When This is All That's Left

The strobe lights rove over the dark walls, exposing neon words spray-painted onto the walls a millennium ago. Gang signs and slang that no one can even recognize anymore. A heavy bass drowns out the words--if there are any--to the song that is playing. Each thump of music reverberates throughout her entire being. Every pulse shakes a bit more of the settled ash and dust free. The air is cloudy, creating almost an ethereal glow to the club.

The room is full, more so than usual. The stench of meat, of hot sweaty bodies is palpable. It would seem that those who have nothing left in their pockets are the only ones who thought they could spend it.

Tips will not be good tonight.

Her metallic eyes roam the room, avoiding most. Searching out a suitable buyer. But no one is looking in her direction. After all, she can only fulfill the needs of specific clientele.

With one clean sweep she swipes up her hair and twirls it into a chignon to help expose her long slim neck. She slides a leg out of the slit on the side of her floor length dress so the chrome will catch the lighting. This is the most she is willing to offer, the rest will only be shown after a request for a private show.

After exposing her brightly polished leg, it doesn't take long for a customer to approach. He has older model parts, the gently whirring of cooling fans as he moves. Not completely ideal, but just because he doesn't have updated parts doesn't mean he doesn't have money. Sometimes the original or old-school models were more impressive and durable. Newer models need constant upkeep and updates.

She would know.

Without a word, she slowly spins away from him and saunters to her room. There is no need to look to see if he is following. She can hear him.

With a small flick of the wrist, she holds the blood red satin curtain to the side and motions for him to enter.

A sharp crisp scent of fresh pine follows him as he enters along with the soft hum of his twisting gears. He wears a sleeveless shirt to show off the wrist to shoulder gears on his left arm. It's not the brilliant platinum of the updated models but the gorgeous industrial glaze of burnished steel. Not quite silver. Not quite bronzed. That style has been out for years, but it's still just as exquisite, as desirable. The only reason she abandoned her love for the esthetic was because customers went for the newer, shinier editions.

The curtain billows shut behind them, cocooning them in a dimly lit, muffled room.

The walls are plain, a deep rouge with small orbs of light. In the middle of the room is a small stage platform and a bed just beyond that obscured in the shadows of the room. Facing the stage is a loveseat sofa, black and fading grey in the middle from being used.

He takes the seat as she takes the two small steps to the stage, shedding her arm-length gloves as she goes to expose her liquid silver encased forearms and biceps. This is a prototype edition, hasn't even hit the market yet. Luckily, being untested, it was a free upgrade. She could have elected to have her whole body incased it in, to replace all of the old parts with these new shimmering parts that look alive, but not knowing how her body would respond--or more accurately the buyers--she settled to only try her arms.

She has found this job easier if she avoids their stares, their carnal hunger burning through their eyes. With one leg stretched out, showing through the slit on the side of her dress, she bends at the waste and carefully grabs the zipper at the top of slit and pulls it up exposing the inner curve of her hip then the metallic length of her abdomen and up until the zipper comes apart, where the dress splits.

With the briefest of flicks of the eyes, she makes sure he is watching and releases the dress. It flutters to the floor with a whisper and then she stands before him naked. She slowly runs her gleaming fingers over the smooth pale flesh of her breasts, her nipples drawn to dark hard points from the sudden chill. Her fingers trail down her unblemished abdomen to her navel then down to her cleanly waxed folds.

Her torso, mouth, vagina and anus are the only parts of her that have not gone under some form of modification. The majority of the buyers prefer their women new and modified and constantly completely upgraded but some still crave the soft warm supple flesh of a woman.

As she continues to slowly massage her round breasts, pinching her nipples between her chilled metallic fingers to keep them hard; he unzips his pants and pulls out his hardening penis. Slowly pumping his shaft to the same pace that she rounds her breasts.

Despite her best efforts, her eyes raise and match his. He's staring back. Holding her gaze as if there is nothing else in the world. She wonders if he can tell the synthetic from the real on her face. If he knows that her left eye has night and infrared vision, that her nose has been reshaped and modified over the course of multiple procedures to compensate for her manufactured lungs that filter the polluted air.

"Get on the bed." He demands, his voice rough with arousal.

Never turning her back to him, she carefully backs up to the bed and lowers herself to the mattress.

With determined steps he walks toward her, stroking himself, eyes never leaving her plump naked flesh.

If her heart were an organic organ it would be racing as she leans back and he straddles her stomach. She reaches up, taking his throbbing member between her cool fingers. A shiver ripples through his body at her touch, his breathes coming in sharper.

His fingers are rough, surprisingly still flesh and bone, as they caress her swollen breasts. She can't help but moan softly at his touch, this being one of the very few body parts that she still has sensation in. And it's even more arousing that he's taking his time, that he's using just enough force that it hasn't completely staunched out the pleasure.

Up close he looks familiar, so much so that she feels like she should be able to place him, but can't. Perhaps he is a past client. It wouldn't be unusual for him to be a repeat buyer. She can now see that he is still mostly man. His face, entire right arm and hands are still flesh. Only his left leg feels solid enough to be metal. It's as if he couldn't decide which parts he wanted repaired. Or rather didn't have a choice. She wonders if he might have been a solider before. Perhaps he was even on the frontlines of the invasion force. Why--

She is ripped away from her thoughts as his fingers slide inward. Outlining the only part on her chest that isn't skin. His brow furrows as he studies the small heart-shaped locket locked into her breast bone, directly between her breasts.

"Stop." She tries to push his hand away, but he ignores her with a new set determination.

Frantic, she squirms under the weight of him, trying to wriggle herself free.

"That's not for show. Please. Stop!"

He takes both of her wrists in his hands before clutching them tightly in one fist over her head. His thighs tighten on either side of her waist to keep her in place as he uses the thumb nail on his free hand to pop the locket free from it's spot.

She screams, an incoherent heart breaking sound as he flicks it open. This simply act causing her to feel more exposed than she ever has.

Shock smears itself across his face as he stares at the photos inside then back up to her face, instantly letting go of her hands and stumbling off of her.

Fumbling unsteady fingers desperately clutch onto the locket as she scoots back on the bed until her back presses firmly against the wall, putting as much space between them as possible.

"Sonya?" He croaks out, eyes burning red while tears fill to the brims. Wobbly legs bring him to his news"...you're alive?"

Confused, she looks down into the locket. Seeing two faces that they told her she once knew but can no longer recollect. On the left side is a picture of herself, or at least who she used to be before all of the modifications. A young woman with freckles and thick dark hair and even darker eyes to match. On the right side is a picture of a young man with dark hair and light, kind eyes.

The same man standing in the room.