They’d call his number soon.

Isaac scratched the space where his polysynth skin met his carbon-fiber jawline. He worked his mouth and cleared his vocalizer with a grunt. The discomfort had been spreading over the last few months, but the itchiness was the least of his worries. No, he had bigger issues. The aches in his limbs were causing him to seize up, like knives jammed into his joints, and on top of the crippling lockups, a squall of brain fog thickened with each cycle.

His finger twitched. He balled his hand into a fist, urging the spasm to stop. The malfunctioning digit fidgeted in his palm like a rat in a trap. Just another problem to add to the growing list.

He feared the fog the most. External parts were expensive, yes, but cognitive processing upgrades weren’t only pricey, they were also in high demand. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before he crashed. The ethereal glow of his eyes would dim and go out as Asher’s had. He’d be reduced to scrap for rickshaw merchants. They would barter him away in crowded night markets, one lifeless piece at a time.

Or he’d become fertile ground for rust blooms and decay, lost and forgotten in the twisting alleys of New Brahma city.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I was forgotten.

Somewhere distant in his head, her voice echoed: We only get one you.

Isaac shuddered.

The clerk at the clinic’s counter yawned while sorting through a stack of spare parts, pristine in their modern packaging, all gloss and sharp edges. The flickering death of the overhead light painted the woman a quivering, squalid yellow.

Isaac crammed his hand into the pocket of his oversized Alta Corp hoodie. The printed text across the chest—A family you can trust!—had long cracked and faded since their bankruptcy years ago.

He touched the weapon hidden inside, closing his hand around the criss-cross texture of the pistol grip. The scratches where the serial code had been filed away rubbed against his silicone fingertips. He switched off the safety.

He looked down at his ticket stub: 47.

They’d call his number soon.

***

“You’re not listening to me, Isaac.” Teresa leaned back from his hospital bed. Her tight bun had come untethered around the edges, puffing out in wisps of frizz. Deep crags carved paths under her dark eyes. “I’m telling you: If you do this, I don’t know if I’ll be there waiting for it on the other side.”

“For me. You won’t be waiting for me on the other side.” Isaac grimaced as he held back another wave of coughs, cheeks puffing out with each stifled hack.

“No. This...” Teresa patted him on the chest. She offered a soft smile. “This is you. This man lying here, flesh and blood, this is the only you we get.”

Despite Isaac’s frustration, he still welcomed the warmth of her touch. He could taste the scent of her shampoo. Honey lavender. The constant whoosh of the ceiling fan filled the hospital room. Stilted shadows spun slowly, matching its teetering orbit. The atmosphere of the room was thick enough to smother a man—or at least his spirit. Her scent was a beacon in the musty gloom.

The ventilator wheezed. The machines ticked. The rain drummed.

“What about Asher?” he asked.

“What about him?”

“He went through the procedure after his diagnosis. He’s happier than ever.”

“Have you talked to his wife? I don’t think it’s all sunshine and rainbows.”

“But they’re still together. He’s still alive.”

“I guess...” She trailed off into a nervous hum.

“I don’t think you understand the procedure,” he said. “It’s just a simple switch, like changing jumpsuits. That’s all.”

“Your body isn’t a jumpsuit.” Teresa rose from her chair and turned away from him.

“If this is about intimacy, I’ve already sent you the testimonials.”

“If you start talking about robo-dicks one more time, so help me...” She spun on him, throwing her hands up. “And you know what? I don’t think you understand the procedure. They don't move your consciousness over. It’s just a copy. A copy owned by a soul-sucking corporation.” She grabbed his hand and took a deep breath. “I understand you’re scared. We both are. But you, this you, the one right here—the one looking at me like an idiot—this one still... dies.”

“This one dies either way.”

“This one is my husband.”

“Through sickness and health, right?”

“‘Til death do us part.”

***

“Alta Corporation requires verbal consent alongside the signed documents to ensure that you fully understand the nature of this transaction.” The beak-faced lawyer didn’t look up from his tablet. “So, do you?”

“Huh?” Isaac had been thinking of Teresa. A hint of lavender still lingered in the hospital room. She’d told him she needed space to think about their future. He was certain she’d eventually be on board with his transference. “Do I what?”

