Machine Man (serial)

My heart thumped as I approached the Repository. I was being silly: my parts would still be there, of course they would. The alternative was, what, that Cassandra Cautery had stolen them away to trial in other people? That was ridiculous. Even if that fitted into her grand corporate plan, I refused to believe she would do it. Because they were mine. They were my parts.

I reached the door and fumbled for my card. My biological fingers shook. Finally I got the card into the slot and swiped.

The lock blinked red. This was such a shock that I stood there for a moment, staring at it. This lock had never shown me red, ever. There was no reason for it. It was my room. It was where I kept my parts.

A groan slipped out of my mouth, sounding like it came from someone else. I tried the card again. Red. Red. Red.

I couldn’t breathe. A roaring grew in my ears, like a waterfall. My vision flared white. I grabbed at the wall for balance. Then I laughed giddily, because of course I was in the Contours, which would keep me upright whether I was conscious or not, not like treacherous meat legs, and then I did start to faint, and hit my skull on the wall. “Ow,” I said, and realized I was crying; or, at least, that there was salty water on my cheeks, and the bottom-line was that I needed to get into the Repository right away to see if my parts were okay.

I kicked the door. It flew off its hinges and broke against the far wall. I had kicked it pretty hard. I was not thinking clearly. I walked into the Repository and everything was all right, because surrounding me were the gleaming steel shelves, lined with prosthetics. I started to laugh. I had been silly. It was going to be hard to explain this door.

Then my stomach clenched. There was a gap. A space, where none should exist. My arms were missing. And not in the good way.

67.