robots must work … differently.

Heaving once, twice, my stomach emptied into the bay. Ugh. How could a robot even do that? I limped across the beach, up an embankment to a street slicing through the trees. A fire engine barreled around the corner, siren splitting the air. Its horn blared as I shuffled aside.

My phone, dead. A lifeless slab of glass and plastic. Heavy smoke obscured a bridge span that maybe no longer existed, news choppers circling the wreckage like vultures. People were swarming away from cars frozen in place on the bridge deck as an orchestra of sirens provided the soundtrack.

What had I done? I needed to escape before anyone found me. But to where? If the blast had consumed Mom and Matt … God, this wasn’t real. Should I go back for them? If Athleisure had survived, it would be suicide. I should get to a hospital. But that’s exactly where Athleisure would look for me. And with this hand …

Laramee. Mom said to call him if anything ever happened. Well, it had. I needed help. But I should head home first, start with a first-aid kit and a change of clothes. Find a phone and call him—unless I could get ahold of Mom or Matt first. I still had the twenty I kept for emergencies. Discovering you’re a robot via self-inflicted nuclear detonation counts as an emergency, right? At minimum, an existential crisis.

Familiar bus stop colors peeked through trees down the road. That would have to do. I limped onto the asphalt, my hands buried deep in my pockets. How did I even make it this far? People sometimes survived a fall like I’d taken, but it wasn’t … the usual outcome. Here I was walking around.

Once a bus pulled up, the driver gave me a concerned look over her glasses, finally waving me on for free. I wedged myself in the back, pushed away the throbbing in my wrist, and pretended everything was normal. Nobody bought it; passengers either stared or averted their eyes. I’m sure I was quite the sight—barefoot and sopping wet, teeth chattering.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

People were talking in hushed tones about the explosion on the bridge. Probably a drunk plowing into a tanker truck, an old man beside a luxury watch ad said. Definitely terrorists, a woman with a roller cart whispered.

If only they knew. I was a teenage robot, and I’d maybe just killed everyone I loved. Blinking back tears, I stared unseeing, shutting out the sirens, until the bus pulled to a stop near home. I limped the rest of the way, jumping at every restless leaf until I made it inside.

Afternoon sun feathered the carpet, the air thick and heavy like the shock waves from the blast. Shit, there must have been radiation too. I threw my clothes in the trash right there, got a fresh set. A shower would have been even better, but if Athleisure was still alive, I shouldn’t hang around.

I exhumed the first-aid kit from behind the sencha in the hall closet and wrapped my wrist, those gunmetal fingers quietly flexing. I wasn’t real. I was a … pretend person. The nausea rushed back. I needed to focus, call Laramee. When I finished with the gauze, I dry-swallowed four aspirin and pawed through the kitchen junk drawer for my old phone and its charger. Defunct take-out menus and the manual for the vacuum fluttered to the floor. Aha. There it was. I spun to find an outlet, knocking over the coffee maker in my haste.

The phone booted, cracked screen and all. But Laramee’s number was locked away in my bay-drenched phone. And so was Garrett’s. I got on the neighbor’s WiFi and tried Mom, my pulse quickening as ringback went unanswered, nothing but voicemail. What did that mean? Was she gone? My note for her was still folded on the counter, unread. I closed my eyes, imagining flesh swept from her bones in the flash of the blast.

My shoulders jerked with big, ugly sobs. Oh my God, if only I’d listened to Matt and Garrett, everyone might still be okay. I didn’t deserve to be the only one left.

But the rumble of a sputtering engine and the slam of a car door snapped me out of my pity party.

My pulse raced into high gear. Athleisure had tracked me here to finish me off. I poked my metal fingers through the blinds, my jaw sagging at the sight of Matt’s RV parked facing the wrong way, more than a little worse for wear. Both bumpers were folded in, the windows blown out, a generous dusting of bullet holes in the siding.

My breath quickened, my chest tingling. Matt had made it out. His RV was a frigging tank.

But when Mom strolled round the crumpled hood, a great gasp escaped my throat. My heart leapt and I almost collapsed to the linoleum, barely catching myself on the sill. Oh my God. She was alive. I flew to the front door, snapping it back and dashing past the cast-off cat scratcher.

Mom stomped up the walkway with red-rimmed eyes, her cheeks smeared with dirt and tears, a ballistic vest over her tee. When she spotted me, her head whipped back, hands clasped to her mouth. “Ko!” Surprise and joy and guilt were written on her face. “I thought you fell. I … I saw you go over.”