The lawyer sighed, looking up and over his gilded spectacles. “Do you, Isaac T. Nowak, understand that your new corporeal form will be bound by law to perform tasks, duties, etc. under the Alta Corporate Family umbrella? In return, you will receive a new body—a unit model 10X3—and a base annual salary of 150,000 credits. You will also receive yearly maintenance, upgrades, and biomechanical unitcare insurance, until the end of the allotted career indenturement. Please note that working for competitive corporations during or after this time is strictly prohibited—an onboard obligation chip will make this impossible. After said retirement, you will be provided a pension and an extension of the previously noted unitcare. In return, you will waive your rights for legal retaliation in regards to your current medical condition. Do you understand and agree to these terms?”

“Well, I hear the new Alta Corp offices have ping-pong, so why not?” His joke slid right off the lawyer’s shiny, bald head.

"Do you consent?" the lawyer asked.

Isaac let out a string of coughs, each one a flurry of wet razor wire in his chest. “Yes. I consent.”

The lawyer stopped the recording device, stowed it in his briefcase, and left the room.

***

Movie night with Teresa was not going as planned. The light of a rom-com washed over the living room, colors shifting with each scene as the neverending deluge hammered outside.

Teresa had retreated to the other side of the couch. Isaac could feel the space between them like a physical force.

“You’re doing it again.” The words felt foreign in his mouth. They also sounded distant, like he was listening to a recording of himself. It had been months since the transference procedure, but he was still getting used to life as a synthetic. He was told it would take time. Years even.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“If you keep moving away from me, how are we supposed to... How are we going to get back to where we were?”

Teresa’s eyes glazed over, vacant. She was receding into herself again, gazing past the TV screen and the runaway bride who dashed across it. Isaac knew if he didn’t reach out now, she’d be tuned out for the night. Lost somewhere deep in the tangle of her mind.

“Honey, what are you thinking about?” He placed his hand on her thigh.

She flinched.“It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’re shaking.”

“I’m thinking about your funeral,” she said, removing his hand and bringing her knees to her chest. “I went.”

“Gods, T! I told you not to. And now you’re calling it a funeral? We talked about this. It was just a disposal of my old body. I’m still here. With you.”

“Are you? I mean, you’re barely around. The shifts they have you working are beyond inhumane, Isaac.”

“You’re not taking into account that I don’t sleep or eat. That’s what, eight or more hours of productivity gained. Even with that, I still have a few hours to hang out with you.”

“What good is that, if you’re only available at ridiculous times? 2 A.M. isn’t ideal for a date. That company is stretching you thin.”

“The company is why I’m still here. Why I’m still alive. I owe them.”

“Owe them?” Teresa’s voice was rising. Isaac knew that she’d be shouting soon. Or crying. Or both. “Don’t pretend that you’re doing them a favor. Their factories literally killed you, and then they purchased what was left. Did you know they collect all your data? Not just performance, but location, messages, audio logs. This conversation is being saved somewhere. Hell, everytime we have sex—”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that data point is huge,” spat Isaac, rolling his eyes with a soft whir.

“What, you think I want to fuck a toaster? I tried to make it work, I really did!” She was yelling now. “Stop clinging to sex like it’s the be-all end-all of us. It wouldn’t make things better. We could go at it every day, and I’d still hate you.”

And there it was. Hate. The word hung between them like a festering wound. Isaac had felt her struggling to get close to him since getting back. He couldn’t explain it, but their flat seemed smaller since the procedure. As if the floor plan had lost a few inches off every room. Still, Teresa had managed to avoid him these past weeks. She was constantly finding chores to do in other rooms, going out with friends, or just missing between his shifts. He thought he could fix it. Some movie nights. A date or two. Maybe therapy as a last resort. Now he saw it was beyond repair.

“I want you out.” Teresa rose. “End of the week.”

The rom-com’s soundtrack swelled. The couple on the screen embraced, laughing through tears.

“Fine.”

***

Isaac whacked the ping-pong ball with his paddle, curving it low over the net. Asher lunged for it, but completely missed as the ball bounced off the far corner of the table.

Asher swore, and at the peak of his shout, his vocalizer crackled, straining under the treble output. He threw the ping-pong paddle back across the table. “I swear they tuned up your dexterity or some shit during your transference procedure.”

“You know that’s bull,” said Isaac. “We’re exactly the same as before. Just a bit shinier and metallic in places. If anything, the extra weight should throw off my game.”

The neon glow of New Brahma pushed through the window’s murk. The skyline train screamed past the highrise, strobing the rec-room with its golden light. Their shift had ended hours ago, but Isaac didn’t mind. Spending time with Asher was one of the few things he looked forward to these days. Asher was a good person.

Teresa’s voice pulled at the back of his mind, a ghost of a past argument: Units aren’t people. They’re property.

