Machine Man (serial)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I stopped feeling sorry for myself when I got off the table and saw the man on the tiles. He was slumped against the far wall, his green scrubs speckled dark down the front. His lips were very red. When he saw me, he blinked once, slowly.

I was seven feet tall, wearing titanium legs. I had a reactor in my abdomen. When I had swung my legs off the table, they moved soundlessly, and when the hooves touched the floor, some tiny part of them fired downward and locked there with a click. That was new. When I turned, my torso swiveled in multiple ring-sections. When water droplets hit my metal skin, they made a sound like: punk.

“Are you okay?” I said. “What can I do?” I already suspected the answer was nothing. If our positions were reversed, maybe this guy could help me: cut me open, find whichever internal organs were crushed or torn. Except I wasn’t sure I still had much in the way of internal organs. Not biological ones, at least. If I was in this guy’s position, I would need a mechanic. So maybe neither of us could help the other. But as I watched his chest hitch and fall, I no longer felt so bad being metal.

149.