Machine Man (serial)

With my excess arm out of the way, I was able to clamp shut the artery. I’ll spare you the specifics. Let’s just say it was a temporary solution involving my fingers. I then spent the next forty minutes getting off the table. It took this long because I had to do everything with my mouth. First I pulled back the surgical cloth with my teeth. At this point I gained a better appreciation of why Better Future test subjects were having psychological problems. Because suddenly, despite everything I’d ever thought, I wanted to let go of my artery and die.

My body ended at the sternum. I couldn’t tell exactly where. I was wrapped in a flexible plastic-silicon bandage: above this was flesh and below was metal. The abdomen unit I’d inspected earlier was probably in there, but if so it was encased in silver-black titanium. Etched into the metal where my belly button should be was a circular design I recognized even upside down as a Better Future logo. My hips were multi-axis servo-magnetics. My legs were black Contour Threes.

I was going to vomit. Some part of me that had been silent a long time shrieked out a violent mental rejection: this should not be. I closed my eyes and thought about Lola.

I was weakening. I had to forget about who or what I was and concentrate on staying alive. That meant getting off this table. I forced myself to look again and eventually I spotted it: a thick plastic handle jutting out of my metal side that didn’t look like it belonged. What it looked like was a damper: a safety switch that prevented the abdomen from powering up.

I waited until I was sure I had no better options. Then I let go of my artery, grabbed at the handle, and pulled. It put up a fight, but I got it. Something clicked. I heard a high-pitched whine, and simultaneously a deep hum. I felt warmth. And I began to cry, because now I was going to live.

148.