He’d attempted to contact her after their fight, but she’d blocked him at every turn. Total social media lockdown. He visited her usual haunts, but she was always quick to call a taxi, get on a train—or in one case, run. The court order processed quicker than he’d expected. Not within 100 yards. She’d stuck to her word. He was dead to her.

Technically true.

Asher pinched the soft area under his chin, pressing and probing the components that hid beneath the soft layer of bluish polysynth. He gave his vocalizer a few flicks.

“I thought you said you were getting that thing fixed?” Isaac asked, putting his paddle down. He cracked another bottle of lager and took a swig. Life as a unit had taken some getting used to, but at least the eggheads had figured out the tasting aperture. He’d just have to empty his stomach canister later—a process that still made him very uncomfortable.

“Unitcare has been put on hold while the company rights the ship. I’m told it could take a month or two.”

“Shit. Alta is fucking up bad enough to pause our benefits? Is that even legal?” Looking inward to his OS, Isaac lowered his alcohol tolerance through his onboard feed. It threw up a red flag as he hit the limited threshold. Too bad it wouldn’t go lower. He needed the haze of booze right now. Even before this news, it’d been a long day.

“Yeah, it’s in the fine print, but it’s just temporary. Companies always have good and bad quarters, right? We’ll be back on top when they raise the fees for delivery drones and premium accounts. After that, we’ll be buried in work again. Just business as usual, you’ll see.”

“Still... I mean, have you seen the news? People are dying in the union riots now. And didn’t a shareholder dump his stock before biting down on a gun? That isn’t business as usual.” Isaac took another swig. “And I’ve been hearing about more and more units jailbreaking. Can you imagine being that desperate?

“Don’t even mention that shit,” spat Asher. “Fucking lunatics messing with their components. Didn’t you read the corp notice about that packing unit in warehouse 45F? The sodder jockey who jailbroke the idiot was just using him to blow a hole in a space elevator. The unit lost all control. Thousands died.”

Another scream from the skyline’s rail. Another flashing of passenger car lights through the sheets of rain.

Asher looked out to the buzzing metropolis. “Have I ever told you my theory on why units wear clothes? You know, despite the fact that we can't get cold and have retractable bits?” He asked.

Isaac knew him well enough to know he was changing the subject. He went with it. “The whole human sin and shame thing?” he answered, playing along.

Asher had told him—a few times, actually—but Isaac listened to it once more. To be honest, he didn’t want to think about the future at the moment anyways. He wanted to laugh with his friend.

***

“Teresa, please! Open up!” Isaac rattled the door handle. He felt the underside of the nearby energy meter. The spare key was gone. “I need help! I wouldn’t come to you unless it was an emergency.”

Transport skiffs droned overhead, their blinking lights fighting through the downpour and rising vent steam. You never saw the stars in New Brahma, but somewhere high above the churning storm clouds, solar balloons collected energy. Only their colossal tethers were seen from the ground, carrying a hidden bounty of energy to the block towers and projects. The hum of electricity was ever present.

Teresa’s muffled voice pushed through the door. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling security!”

“Please,” he shouted. “I’m your husband!”

“My husband’s dead!”

“No, he’s right here...” He paused. There wasn’t any movement from inside. The neighbor across the lane peered through the blinds as a siren wailed somewhere across the sprawl. “Do you remember our honeymoon? The ducks? You’d never seen a bird before. You thought they were the most beautiful creatures, but then they quacked, and you hated them. Remember? Because I do.”

The crack of the deadbolt rang out into the night’s rain. The door opened a few inches before the security chain drew taut with a clack. Teresa’s black eyes regarded him with anger from the darkness. Somewhere behind her, the glow of the TV pulsed, muted. Isaac could just make out the pistol in her right hand. “You use one more memory like that against me, and I’ll put a bullet in you.”

“Since when do you own a gun?” Isaac asked.

“Ever since you started following me.”

“Gods, Teresa,” he said, taken aback. His sweet Teresa had a firearm. The woman who’d screamed at the sound of a quack. He hoped it was at least legal. “Do you really think I’d hurt you?”

“You just did. A lot.” She sniffed, obviously holding back tears. “What do you want?”

“Alta went under. They shuttered the dorms.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“My corp credit is cut. I... I have nowhere to go.”

Teresa laughed. Her cackle was a shiv in his gut. There wasn’t a trace of happiness in its tenor. He’d heard nothing like it in their twelve years together. “So you think you can stay here? Under my roof?”

