“[…] and that is why Alan Itch lost the election for the CEO of the Global Unified Forces Corporation. The turnout might’ve been much different if it wasn’t Marjorie Dunn that ran against him. We all know that between the two, the choice was quite obvious. Who wouldn’t like to have the face of that woman on their digi-coins? She was gorgeous. And smart, as she has never slept with her secretary, unlike a certain someone (the author refers to A. Itch). Well, as far as any of us know. One can only hope!”

— Excerpt from an unpublished study on the psychology of elections by Ravi Slejton, PhD.

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Taking a cab was not challenging. What was challenging, however, was the small talk that the driver incessantly continued even when I blatantly ignored him. It couldn’t even be called a small talk. More so a monologue.

“–and then I ask him? Why’d you do that, Mark? You know what he tells me? He tells me that my wife’s hot and he couldn’t help himself! What a fucker! Even after–” The man continued having a one-sided conversation with himself.

I, on the other hand, found myself to be looking out the cab’s window.

Apparently, Fleshies was a nightclub in one of the richer parts of the megacity. The driver took a long look at me when I told him my destination.

I took a quick peek at what I could find about it on the web and there wasn’t anything that stood out. Seemed like it was the same as any other nightclub in that neighborhood.

“We’re here! Have fun there and remember my advice.” The driver said as he parked in front of the nightclub. I could tell since above a wide entrance there was a big neon sign that spelled ‘Fleshies’ with a video of a woman and a man twirling on a pole near it.

I’m not sure what the man’s advice was, so I simply responded to his request for payment and got out of the car.

As I stepped on the sidewalk, I could see a queue stretching towards the entrance. There were countless people waiting in line. Many of them already inebriated from what I could tell. They were dressed in almost no clothing, but it wasn’t that surprising considering that Nova York was warm all year round. It was like that thanks to the factory emissions and the city’s infrastructure, apparently.

I looked for the end of the line and stood there. I checked the time and it said 0340. I still had some minutes before the agreed meeting time.

As I slowly moved with the people, I wondered how I’d find Jane inside. I could hear, even without improved hearing, that inside the club there were plenty of people. I heard screaming and laughing. I could feel the bass of the music as it penetrated the concrete walls of this establishment.

When I came closer to the bouncer, he looked me up and down, and nodded. When he opened the rope blocking the entryway for me, I got in.

The inside of the club was as lively as I heard from the outside. The people moved like a wave, rhythmically to the hurried tempo of the music.

As I stepped through the crowded space, I could feel the bass go deep through my body. It penetrated my synthskin and sunk inside my core. It was something similar to what I felt in the subway, but definitely not unpleasant. It actually felt nice. It made me feel as if my core worked harder, as if a surplus of energy was gathering inside me. Ready to be released. Is that why these people danced so frantically? I was curious since I’ve never danced.

The deeper into the club I went, the fewer people gathered near an elevated stage at the end of the room. There, dancing for all people to see, was a woman. She had neon bright blue hair, red eye makeup and piercing dark eyes. Her body was toned and slim, bronzed and glowing. She moved gracefully along a metal pole stuck in the middle of the stage. She only wore black lacy underwear, so every piece of sweat was visibly shining on her skin.

Her movements were captivating; I could imagine the way she would glide along the battlefield. I wondered if she’d be as slippery in a direct combat as she was flexible. The way her musculature was developed spoke of rigorous exercise regimen. The faint abdominal muscles flexed as she bent horizontally on the pole.

When I took a step closer, our eyes met, and I wondered why my core trembled in a brand-new way.

Was this the aesthetic pleasure humans felt when they looked at something beautiful? I’ve never experienced anything like this, except at Mandy’s when I saw the wonderful collection of firearms.

This woman was like a compact, but powerful gun; with a sleek and shiny finish that commanded adoration.

A brief touch of my shoulder brought me out of looking at the woman. I turned to see who demanded my attention and it was Jane. FERS said she was suspicious but also strangely amused.

“Hey. Come on.” She started to walk towards a door on the right side of the stage. There was a sign above it that said ‘Employees Only’.

She stepped through and I followed.

I took a second to review Jane. She was dressed similarly to the way she was last night. She wore a light green tank top and rough-looking trousers made from synthcotton. She had a shoulder holster for two guns. I could feel a neutronium signature coming off them. Those were expensive handguns. I wondered what rank Jane was as a Contractor.

We walked briefly through the small corridor that led to numerous rooms. I could hear snippets of conversation happening behind many of them. Although, behind certain ones, there were only noises that pointed at a more intimate engagement.

It was definitely a very private space meant for few to be accessible.

I watched Jane as she walked before me. I didn’t notice any strange body language coming from her, so I felt relatively safe. I believed that she didn't mean any harm. But what she wanted to talk to me about remained a bit of a mystery. She'd probably ask about Jack of course, but what concretely I couldn't fathom. I knew what I wanted to ask her, at least.

