“Hurry up ***!”, my sister called out to me, my name distorted, “Daddy’s leaving soon! We gotta hurry back!”

“Give me a second! I’m almost done.” I shouted out, my voice making ripples in the air.

My hands held a little plastic car, a flame paintjob I just finished painting on it. I rinsed off the brushes in a nearby sink and tossed them into a jar to dry.

“Are you ready yet!”, my sister shouted, her voice distant, echoing.

“I'm done! Let's go!” I turned from the sink towards my sister, she wasn’t there. I was in a class room of some kind, the walls covered in color. She must have left without me. Cradling the car in my arms I ran to the door leading out of the room.

I opened the door and was hit with a blast of heat. The world around me bent and warped, a car flew past, the windows trailing fire behind it before smashing into a concrete median.

“Bye daddy, we love you!” My sister cried out from somewhere besides me, her voice cracking in pain.

I looked back at the crashed car, the fire growing brighter and brighter until it was blinding.

"Bye dad.”

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My eyes flashed open, awakening me from my dreamt memory. The phantom tears I didn’t realize I cried slowly fading away. I tried to recollect my sister’s face, but it was always out of reach. I closed my eyes and laid still for a moment, hoping for a chance to reenter that memory, it never came.

Reopening my eyes, I looked around, my back leaning against some sort of generator, the machine producing a soft hum. The world consisted of two things, the night sky and a little girl laying asleep on my chest, an oily rag clutched in her hands. Paris.

I lifted my hand and placed it on top of her head, brushing soot out of her hair as I did so. Her eyes slowly opened, looking up at me.

“C-13?” her words formed slowly, filled with doubtful hope.

I tilted my head slightly to look her in the eyes, “Yes?”

I felt her breathe a sigh of relief at my words, her face pushing into my chest once again. Her voice came out to me muffled, “Don't leave me again, okay? I don’t want to be alone.”

I felt a wave of sorrow come over me, the loss of Tom and the other children chilling me to my core. I had messed up in so many ways, in every way, every way but one.

“I will never let you go Paris.” My mechanical voice lacking the ability to convey how much emotion I truly held.

The little girl looked up at me, her face skeptical and hurt, “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

It lasted only a second, but I could see a faint smile flit across her face, leaving the moment it arrived. She nodded, pushing herself up to her feet, a new energy filling her as she spoke, “Good.”

I watched Paris walk behind me and flick a switch on the generator, its hum dying away. The core in my chest supplying a soft warmth, full to the brim. I leaned forward and stood up, a large three-pronged cable coming with me. I pulled it from my side, a little panel swinging back in place to cover the small socket.

I assessed my body, the memory of my fall coming back to me. I was unscathed, all the damage I had taken during the battle and during my fall completely gone.

“Paris, did you fix me?” I turned to the little girl, her face buried in some sort of burnt rotisserie she must have scavenged from nearby.

Looking up at me with her mouth full of food, she responded, “Nuh uh, I've never even seen a bot like you.” She paused to swallow. “All those dents just popped themselves back in place, it scared me pretty bad the first time it happened.”

Paris threw herself back into her meal, obviously more interested in the food than the weird mechanical phenomenon. I couldn’t recall fixing myself, the machine part of me not offering any advice on the matter either. Suppose it’s just a benefit of being unique, I thought. I looked back at Paris.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked, her eating abruptly stopping, grease coating her lips.

“I want to find Tom.” she murmured, the little joy she had gotten from her cold meal stamping itself out. I walked over to her, crouching down in front of her.

I wanted to tell her no, to tell her it was too dangerous, to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to protect her. I didn’t know this world, nor did I know if Tom was even still alive... But the truth was that I wanted to find Tom too. I had failed him and all the other children. I had failed all the people in this town who had sacrificed themselves to protect them. I didn’t want to risk failing Paris too. With that said, I made her a promise...

“Okay, let's go find Tom then.” The words rolling out of my mechanical mouth.

Paris’s eyes looked into mine, her eyes hard and slightly more aged. So much had been taken from her, she wanted to take it back, I would be there to help her. I stood up, looking down at the little girl I had known for less than a day, her clothes torn and dirtied, her hair matted and singed. She had dirt, oil, and ash coating every inch of her body, small cuts and bruises marring her flesh. She would be harder to kill than me.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

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“Hey Paris!” I shouted out to the little girl across the street, her head popping up, she raced towards me.

“Look what I found!” the little girl spoke out, “It’s a scorpion!”

A little bug rested in her palm, chitinous legs sprouting from its sides, a tail with a barb hanging over its torso.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” I responded to the little girl, the smile on her face keeping me from reminding her of our task.

We had scavenged through the night in an attempt to gather supplies for our journey out. During the raiders quick escape, they had left behind a pickup truck that had gotten its front axle wedged under one of the town’s barricades. With a little bit of work, I was able to shift it out of place and dislodge it. The truck was an old diesel converted to an electric... something in my heart told me that such a change was a sin, but what did I know. I was only born yesterday.

I finished placing the last of our boxes into the truck bed. Most of the buildings in the town had been burnt to ash, the only ones still standing being the ones near the town’s center. I was originally concerned about having enough food and water for Paris, but my fears seemed to be for naught. The post office wasn’t just for private mail, receiving shipments for the town’s stores as well. Several pallets of bottled water and packaged meals wrapped in plastic sitting in a locked shipping container, the bolts of each I was able to break off with some effort.

