Eden

I push past him to take the lead, twisting the wig around on my head. It barely fits with all the hair piled up under it. Tucking away a few black strands, I lead us back out into the street, making sure my movements are rigid again, that my feet fall heavily and I don't breathe too loudly.

Here, the sky doesn't exist. Instead, we have clouds and smog that are tinted red from the lights. It's daylight, even in the dead of night. While time ceases to exist in terms of day and night, the machines continue to run on a human schedule.

We created them after all. Why shouldn't they act like us?

In many ways, life continues on as it did when humans roamed the streets. The machines work all hours of the day, crowding the streets even after the sun sets above the angry clouds with faces buried in their tablets and other communication devices. Very few of them talk face to face with other machines, choosing instead to talk over the communication devices linked into their ears. Occasionally, one glances up at the billboards, but only for a moment. Zombies come to mind when I look at them, there physically but not really present.

"Your dress is exquisite."

The sharp sound of something talking to me brings my attention away from the black pavement. In front of me stands a cybernetic organism - a cyborg - dressed in a bright pink flat outfit. It doesn't show any form at all, falling off her shoulders with the straightness of a needle.

In every possible way, she looks exactly like a human, only more dramatic. Her skin bears the same tint as my own but is smooth and hairless. The lines of her face curve with artistic grace, as if molded by a world renowned potter. Every eyelash separates from the others with no mistake and frame eyes that serve as the only difference between the two of us. Where my irises are a shade of blue that puts the sky to shame, hers are silver and mechanical. Gears and machinery make up the bulk of the iris and pupil. They contract in rapid succession as she screenshots my dress. It resembles a metal camera lense, glazed over by lubrication.

I glance down at myself and smile.

"Thank you," I say in the well-rehearsed accent of the cyborgs.

"Which machine designed it? I will contact its origin machine," she continues. Every word is meticulously pronounced, leaving no room for emotion. While she's telling me how much she loves the dress, her eyes are empty and hollow. There's a smile on her face, but she shows none of her porcelain teeth.

"Machine 2043," I rattle off, keeping the smile on my face but careful not to show too much emotion. I committed the number to memory long ago, just in case a cyber ever asked. Machine 2043 actually does create clothes, or at least it used to.

"Registered," she confirms, nodding as she brushes past me.

I hurry on, the three following me.

"Machine?"

It's the woman again. I blink hard and fight the urge to groan.

"Yes?"

"Your skin covering," she says, eyes reflecting the light of the advertisements. "Where was it manufactured? It is of top quality."

I swallow, hesitating. What sort of service machines make skin coverings? I memorized most service machine extensions. The two thousands make clothing and other textile products. The six thousands make cars and other transportation devices. Skin coverings, though?

The cybernetics' obsession with becoming more human has always struck me as odd. They exist with every possible advantage over humans, created in a way that they're immortal. They move faster than humans when called to, and they hear with ears of a hawk.

Yet, they are still fascinated with becoming more human, from designing skin covers that seem more human-like to manufacturing synthetic hair fibers of countless shades.

Instead of answering, I turn and hurry away. She will report my profile to the Artificial Intelligence machines for suspicious behavior. She's likely already taken a snapshot of me. If I have anything to do with it, though, I won't be seen in this disguise ever again.

We walk on, weaving in and out of the never-ending streams of cyborgs. Occasionally, I will spot an AI perched high above the crowd. The difference between the cybernetics and the AI is shocking to me, even after seeing them so many times. AI don't even attempt to look like humans. Their outer cover is thin, lightweight, and bulletproof foam, usually white or silver. They have one solid arm, with a working hand, and the other arm is a multi-use tool that switches between their stun gun, regular gun, and other tools.

The cyborgs bustling around us talk in hushed whispers, and I catch snippets of conversations in English.

"Did you hear the alarm?" one passing male asks, and I strain to hear his companion's reply.

"Yes. It means there are humans around."

"Would we not see them?"

"They are in disguise. Did you not see the image sent out by the artificials? I will share it with you now."

I grab Linux by the arm, so tight that he yelps. A few machines glance at us, but I let go of him quickly, flattening my expression.

"What?" he snaps when we are past the machines that heard him react.

"They took a snapshot of us," I whisper, walking close to him. "They are sharing it through the cloud now."

The air around us changes color suddenly as the billboards flashing overhead change. I look up. What used to be an advertisement for the new chemical solution for human-like hair is now a bright flashing picture of me, disgusting blonde wig and all. I'm on my hands and knees, staring at the body of the girl who was paralyzed.

All around us, the machines stop to look, erupting into unintelligible chirping and chattering. Linux takes one look at the screen and goes white.

I roll my eyes and jerk him into an alley. Behind us, I hear the machines begin to move again, still talking, but at least they are in motion.