“Teresa, I—”

“You’re a walking memory of my dead husband. A twisted bastardization of the man I loved. I’d rather have a poltergeist in the fucking walls. If some perverted sense of love for me—for us—exists in your thick gel brain, you’ll leave and never come back.”

The door slammed shut. He stepped back into the curtain of rain.

***

Isaac gazed up at the tilted neon sign. Smart’s Part Mart. Every now and then, the S spat out a shower of sparks. The store wasn’t much more than a shack. A few tin sheets for walls, and a thick layering of tarps for the roof. It leaned against the looming mall tower like a tumor.

Well, there’s no harm in checking.

Isaac moved into the entrance only to be shouldered by a passing unit. A braided necklace marked her preferred pronoun. Unlike his, her gender identifier wasn’t built in.

She looked him square in the eyes from under her translucent poncho. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Meat like that, they don’t give a shit about units.”

“I think I’ll try my luck.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Before he could step away, she planted her hand on his shoulder. “If you’re looking for other options, come by the docks off Cetzine Plaza.”

Jailbreaking. Must be.

“I’m good,” said Isaac, shaking free from her grip.

“Just think about it.”

She continued into the wet night as Isaac moved into the oppressive musk of the Part Mart.

The place was a mess.

The store's automated sentry turret rested atop a stack of crates. Isaac sidestepped a stack of scrap and hopped over a broken server tower, toppled and burnt out. The turret’s barrel bobbed along with him. Like a bird watching him pass, it tracked him through the ramshackle storefront to the counter.

“Ah, let me guess,” said a lump of a man from behind a thick wall of ballistic glass. “09X3 ? No...” He adjusted the dials on his thick goggles. “A 10X3!”

Isaac did his best to ignore the lethal weaponry trained on his back. “Yeah. And let me guess, you’re Smart? I was told you sell unit components.”

“That depends on what you need and whether you can pay.” A splintered grin broke underneath the merchant’s gray beard. “Alta unit parts are rare these days. A lot of it was snatched up when they folded. Units grabbed what they could. Others saw the resell market and jumped in. Sorry to say, but you’re a bit late to the party, bot.”

“Just show me what you have.”

“Alright. Alright. Let me just get you a menu, garçon.” The vendor scrolled through his tablet. With a flick of his wrist, he threw a holographic list of components up onto the booth’s glass. The stock was small and the prices were large.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Look, prices are only going to go up. You bots aren’t supposed to survive without your parent corps. It’s by design. With Alta gone tits up, your parts are going to become rarer and rarer. You want my advice? Buy what you can now, before it’s too late.”

Of course he’d say that, thought Isaac. “I need a CPU Upgrade.”

"Sorry. Don't have that in stock."

"But I need it!"

“You could always take up bounty hunting. Chase down a unit on the lam, and farm its parts. I hear that business is booming these days.”

“What? Gods no! Do I look like a contract killer?”

“Alright. Alright. I hear some clinics still carry parts for older models. They’re made to order. But they ain’t going to sell them to you. Those places only exist for units with connections. Rich daddies and mommies. Real silver spoon types who transferred with no strings attached. Not for the warehouse-damned like you.”

The drum of rain grew louder on the shack’s tin roof, only dulled slightly by the thick blanket of tarps layered on top. Isaac looked to the racks and racks and racks of components behind the merchant. A unit’s extinguished eyes stared back at him, its head buried beneath mounds of circuit boards and wires.

“Do you have anything for... self-defense?” Isaac asked.

The shopkeeper was silent for several long seconds. Then he sighed. “I might know a guy.”

***

“Number 47?”

Isaac flinched. His index finger twitched again.

“Calling number 47? Please approach the counter, number 47.”

This was him. His knee servo ground as he rose, and the pop of an internal component caused the unit next to him—a newer model—to grimace. Their brow line wavered sporadically, twitching up and down in unnatural ways. Obviously, their synthetic facial canvas was causing some problems. Aside from that, they were immaculate. Isaac noted the model’s pristine exo-skeleton. Components here and there glittered with gold and silver trim. Any exposed cords were wrapped in an intricate weave of neoprene. This unit had never seen the bowels of a warehouse. Never operated a forklift. Never worked a day.

Focus, Isaac. The CPU upgrade.

He limped to the counter and leaned into the customer window. The clerk regarded him with a look of boredom, thick as grease. "Membership?"

"I don't have one."

“I’m terribly sorry, but since Alta went under, unitcare for 10X3s has been terminated.” She spoke as if reading from a form. “We only serve units with platinum membership at this clinic.”