I also checked her for cybernetics, but besides the SDI and an old medicine applicator she was almost as organic as a newly born mammal.

When Jane opened one such door for me, I stepped through.

“Sit.” She said, although it sounded more like a demand, and I did.

The room was small and intimate. Decorated with plush tapestry, overflowing with warm red-like colors. There was a single circular table inside, with a soft seating behind it that stretched along and against the walls. The lighting was dim, but everything was visible enough for even an unenhanced pair of eyes.

I sat down and waited for Jane to do the same thing.

“Want anything to drink?” She asked me as she started tapping on a screen built into the table’s surface.

“No, thank you.” She took a single long look at me, and I was able to conclude she was assessing me. What for? I wasn’t certain.

“Suit yourself.” She huffed and reclaimed on the couch, with arms outstretched over the top of the seat.

The space was small enough that her hand almost reached my shoulder.

“So…” Jane started to say as her eyes bored into mine, “Want to start?”

Start? Start what exactly? Talking? Asking why Jack kept her a secret? Why was he sad when he mentioned her? What was Jane to Jack, besides being his sister?

I could ask many things.

“You’re Jack’s sister.” I said and watched for a reaction. FERS was working hard at deciphering what Jane was feeling. In most people, I was able to say with high accuracy the emotional state of someone based on their micro expressions. In most, that is. There was also a smaller percentage of people that possessed the so-called ‘poker face’ and I started to think Jane was one of them. FERS could not reach an accurate conclusion.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Even her body language was inconclusive. It was almost as if she turned the subconscious physical expressions off, or at least made the ques harder to read.

Last night she seemed more expressive.

“Am I? How would you know?” Two questions. First to mislead, second to probe for information.

“Jack was my handler.” There was no point in being dishonest.

“Handler? How so?” Seemed like I’ll be the one answering questions for a while. I didn’t mind. There wasn’t anything else I had to do tonight and Jane was worth a couple of answers.

“I’m a SSU. He was my handler when I was under Fran-Mili.” A spark of emotion blinked through Jane’s expression. It was fast gone.

“You’re a synth? You don’t act it.” Then Jane knew a certain number of SSUs at least.

“How should I act?” I was curious about how I was different from other SSUs. It was true that Gabriel acted much more human-like than me, but ultimately, he and I had the same parts that made us sentient. His emotional response circuits might’ve been more advanced, but still.

“Usually, they’re more… lively and less stiff.” Lively? I thought I was very life-like. Stiff, I could agree with. I did stand quite straight usually. But that’s just how I was programmed to behave. Like a soldier.

There was a knock on the door. Jane said, “Come in,” and a woman with neon blue hair stepped inside, carrying a tray with a bottle of alcohol and two small glasses.

This was the woman I saw on stage.

“Here you go, Janey.” Her voice was smooth and vibrant, like a direct comm link.

“Thanks.” Jane answered as she reached to pour herself a glass of what appeared to be a classic vodka. The bottle had a picture of a bear on it. It was objectively cute.

“Not gonna introduce me?” The woman asked as she hugged the tray to her chest. Now she was wearing a robe that reached just above her knees.

“Nope. Gonna keep you guessin’.” Jane said as she quickly drank a shot. Her face did not change at all. She must’ve been an experienced drinker. Same like Jack.

“You’re such a meanie.” The woman pouted and turned her attention towards me. “Hi! I’m Cece! I saw you watching back there. Did you like it?” She asked me.

She referred to her dance.

“Yes. You have a great body.” Compliments were a natural part of a conversation. And it was true.

“Oh my!” Cece exclaimed as she covered her mouth. I saw a slight blushing on her cheeks. “Thank you!” She added.

“You can talk to her later, Cece.” Jane said as she started to pour herself another shot.

“Oh! Of course. I’m working at the bar now. Come see me over there. You don’t meet many new people around here.” She took a brief look at Jane and said, “Bye!” Then she left.

It was just Jane and me again.

“So. Where’s Jack?” Jane asked after a couple of seconds of silence.

The question surprised me. Given that Jane was his sister, even when not included in his Fran-Mili file, the registry in which Jack was recorded should’ve notified his family. That was, unless Jane somehow was not registered. Which sounded improbable to me. The amount of work one would have to go through to erase their digital trail was exorbitant.

I pondered how I should answer Jane’s query.

I knew that the death of a family member was an uncomfortable subject. I wasn’t certain what would be the best way to tell Jane that her brother was dead. Was there even the best way to do it? There certainly were many not so right ways to do it, as my social protocols suggested.

“He died in a training exercise.” The Antarctic base changed triennially between corporations. All of them used that territory as either training or experimental ground since there was no one else nearby who would spy on the corporation’s efforts. Fran-Mili’s main focus was to improve their aircraft technology and engineer a perfect pilot, which resulted in the creation of myself. At least, that’s how Jack liked to explain it to me.

That’s also how he died. By piloting an experimental aircraft that in the end crashed into the cold waters of the Southern Ocean.