"We stick to the alleys," I mumble. "In and out this time. No detours or splitting up. We need to get back underground."

He nods, and we are moving again, able to relax in the shadows of the buildings. Nothing but rats and loose trash greet us here. The only thing we have to fear here is the AI that patrol the skies, but our disguises cover us from that angle. When one flies over, Linux shoves me to the side before we continue forward.

"Here, Linux," I say a few minutes later, pointing at a large wooden door. Linux looks at it, and then turns and holds a hand out for me.

I pull a bobby pin out of my wig and put it into his palm. The paint is coming off, revealing the wood underneath. He sticks his tongue out as he works, and I mimic him. Mine dries out in the cold air around us. I tap my foot, and Linux reaches back and punches me in the shin.

"God, Linux," I hiss, holding my leg.

"Patience," he whispers, listening as the lock finally clicks. "Do you have any?"

He stands, pushing open the door but waiting for me to walk in. With a roll of my eyes, I walk in. Linux follows, shutting the door behind him. I wait for a minute, half expecting the automatic lights to come on. When they don't, I fumble on the wall for a switch.

When I find it, the lights illuminate the room, casting eerie shadows off the silver boxes.

Unlike the first warehouse we went to, these boxes don't shine. Humidity has done work on them, and they are rusting on the corners, tarnished from years of being kept in the same room. This is where we will find what we need. I just hope the boxes are airtight.

"No splitting up," I growl as Linux walks past me. "We stay together and look."

Up and down the aisles we walk, stopping several times to hack a lock and go through the contents. There are old guns here, along with boxes and boxes of ammunition and medicine. I assume it was all discarded when Luddites stopped being a real threat, which was pretty early on in the machine's rise to power. Humans didn't stand a chance when the thing that their lives revolved around began to fight back.

Linux kneels down to inspect an older box with a basic electronic lock, but the light blinks red twice. He swears.

"What's wrong?" I whisper, kneeling down beside him.

"The code's different," he mumbles. "I only get one more try before the alarm sounds."

"Then you had better get it right."

He cuts his eyes at me, takes a deep breath, and keys in a different code.

The light blinks red again, and the ear splitting alarm rips through the room.

Linux covers his ears with his hands as I drag him to his feet.

"Thirty seconds," I scream at Linux, pointing at the backdoor. He nods, taking off towards it.

"Let's go!" Linux yells at me, as he pushes open the back door.

I turn to follow when the front door swings open, and the bird-like language of the AI fill the space. My calm demeanor evaporates, fear filling my veins as I run for the back door.

They are already firing, though. One bullet bounces off the boxes beside me. Another hits my bag. I can feel the electricity run through the material, burning my shoulder. It's enough to stun me but not slow me down. Linux has the door open, and I jump out, landing on all fours.

Linux grabs me by the arm, pulling me up.

"That wooden door isn't going to stop them," he says, voice quivering.

I watch the bullets hit the door, each one splintering the wood a little more. I count them. One, two, three, four, five. The door shatters, and I cover my head with my hands.

The AI join us out in the alley, their massive white bodies towering over us. It's the first time since the accident I've been this close to one of them. I can see the texture of the corkboard foam they are made out of, hear the inner workings of the machinery whirring beneath. Their eyes focus in and out like camera lenses, zeroing in on us, sizing us up.

I'm fourteen again, cornered in the alley with my parents.

Frozen in a mixture of horror and depression, I can't move as they approach us, even if Linux is wailing behind me.

What would Cyrus do?

Two years ago, Cyrus reached into my parents' bags, finding the grenade Luddites always keep with them. He denoted that bomb, throwing it directly between the two machines that had just shot our parents. Then, he pulled me into the manhole, covering my head as the explosion shook the ground around us.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for my grenade, tugging at the pin as I push Linux back towards the access hole I know is nearby.

"Not this time," I mumble, throwing the green explosive towards the two AI. It bounces off one's chest, settling on the ground in front of them. They look down at it, and I take the chance to sprint away, all but dragging Linux behind me.

"How long does that take?" Linux asks, his hand shaking in mine.

"Ten," I whisper, breathless.

"Ten what?"

"Eight... Seven... Six..."

I continue to count as I jerk open the manhole cover, revealing the bottomless black hole and ladder. Linux jumps in without hesitation, and I follow. In the darkness, I reach 'one', and everything around us erupts into chaos.

A/N: There's the entire first chapter to get you started! I'll upload twice a week, like I used to, since this is already a completed project for me. Saturdays and Wednesdays! Sound good? And for old times' sake: A QUESTION!! 

Do you think you would be able to do Eden's job? Do you already have a favorite character-- Eden or Linux?