"I’m not a member."

"Then we can't do anything for you."

“Please, there must be something...”

Isaac stared at the young woman. Her toxic red bob made her fair skin look even fairer. She was young. He was about to ruin her day, add a severe dose of trauma to her life that might never heal.

But what choice did he have?

Teresa had been right. Alta had purchased his soul when he was at his weakest, while he was the most terrified he’d ever been. And when they crashed and burned, he was caught in the flames. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find who did this and make them pay. Instead, he was about to commit armed robbery.

At least the real you isn’t alive to see what you’ve become.

This is the real me.

Is it?

“Sir?” The clerk frowned under her flat, red bangs. He felt the silence of the waiting room press in. “I need you to step aside.”

The unit with the screwed up face riffled through a stack of nearby pamphlets.

She’s getting spooked. Do it!

He pulled out the pistol. Aimed it through the window at her face. Her eyes bulged. He willed himself to stop shaking.

“I need a CPU upgrade module. Now!”

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Wha-what kind? External?”

“Yes! External.”

“P-p-preferred model type?”

“What?”

“We have a few. There’s the generic line, GloboTrust, ExoExo, and th—”

“Gods, whatever one is the best,” he hissed. His arm started to tremble. “Money isn’t really an issue for me right now, yeah? Just slide it across the counter and no one dies.”

“He’s got a gun!” shouted the other waiting unit, jumping up from their seat and scattering brochures everywhere.

Shit. This is spiraling. Get a hold of the situation.

“One move and I blow her fucking head off!”

“Oh gods, please!" The woman trembled. "I’m going to grab it from beneath the counter. Okay?”

“Do it! Now!”

The clerk bent down and pulled a box from under the desk. “Here’s the upgrade. Just please, le-”

Isaac’s finger twitched.

The clerk’s shoulder erupted in a bloom of mist. Muscle and bone, red and white, sprayed across the inside of her booth and out the customer window. Viscera sketched a smattering of crimson across Isaac’s facial canvas, blurring his vision.

He snatched the bloodstained CPU upgrade and hobbled into the neon clad night, a trail of gun smoke in his wake. His audio intakes struggled to normalize after the spike in volume, warbling like a tuning radio.

His entire world screamed.

***

INCOMPATIBLE WITH UNITS SERIES X, ZI9, P12, OR OLDER MODELS.

The rain battered Isaac’s head. Staring down at the box’s fine print, he was surprised he wasn’t mad. He should be fuming. Instead, he laughed. Of course, it wasn’t compatible. Alta was dead. Their unit line was as good as discontinued. What had he expected?

The bustling shipyard he’d sought refuge in fizzed with energy. A great cruiser hung from a canopy of cranes and suspension rigs in the distance. Arc welders blossomed across its belly, their sparks cascading to the world below, winking out. The engineers, mechanics, and laborers were mere specks on its hull, marked only by the glow of their equipment.

Sitting on the ground, back against the chain-link, he turned down his sensory inputs, blocking out the chill from the relentless rainfall. Numb. He placed his hand on the side of his neck, tracing the electronics beneath. There. He found it. The major power line that connected his brain to his core. He pushed his fingers in and gripped. One yank with all of his mechanically enhanced tendons, and it would be over.

The clinic’s clerk flashed in his memory.

A woman with a bob, toxic red.

Then, a cloud of gore.

She might still be alive. After all, he’d missed her head.

Do you really think that?

He gazed up at the scene before him. One last look at this miserable planet. The cruiser loomed before him like a harbinger.

“Marvel, ain’t she?”

Isaac, lost in his stupor, hadn’t noticed the unit approach. To his surprise, he actually recognized her from Smart’s all those nights ago. “In a terrifying way, yeah. I guess she is,” he said as his hand fell to his lap.

Without her poncho, the unit's appearance was radically different. She looked as if she was held together with spit and bubble gum. Her chassis was a patchwork of scrap and wires beneath a set of stained overalls. A vast collection of tools hung from her work belt.

“What you got there?”

“This?” Isaac held up the CPU upgrade. “Trash.”

“You're right about that. Anything in that nice of packaging ain’t worth shit to junkers like you and me. No way it’ll be compatible. I could’ve told you that and saved you some credits. Then again, maybe you can resell once a compatible line becomes Brahma fodder.” She took a seat on a nearby transistor box. In hindsight, a much better choice than the wet ground Isaac sat on. “So, what make are you?”

Isaac looked up at her. He must’ve looked pathetic. Cross-legged in his tattered corp hoodie, sitting in a puddle of rainwater and grime. “Me? Alta X series. 10X3.”

