A Second Chance?

An arm sticks out from the rubble, its twisted hand reaching towards the sky, a slim gold chain knotted around its index and middle fingers. A heart-shaped locket swings from the chain, half melted from the nuclear bombings, solidified drops of metal drooping to the ground like frozen tears.

I stare at the ravaged arm. I can’t help but be entranced; the once sleek metal skin is pocked and burned black. I look down at my own arms, at their silvery sheen. How had I come out of the bombings so unscathed, so pristine? I was built around the same time as the droid buried in the rubble, according to my recognition program blaring in my ear, and yet the bombs did nothing to me.

I look again at the destroyed arm. The wind teases at the locket, pushes it against the back of the mottled hand. My recognition system pipes up louder.

LOCKET OWNED BY H.G REVERY. PROCESSING: H.G REVERY WAS REPORTED DECEASED 489.32 HOURS AGO. PROCESSING: H.G REVERY WAS AN UNKNOWN HUMAN TO THIS UNIT. SUGGESTION: TAKE LOCKET TO NEAREST RELATIVE.

I reach up and unwind the chain from the arm. I don't recall much before the bombings (MEMORY STATUS: CORRUPTED. SUGGESTION: SEE ANDROID MECHANIC IMMEDIATELY), but at the mention of humans, a face flashes in my mind. Swarthy skin, plump lips glistening with drool, thin hair slapped on top of a squarish head. An odd sensation flows through me; I do not like this face.

I pause. Am I meant to feel such a thing as dislike? The locket, now clasped firmly in my hand, is cold. I recall that sensation drives are normal, but emotions?

The bright voice in my head speaks up. INQUIRY: DO ANDROIDS FEEL EMOTIONS? ANSWER: NEGATIVE. INQUIRY: WHY DOES THIS ANDROID FEEL? ANSWER: UNKNOWN. SUGGESTION: SEE ANDROID MECHANIC IMMEDIATELY.

I sift through the multitude of programs installed in my mind. I shush my internal voice and run my selected software; a blue-tinged scan ripples in my vision. It drapes across the tumbled buildings and blasted pavement that makes up the city ruins I am standing in.

ANALYSIS: NO HUMAN LIFE DETECTED.

The only memory that's clear in my mind is one of fire, scorching hot and terrible, and wind as strong as unbending metal. Of course no life was detected—not on the surface, anyway.

I pick my way through devastation. There should be more androids at least. I select a different analysis program. A green scan wipes across the ruins.

ANALYSIS: ONE FUNCTIONING ANDROID DETECTED. DISTANCE: 5.3 KILOMETERS EAST.

Only one? I shift direction and begin trekking east, skirting around crumbled sections of the road. I glance up at the sky. It's a pained orange, expanse rudely interrupted by a glaring sun. I tap into my settings and lower my temperature sensitivity.

An item glints to my left. I look over, curious, and stop in my tracks.

A metalwork rose is tucked between a blown tire and a melted newspaper stand. Its ruddy petals wink in the sun, and it tosses me into a memory.

“I am Unit AE456. How may I be of service?”

I stand in front of a young girl, whose chestnut hair is twisted into a braid. She regards me with eyes as black as my vision when I am powered down. She is frowning.

“Did Dad wipe your memories again? Your name is Vee, not that stupid factory label.”

Vee? “I do not understand your request,” I tell her.

She shakes her head and reaches into the front pocket of her jeans. She pulls out a metalwork rose. “Do you remember this? Everyone has one these days, but this one is special. It’s the one you gave me after we had so much fun at the amusement park.”

I stare at the rose. Its petals are a deep red. Inscribed on the edge of one is a small line of text: MANUFACTURED IN 2087. FACTORY 333. BATCH 6861.

“Do you remember, Vee?” The girl whispers.

I plummet back to myself. The girl is gone, and I am once more staring at the metalwork rose between the tire and newspaper stand. I kneel and gently pick up the flower. The inscription on it reads: MANUFACTURED IN 2088. FACTORY 329. BATCH 9876.

Not the same one, then. I keep it anyway and resume walking east.

I turn off my scent drives. There is a putrid stench coating the air, a blend of rotted meat and burning rubber. The wind that sighs through the ruins is gritty and hot, its breath unwelcome on my body. I lower my sensation sensitivity.

I pass a building that somehow survived the worst of the bombs. Its exterior is painted a cheery green, and its awning is a garish yellow, splashed with font that declares it “The Loco Taco.”

I fall once more into memory.

The girl’s face is pale. She is leaning into me, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. We are standing outside her favourite take-out place, an unwrapped burrito forgotten in her hand.

“I don’t feel so great, Vee,” she rasps. A sheen of sweat coats her forehead. I wipe it away with a napkin.

“You should start your chemo treatments,” I tell her. Concern blooms in my chest but I stay calm. I do not wish to alarm her.

