Itâs a small jog around the alleyway, cramped and stuffy as it is, and the girl peeped at the busy street, at the people passing by with almost frantic steps while their heads flicked side to side, or peered down at their cell phones. No one seemed to notice her, which was really the best scenario she could hope for.Â
She turns, creeping along the alley, picking her steps carefully over bits of unidentified litter and bits of paper and metal. Her light pink sneakers are going to be streaked with filth, along with her matching pink socks! The ones with frill at the end!
So what if she was fourteen? Those were nice socks!
âI think weâre safe,â she said at last, coming to a pause by a dumpster. Not that she was talking to the dumpster, of course; rather, she was addressing the figure curled on the other side of it. And since she couldnât see him from her current position, she had to hold her breath and skitter around the dumpster, giving it wide berth, and stopping to tap the man who was huddled just beside it.
âThis smells,â she complains, tugging on the creamy cardigan that he wore over his light blue t-shirt.
For a moment, he doesnât respond, electing to keep his head buried in his arms, propped up on his knees in a very uncomfortable-looking, ball-like position. But after she tugs a bit more, he finally shifts, pulling his face out of his arms so she could see more than the messy curls piled on top of his head. His eyes gleamed, a bright, iridescent shade of colors that spilled into his cheeks and down his neck, lighting up where major veins mightâve been if he had blood.Â
â...Whatâs going on?â he finally prompts. The girl, lost in the light show, didnât answer for a moment.Â
âWeâre safe for now,â she says, shaking her head and snapping back to him. Odd, barefooted android..
âThough I think youâll have to lose the shirt. Doesnât make sense to go around wearing the logo of the place we just broke out of on your chest.â
Lyda could be snarky when she chose, which was more often than the android often felt was necessary. He sighs out, wiggling his fingers and tapping them together with deliberate motions. Lyda watches him a moment.
âSo..youâve really never had fingers or feet or..any of-..â she motions to his body, â-..this..before today?â
The android responds with a shrug and a miserable nod, letting his head droop again.Â
He curls his fists, feeling the odd, prickling sensations of pain that run across his palms when his nails begin digging into the artificial flesh. He just..he wants his house back! His house and his family and his daily routine and his familiar, body-less circuitry which had been built right into his house-!
â..So we gotta go now. Okay? Android? You listening?â
He blinks, nodding and moving to stand.Â
âYou didnât hear anything I just said,â Lyda crosses her arms up at him. Heâs..rather tall. Not that height had mattered in the past.
Lyda huffs out, leading him to the edge of the alleyway. As soon as he sees the people walking by, though, he shrinks back.Â
âWe gotta go, Android,â she huffs again, grabbing one of his hands. Theyâre so cold! Â
âIf we donât, then youâll run outta charge or something. Your new bodyâll shut down after some time, so we gotta find you a safe place before that happens.â
Android blinks his eyes at her, wide and bright and very much terrified. Shut..shut down? That sounds awful!
âAlso..â she pauses to look him up and down again. â...You need a name. We canât just call you...Android...around other people.â
Lyda peeks out, glancing around.
âWe could call you...uh...â
Across the street, a small vintage shop stands, with a steady stream of people coming in-and-out. In the front window, a few large signs are on display: the old metal ones, a few with flashing lights, even. One of them had famous names of New York cities plastered across a white, metal background in huge, black lettering. Â
â....How about..uh..Harlem?â
The Android blinks, looking at her with a curious look.
âHar..lem..â he mimics. It tastes odd, it sounds odd, and he doesnât like the way all his new insides feel when he says it.
âMhm. Harlem and Lyda.â
She grabs his hand again and gives it a tug.
âNo oneâll even ask. Now. Letâs get you a charger.â