Paris giggled as the little critter crawled from one hand to the next. The tiny legs moving in a strange synchronization.

After we found the water, I had her wash herself off while I went to find her another outfit. Her hair was actually a deep auburn brown apparently, not an ashen grey. She changed into the clothes I found for her, a pair of blue jeans, pink sneakers, a shirt with a faded cartoon cat on it, a makeshift poncho from a lightweight blanket, and a bullet proof vest. The last one was a bit of a struggle, not only finding one that would fit her, but one she even agreed to wear, citing lack of cuteness as a criterion.

For myself I had opted to put on some sort of brown duster, I was tempted to find a cowboy hat, but decided against it, the strange idea arising from a long-forgotten memory. I replaced my boots with a fresh pair, leaving the old ones to rest in the sun. I also added a belt loosely strapped to my waist, a little finagling necessary to get it to stay in place. The belt held a holster for my knife, which I retrieved from my duffle bag, and another for a new black and grey semi pistol, my old pistol having been lost somewhere in the sands.

The weaponry in this town was immense, the town’s people had an endless supply of guns and ammo, the raider’s own only adding to it. I was tempted to take it all but settled on just a few different guns and more ammo for them than I would ever need... hopefully. The first was a scoped bolt action rifle, its owner having perched himself atop a nearby home before his death. The second was a pump action shotgun, the bore of which was wide enough to fit a golf ball, the shoulder of its owner bruised even in death. The third and final weapon I grabbed was off on of the raiders, it was some type of assault rifle, the gun holding a large battery pack placed inside it in place of where a magazine should be. With a little work (and self-discovery) I was able to connect the rifle to a cord that was hidden beneath a panel in my hand, the rifle flaring to life. I released a shot off into the sky, a pinkish blue blot flying out of the barrel. Paris thought it was pretty.

The little girl walked closer to me, placing the scorpion on my arm. The bug crawled higher up and onto my neck, then my head, coming to rest right over my eye. It was a very ugly little thing.

It stung me and fell off my face. Burrowing into the sand beneath my feet, escaping the metal terror that was I.

“You aren’t supposed to let them sting you.” Paris said while trying to stifle a giggle.

I rubbed my face where it had hit me, there was, of course, no mark.

“I will make note for next time,” I responded, incredulous at the little girl’s sass.

“You better.” Finally releasing her giggle.

“Anyways,” I drew out the word, hoping to give it some sass of my own, “I just finished packing the truck so we can leave when you are ready.”

The little girl looked around her, her home burnt and ruined, her family dead and buried. Her friend taken away, she looked back up at me, steeled in her resolve, “I’m ready.”

“Good, then I need your help.”, I responded, the issue at hand being integral to our plan and the future of our journey, “Which way do we go?”

It was Paris’s turn to look at me incredulously.

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As it turns out, Red Door Pharmaceuticals is one of the largest producers of cybernetics and recreational drugs in the world. I was also informed that I must be really stupid not to have heard of them. Paris said that they were based out on the east coast in their own personal city state, colloquially dubbed ‘Other Side’, which apparently led to many miscommunications.

Paris said that it was unlikely Tom was there though, we were currently right outside of the city of Las Vegas, one of Red Door’s largest business ventures. Apparently, the company had bought out the whole city and ran it as the world’s largest party. Paris claimed that it would be the best place to look for Tom. She denied ever being there herself but said her mom used to go there for work sometimes.

“Who did your mom work for?” I asked, curious.

“She worked for Red Door,” The little girl responded, “She sold their drugs to people back home, she just went to Las Vegas to pick them up.”

I nodded at the little girl’s response. I was surprised honestly, at how much she knew for someone her age. I suppose, growing up the way she did, you learn to keep an eye out. She was full of little surprises.

Paris went on to explain that Red Door sold all sorts of drugs, the recreational ones were just their biggest sellers. They also sold combat stimulants and chemical agents, the former being made to help people be, and I quote, “The baddest bastards in town”, according to Paris. The latter drugs being used as weapons against the enemies of whoever had them. Only the combat stimulants ever made it to the streets, the demand being high for cheap alternatives to cybernetics.

Speaking of money, Paris also explained that money wasn’t real. Which in of itself confused me, though it seemed to confuse her as well. She said that her parents used some sort of stand-in in place of money, little plastic chips. Looking at some she had found for me, they were silicon patties with small metal engravings, some sort of code written in metal. It took a while, but I convinced Paris to help me collect as many of the chips as we could, asking her to at least humor me.

We ended up with several hundred of the little chips, a small plastic container their new home. I placed the container under the truck seat, spotting a slip of folded paper as I did so. I pulled it out, it was a map. Showing it to Paris she marked our location, that mark consisting of her just pointing somewhere south-west of Las Vegas. At least I have a bearing, I chuckled internally, I can't expect her to know everything.

With a final check of supplies, making sure I had plenty of batteries for myself and the truck, I took and look over the town and moved to hop into the truck’s cab.

Paris was in the way, buckled into the driver’s seat, a toothy grin on her face.

“Not happening.” I said, leaning into my mechanical voice.

She responded with puppy dog eyes.