Her eyes flash and she glares at me. “No. We’ve been over this.” She is trembling. Is she cold? I wrap my arms around her and increase my body temperature levels. Her eyes close as she continues to speak, “Ma did chemo, and it didn’t help her. It won’t help me, either.”

Sorrow sluices through me and I fight the urge to force her to go into treatment, to disregard her wishes and save her life…

…this time, returning from my memory is painful. My entire body is in a panic. I turn off multiple systems in order to stop myself from running.

I walk carefully away from the taco place. I round a bend and come across a fallen billboard; its advertisement is tattered but still legible. Two androids smiling out at the world, their heads glowing. The billboard announces a new program, one that allows the owner to input uniquely created personalities that could reflect the essence of any living person.

Warning bells ring in my mind. Another memory tugs at me, sharp and incessant, but I don’t want to see, I don’t want—

—the girl’s father sits on the couch and folds his hands in his lap. His thin hair is greased back in an attempt to look presentable, but instead he has only managed to make his squarish head even more pronounced. He licks already moist lips.

“Isla has died,” he says slowly. Shock slams into me. No, she can't be dead. I was with her last night. After a small episode, she was able to finish her food and we walked home without any further incident.

“I do not understand—”

He interrupts me. “Of course you don’t understand. You’re a damn robot,” he licks his lips again. There is a light in his eyes that I don’t trust. “But I have an idea,” he whispers. He unclasps his hands and reaches into his suit pocket. He takes out a small hard drive. “I managed to input most of her data into this. It was hard, and I think it hurt…but she was already in pain, and I needed to do it.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. I do not know the limits of human science. Does he mean he transferred her consciousness into that little stick? Frail Isla, locked inside a hard drive?

Her father stands and makes his way towards me. “I just need to install the new program that was rolled out the other day,” he breathes. “And then I can upload Isla into you.”

Wait, what? I step back. “I do not know what you mean,” I say to him. I inch towards the door.

He frowns. “I forgot, she broke you again. She refused to believe that androids should not feel anything but obedience. Unit AE456, power off.”

Unit AE456? But my name is V—

The memory cuts off. I bolt.

I fly through the ruins, eyes refusing to look at anything but straight ahead. I don't want anymore memories.

But did he succeed? Am I Isla, or am I Vee? I skid to a halt and demand a full system scan.

SCANNING: 0% COMPLETE.

Something is moving a few feet ahead of me.

SCANNING: 5% COMPLETE.

It is another android. It's built male and is also unscathed. He looks at me with blue eyes.

SCANNING: 15% COMPLETE.

Blue eyes? But all androids are supposed to have green eyes.

SCANNING: 30% COMPLETE.

He strides over, a hopeful smile stretching his metal face.

SCANNING: 45% COMPLETE.

When he reaches me, he holds out a hand.

SCANNING: 66% COMPLETE.

“You also managed to find one of the new bodies!” He laughs.

SCANNING: 70% COMPLETE.

“It doesn’t look like anyone else managed to transfer. So many souls lost,” he shakes his head.

SCANNING: 85% COMPLETE.

He squints at me. “You…are a human, right? Someone who managed to upload into a droid?”

SCANNING: 90% COMPLETE.

Wariness has settled onto his features.

SCANNING: 100% COMPLETE. STATUS: CURRENTLY INTEGRATING NEW CONSCIOUSNESS INTO DATABASE. WELCOME, ISLA.

I remember. A hospital bed. Terrible pain. My father looming over me with a needle, a manic look in his face. Then waking up in the body of Vee, my android companion for two years. I had changed her settings so she could properly live, a human soul in a robot body. I had always believed that consciousness was not limited to beings of flesh and blood.

And now here I am, a true human soul trapped in a vessel of computer chips and metal.

I glance down at the locket in my hand. I remember that I had had a similar one, back when my mother was still alive. I had tossed it into the river the morning she died.

“I’m human,” I assure the other android. I frown. “What I don’t understand is how we survived the bombings.”

“Oh. Well, these bodies are top of the line. Made of some rare material. Only 2% of all androids were ever built with the stuff.”

I try to remember what happened to my father, but I come up blank. I assume he didn't survive.

“I think we’re the only two in this city,” I tell the male android. “My name is Isla. What’s yours?”

His smile sharpens, edged like a knife. His eyes shift from blue to an eerie white. They dig into me. I can’t move my limbs, I can’t talk. There's an electric current rippling along my limbs, and chips of metal fall from my skin like rain.

“It’s a pity I’ve managed to wipe out most of the survivors so quickly,” he tells me conversationally as he picks up a brick. “I’m going to be fairly bored after this.”

I can’t respond to him. All I can do is watch as he steps closer and smashes the brick into my face.

The last thing I see is the locket tumble from my malfunctioning fingers.

WARNING: SYSTEM TRAUMA. WARNING: SHIELD WEAKENED BY UNKNOWN CURRENT OF ENERGY. WARN—