Machine Man (serial)

“You should have been tapering the drugs,” said Angelica, drawing clear liquid into the syringe. “There’s no reason to still be on such a high level. Who’s your doctor at the company?”

“I am.” I smiled at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I felt terrific. Angelica hadn’t injected me yet, but I was high on anticipation. My body and I were in the roller coaster car, ratcheting up the slope.

“That’s not right. These are addictive.”

“Addiction,” I said. “That’s, what, low levels of dopamine in the brain? I can fix that.”

She paused. “What?”

“Fix my brain. This isn’t just about legs and a few fingers. This is a whole-body transformation project. What I’ve got planned…” I trailed off, because Angelica was no longer looking like she was about to inject me. “Are you—”

“You plan further amputations.”

“Of course I do.” I was beginning to sweat. “Can you please—”

Angelica walked over and closed the bathroom door. Then she just stood there. My brain began to suggest ways of getting that syringe out of her hand without breaking it. “To improve yourself, is that it? Replace your biological organs with superior alternatives?”

I licked my lips. “That’s right.”

“Take a look at yourself. You’re addicted to narcotics. Last night you woke screaming because you couldn’t sleep without your prosthetics. This is self-improvement? No. You’re not making yourself better. You’re getting worse.”

My legs stepped toward her. Angelica’s eyes widened. So did mine, because I hadn’t quite intended that. All I could think about was getting that syringe.

“You’re self-destructing,” said Angelica. “Literally.” She lowered her arm, as if to let the syringe fall to the tiles.

“Wait! Wait! I appreciate your concern, Angelica. But this has nothing to do with you. It’s my body. These are my decisions.”

“Oh, I don’t care about you. You can dice yourself into bite-sized pieces, for all I care. My concern is Lola.”

“Well, Lola’s fine. I can look after her. I already rescued her from—”

But Angelica was already shaking her head. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

“Then what?” I was beginning to panic. “What do you want to hear?”

“I want to hear,” said Angelica, “that you think she’s perfect just the way she is.”

112.