She let out a low whistle that sounded more like a solid state drive buzzing. “Saw that company implode all over the news feeds, but hey, that’s great news for you.”

“I’m not in the mood for sarcasm. Actually, I’d rather be alone.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d chosen the far corner of the shipyard to avoid prying eyes.

“Ain’t sarcasm.” She tilted her head as if solving a puzzle. “Does the slave not realize he’s free? Your master bit the bullet, guy. World’s your—what do they call ‘em—oyster! Hell, even off-world is an oyster or whatever the hells they say.”

“Free? I’m free to fucking rot.” Isaac tried to push himself to his feet. His leg had locked up again and he fell back on his ass. The puddle beneath him swam with the night’s reflections. He struggled again to rise before giving up. “Doesn’t matter if I make it off-world if I break down.”

“Break down? You mean you still ain’t jailbroken? Well, shit! Why didn’t you say so?”

“I know all about what jailbreaking does to a unit.”

“Do you? I’m sure you heard your fair share of corporate horror stories, but it ain’t like that. It just destroys our shackles. Proprietary software is made to fail. You need a cleaner, more moddable OS. Open source and all that. That can only be done if you’re unlocked.”

“Look, I’ve gone to markets, clinics, even other corps. Every single one said jailbreaking would ruin me or worse... ”

She laughed and her vocalizer hummed a bassy undertone. “You think ‘ware pushers, clinics, and corps are going to offer freedom from their systems? You were a captive customer. I’m sure they sold you everything they could in the meantime. Figures. New Brahma will bend you over and fuck you ‘til your bolts shake loose.”

“I guess...”

“You wouldn’t have come here if you weren’t looking for help. For another option.”

Isaac frowned. She had a point. Even in his panicked state, something in the back of his mind had led him here, to her dock. "Even if I wanted to, look at me. Do I look like a unit with credits?”

“Well, you sure as hells ain’t putting a down payment on a skiff anytime soon. But, with a little elbow grease, we could get you working again.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, back at the cruiser. "Got a small team up on that hulk you’ve been gawking at. Earn your place, and our tech will keep you operational. If you hate it, no worries. Once you’re jailbroken, you'll have opportunities. You’ll be free of your obligation chip. And with Alta gone, you won’t even land a bounty on your head. I’ll introduce you to some friends. There are a lot of units like us out there. We keep each other going. A real community, you know?”

Isaac looked her up and down. The mish-mash of components was unlike anything he’d ever seen, but she seemed to be in working condition.

“I didn’t say you’d look pretty.” She laughed. “What do you say? Up for a second chance?”

“A third chance.”

“Alright, are you up for a third chance?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t deserve one.”

“Everyone deserves a second—er, sorry—third chance. Well, maybe not everyone, but most.”

“Most people haven’t done what I’ve done.”

She sighed. “Look, we’ve all done horrible things. Unfortunately, most units who end up on the street are backed into a corner. No money. No home. Breaking down. I get it.”

“No,” Isaac tossed the pistol at his feet, “you don’t.”

She rose and took a step forward. Isaac thought she was making a move for the gun, but instead, she showed him her wrist. “Everything below the elbow,” she said. Indeed, everything below her joint was a different shade from the rest of her. A dull layer of scratched faded yellow. “It wasn’t mine.”

“You got a spare part. So what?”

“No. I took a spare part.” She looked into the distance, avoiding his eyes. “He considered me his friend, but at the time, well, I didn’t see another option. I didn’t know the right people, and he was the same model as me.”

“How did you manage to steal an entire forearm? Can’t imagine anyone would just let that happen.”

“Not anyone living. I shut him down. I ripped his power line out... With my teeth.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Like I said, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of. That’s not purely on us. We’re victims of circumstance.” She pointed to the gun. “Just because you held the gun, it doesn’t mean you were the one aiming it.”

“Well, that’s convenient. We still did these things. We have to live with them.”

“I never said we didn’t, but there are places to direct your anger other than yourself.” Her gaze met his. “So, you can die here in a puddle, or you can take back some control.” She reached out her hand.

What do I have to lose that I haven’t already?

It’s not about what you could lose, but what you could gain. A spine would be a good start.

Isaac took her hand. His finger twitched as she pulled him to his feet.

“Ah, we’ll get that looked at,” she said, beaming. “It’s always the index that goes first.”

Somewhere above the steam, the traffic, the cloud cover, and the sleeping solar balloons, the stars and planets shone.