“He’s dead?” Jane’s question came forth with little to no emotion. But I did detect a spike in the stress hormones. The news has upset her. Made a nervousness swell up.

One would not be able to say that looking at her face, which became even more apathetic at hearing the news.

“Yes.”

“I see.” The response was underwhelming.

“You’re his sister.” I stated. I wondered if she’d refute that.

There was no immediate confirmation. Instead, as I was looking at Jane, there seemed to be something happening inside her. Meaning that I could see micro expressions form and go. Some parts of her body tensed and immediately relaxed. It seemed like she was fighting with her body. Then, she quickly reached for the bottle of the alcohol. She poured herself a shot. One and then two. Quickly gone.

That little moment of unusual behavior promptly ended as she looked at me with glistening eyes and said,

“Yep.” A short answer. Another shot poured and drank. The medicine applicator came to life inside Jane’s body.

What it meant to do, I could only speculate. Because Jane has managed to down a couple of shots of vodka in a short amount of time, I would say that the drug would lessen her alcohol blood level.

“He told me you were a secret. His corporation file didn’t mention you.” At that, Jane’s eyebrow rose.

Because of her peculiar skill at managing facial expression, I wasn’t certain if it was deliberate or if her control slipped. Maybe the latter, considering the emotions such news could evoke.

“That’s not surprising. Considering my work.” Jane pushed the shot glass away and turned her full body to me. I had a suspicion that she wanted me to know. That now I should pay attention. Before I was able to ask about the ‘work’ she just mentioned, she asked me this, “You’re a mili-corp synth, right? High-end, I'm guessing?” She waited for my answer. I decided to nod yes.

Her conclusion was easy enough to come to, so it didn’t make me that suspicious of her.

“And Jack was your handler? Is that why you called yourself ‘Steele’ when I asked for your name? You cared about my brother?” She asked me and I realized that answering certain things inside oneself was different from speaking them aloud.

I’ve only known Jack while I was still an asset. Not-thinking and not-autonomous. But now, when I looked at the memories I had of me and Jack, the conclusion was simple enough to come to.

“I did. I did care.” That was the truth and that is why my core trembled in an uncomfortable rhythm at the memory of his death.

It was tragic, and I could do nothing to help him. What was the point of me, if I couldn’t keep one person alive? What good was my advanced engineering, my never-before-seen abilities and strength that surpassed any other mili-corp synthoid?

“Do you resent Fran-Mili for his death?” Jane’s questions brought me back from inattentiveness. Every time my focus wavered was still a surprise.

I thought about what she asked me. Did I resent them? It was true that the incident that ended in Jack’s death could’ve been avoided if the engineers accounted for the strength of the wind resistance at higher speeds. I remember the report that described what happened in the sky, as Jack was piloting the new prototype. More accurate calculations might have prevented his death.

I wasn’t sure if that made me resent them. I heard the workers at the base praise their new R&D engineers and how wonderful and smart they were. I heard those engineers say that with this they’d definitely become the strongest military arms and equipment dealer on the market. I heard so much boasting, that in retrospect that was probably one of the reasons why it ended the way it did.

Too much belief in one's abilities would never make up for actual skills.

Besides that, there was also a matter of their interest to me. The attack that happened not so long ago, the clearing collar in their hands and no regard or respect for what being a SSU meant were also factors in my opinion of them. I didn’t think Jack would ever agree with their course of action. I hoped so at least.

Coming back to Jane’s question. What did it mean? To resent them.

Did I feel angry with how they treated me? With how Jack died? Did my core’s energy flare up every time I was reminded of that? Yes. Did it make me feel uncomfortable to think that Jack’s death could’ve been avoided by adding a bit more attentiveness and less boasting? Yes. Did I wish that things could be different? That Fran-Mili would change? Yes.

How surprising it was, to find all of that inside me.

I answered Jane’s question.

“I do. I resent them.” My voice came out firm. The air box I used to talk, squeezed itself strongly as I exhaled the compressed air. In the corner of my vision, hazel eyes blinked once and disappeared. Small tremors traveled through my body and stopped. I was once again still. The overriding memory process ended.

I looked at Jane. Her face was twisted in a grim smile. Her eyes reflected the overhead lighting and I asked myself if Jack would look like that if I told him the same thing. I think he would, looking back on all the things we did together in a new light.

“Well then. I’ve got an offer for you. Want to hear it?” Jane asked, and I found myself hoping that the offer in question would allow for some violence. It’d feel good to punch something right now.

“Yes.” I said, and she leaned closer to where I was seated. She put her hand on my shoulder and whispered,

“Want to fuck them up, so they’ll never get back again? So they’ll never do the same thing to you as they did to Jack? Want to end their arrogance for good? If you do, I’ve got a place for you.”

Even though I haven’t been sentient for very long, it did not make my new-found feelings any less real. How curious was it that anger could feel so good?

“Fuck yes.” I reached for a glass. A shot wouldn’t hurt.

Right?