by SeventhAgent (me–story, writing) and NagaSleeps (story, art)
Inspired by the works of Ridley Scott and Phillip K. Dick
Nothing’s built to last anymore. My grandma (but I don’t have a grandma) used to talk about how her grandma’s stove was never replaced (the stove never existed), never even repaired (technically true), was barely even cleaned and it fired up without any trouble at all. Grandma’s one of those stock memories they give us Nobodies, natch, but there’s got to be some truth to that, right? Everything is faster. Clocks sell better when you need a new one every few ticks. Nobodies do too, but there are other ways they get rid of us. Less obvious ways.
Gotta stop that robot rebellion somehow.
Anyway, I guess I wasn’t surprised when my Gogs went on the fritz only a year after I got them. Green static bars rolled up and down across my lenses, getting even worse whenever a notification popped up. Tried turning them off, tried turning them on. Nothing. Zip. Had to go bare-eyed into the street like some kind of caveman.
Nothing I could do but get a new pair. No way I could make money but take on another job and kill me some fellow robots.
“I thought you were done with that, Axel,” said Roxas. The two of us were sitting in our favorite booth in the Highcastle Diner, this lovely little grease-swamp to the south of Twilight Sprawl. Nice thing about Highcastle is that they serve Nobodies. Not everyone does. There are certain chemicals (really arbitrary ones) we can’t eat. Hamburgers are on the approved list. Life is therefore worth living.
“Did I say I was done with that?” I said.
“You thought I implied it.”