I flashed back to that awful plunge. To my little discovery in the bay. The hope and relief blooming in me now evaporated like they were never there. In their place, anxiety and pain and trauma collapsed inward to kindle a simmering rage. I straightened, rigid. “I did.”

She rushed toward me, her chin trembling. But she stopped cold when she saw my expression.

“What in the actual fuck, Mom?” My voice was low and jagged, a roiling inferno in my chest. “How could you not tell me?”

Matt stepped from behind his RV, hanging back on the sidewalk across the lawn. There was a cut gouged into one cheek, a mean bruise across the other. I registered that he was alive, that he hadn’t perished on the bridge. A far-off part of me rejoiced, while my deepening wrath focused on Mom, the edges of my vision falling away.

She wrung her hands, stepping closer. “I was going to tell you.” Her knuckles were scraped, her arms reddened. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you all at once.”

“Overwhelm me? Overwhelm me?” I was shrieking, sputtering, waving my metal hand before her. “I think we’re pretty fucking far past overwhelming.”

Matt gaped. “Ko, what … what the hell is that in your hand?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Mom said, anguish etching her face.

It didn’t lessen my fury. If anything, her sorrow fanned the flames of my righteous indignation. My limbs were shaking, my pain a distant backdrop.

“What are you guys talking about?” Matt ventured closer with a confused scowl, his sandaled feet hidden in the grass. “If anyone’s doing any apologizing, it should be Ko for nearly getting herself killed—and us along with her.” His gaze slid off my hand as if he couldn’t find purchase there. “Did you really … go over?”

“I’m not apologizing for shit until Mom admits she was wrong to keep this from me. Lying to my face for so many years.” This was about me and her. I would deal with Matt later.

“Lying about what?”

“That I’m a goddamned robot!” I waved my hand again. How dense could he be? “Regular fricking C-3PO, only with better skin.”

“Ko,” Mom said piteously, her shoulders slumped. “You were a child when we left. You can’t just tell a child—”

“Excuse me.” Matt raised an index finger, his round eyes glued to my hand. “Did you just say you’re a robot? Is that your—”

“Sure you can. Lemme give you an example. Hey, kid, guess what? You’re a fricking robot! Now you don’t have to grow up thinking you’re a human being until one fateful day when you find out the truth … and end up scarred for fucking life.”

Matt gripped his scalp. “I’m having a little trouble with this whole—”

“Ko, you are flesh and blood!” Mom shook her hands at me. “You just have a few … enhancements—nearly all bio-based. Bones, brain, the backup actuators in your limbs. Synthetic, made to grow with you from infancy. That’s all. You’re really not all that different than what you thought when you woke up today.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Mom. I’m a goddamned AI? A chatbot with legs? What’s next? You gonna tell me I’m really from the planet Krypton? Crash-landed here in a spaceship as a baby? Go ahead, I can take it. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Please, let’s go inside.” She twisted her hands together, eyes flicking to the second-floor windows. “We shouldn’t be talking out here.”

“Why not? Who the hell cares?” I cupped my hands to my mouth, craning toward the rooftops. “Hey everyone! Turns out—I’m a goddamned robot! Does anyone need their floor vacuumed? Because I hear robots are aces at vacuuming.”

Mom held up pleading hands, stepping toward me. “Ko, please.”

“You always try to control my life! You can’t help yourself.”

She blinked, taken aback. “I was trying to protect you, Ko. Just like I’ve always done. Just like I’m doing now.”

“This is all your fault, Mom!” I screamed, my voice raw. She’d barely even apologized. She was justifying it. “Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t think I could take it? Thought I would flip out? Well joke’s on you, because I found out anyway, and now I’m flipping the fuck out.” I ran at her, my tears streaming. “You should’ve told me. You just should’ve told me!”

Her frown quivered. “I know how you might—”

“You don’t know anything!” I screamed, pounding her chest with my fists, a blur of flesh and metal. “You have no idea.…” My fists melted into sobs, her arms curling around me.

“Shh,” she said, her lips on my brow, the ballistic vest between us. She smelled of gunpowder and lavender face lotion. “I know. I know. It’s going to be okay.”

A great weight left me then, the relief flooding back. “I thought you were dead,” I whispered into her embrace, rivulets of hot tears on my cheeks.

Her own heavy tears fell onto my upturned face. “I thought we both were.”

After my sobbing subsided, she said, “Let’s go inside now, okay?”

I nodded, my hand flexing, and let her shepherd me toward the apartment. When we reached the door, I cast a glance back over my shoulder.

Matt stood motionless on the grass, hands in his pockets, his eyes like knives.