CHAPTER 1: tests or tests

Two months prior, Ms. Hee gave notice that she would be out of country until Friday. She didn’t tell Tommy where she would be going or why, only stating that the front door shouldn’t be opened for anyone besides someone named Finian Yell.

She said that if he needed anything, he should call the neighbors first. Tommy nodded, but Ms. Hee didn’t see as she turned away and the door was closed shut. His lack of verbal acknowledgement would normally irritate her; he had said nothing all morning, deep in thought about what he was to do with his full week, alone. Exploring the city, he felt, was out of the question. It wasn’t allowed, but more than that, he was wary of the idea, having never gone out by himself. Guests weren't allowed either. And if guests weren't permitted, then they must be dangerous. Tommy had never been alone with another person besides Ms. Hee.

He had no hobbies. He wasn’t enrolled in school. What did he usually do besides help her with paperwork, chores, and appointments?

The door when opened swiftly once more, the intruding air creating waves in his white tee and revealing the woman’s return as she mumbled about nearly forgetting her second handgun, the one she kept under her pillow, and the silencer for it. She didn’t spare him a glance as she left the house the second time for that day. The sound of the door closing again seemed many times more permanent. Tommy moved to lock it, but it swung open again.

Ms. Hee looked him in the eyes. In her hand she offered a faded picture of young man with the same hair color as Tommy. He had a large grin on his face, suitcase in his hand, midst a crowd of people walking in the opposite direction. The man was holding up a hand gesture Tommy didn’t recognize. The picture itself looked as if it had been ripped in half and taped back together.

Ms. Hee told him Finian was six foot tall, an inch shorter than her, with blond hair and blue eyes. He would be coming sometime during the week to pick up three items, and she specified that they did not include a pair of flip flops. Accepting the picture, Tommy nodded, and Ms. Hee didn’t see that nod either as she jogged to her car. The sound of the door closing for the third time didn’t seem as permanent as the second, and Tommy’s mind was blank as he locked it.

At 9:37 PM, Tommy woke up after a fifty-nine hour sleep to the sound of fierce knocking on the door. Very impudent, Tommy noted. Is this what Finian Yell is like? Frowning unwillingly, he left the comfort of the living room rug and headed for the door. He felt more unbalanced than usual.

Tommy thought Ms. Hee, a venerable individual in the ACDH field, would have friends with better manners.

But it wasn’t a friend; the next words he heard belonged to a woman he didn’t know.

“Please, help! Please! Anyone!”

The shrieked words held him in place like a magnet. The feeling of locking up wasn’t an unfamiliar one, but this time it wasn't a drill. This was the real word and it had tangible consequences. Tommy couldn’t feel anything besides a sensation of needles piercing his temples while the shouting continued beyond the entrance.

It would be responsible to let her in; the general consensus in Anghangian society was that it was meritorious to help those in need.

It would be irresponsible to let her in; hosting guests was against Ms. Hee's previously established house rules.

Tommy compromised. He picked up his semi-automatic pistol from the kitchen table. No thoughts in were in his head as he walked to the door stiffly and let the woman in and the house's sovereign silence was evicted by the woman’s panting and coughing. He hastily shut the door and locked it as a cold night’s breeze made off with the warmth on right leg, and only now did Tommy notice it had been storming. On the horizon, lightning poked the top of the tallest building in Li-men city, a building whose purpose Tommy knew not. 'Anghang's most prized jewel,' Ms. Hee had once ambiguously described, breath bitter.

The woman didn't say a word as she balled herself up into a corner near one of Ms. Hee’s plants next to the door. She was shaking. Whimpering slightly, and crying, maybe; Tommy couldn’t see with her head down. Should he do anything? Get a blanket, get a glass of water? Was she falling asleep? The woman was unconscious before he could tell her, ‘good evening.’ How impertinent. First, the lady demands to be let in, doesn’t introduce herself, and then makes a mess on the floor with her muddy, naked feet. Tommy decided not to get her anything. He didn’t want dirt on the towels, only one cup was in the cupboards, and it was Ms. Hee’s favorite. If the woman wanted anything, she could ask. Hopefully she didn’t. Tommy had broken one rule already.

Maybe this was a test? Ms. Hee wouldn’t give him such a difficult test. But did he pass?

He turned to lock the front door. The next thing he felt was his right arm separating from his body.

The rain was pouring harder and louder every second. Wind rustling trees sounded like waves hitting the shore. Rain drops hitting the windows sounded like crinkling paper. Thunder shook the floorboards when it was nearby; farther away, it sounded like blood going through an artery and, sometimes, a tree snapping in half. He had never heard a storm so noisy. With a detective's unease he suspected that the roof would tear right off and take him with it, but now he was faced with a much more pressing matter.

Tommy’s face contorted into one of shame as he fell to the ground, right arm tumbling away from him. It took more effort than he thought to turn around to face the attacker.

“Your MU isn’t in your arm,” she mumbled. The half-naked woman stood over him, her left radius and ulna jutting out into a heated, sharpened blade. Contrastingly, Tommy’s arm socket had all of its wires spewed about.

In the distance, an explosion shook the tallest building in Li-men city.

Two helicopters fell out of the sky and exploded when they hit the ground. The entire scene lit the city up.

She was about to strike next, before he could aim his pistol. He rolled out of the way as the woman stumbled. Tommy kneed her in the jaw and teeth cracked. She caught his ankle and threw him to the ground. Out of swinging range, she pulled out a handgun holstered behind her thigh and took aim and fired. Arm unsteady midst the action, she would have missed hadn’t Tommy embraced the bullet, not allowing the house to suffer the damage. The woman, disappointed, hummed like a bass guitar. The hole only penetrated his artificial skin, and his first Casing ended its trajectory.

Just as she raised her arm to swing again, he pulled his leg towards him, yanking her forward. Tommy caught her throat and squeezed, climbing on top of her to hold down her bladed arm under his slippered foot; a pair of black slippers Ms. Hee, herself, had bought for him, and now he was using it most inappropriately.

The woman gasped, clawing at his arm with her other hand, but his synthetic skin couldn’t be cut that easily. She squirmed. Their eyes were locked when permanent stillness took over her. But Tommy tightened his grip to confirm her death, then pulled out her both her jugular veins like how one would remove a fly from their soup. Blood pooled at her nape, dripping onto the mahogany floor, and he dragged the welcome mat out of its path.

This was his second time seeing a dead body.

Where was the mop?

Columns of smoke were rising from Li-men city. Tommy didn’t want to involve himself in the situation. Regardless, leaving the house wasn't permitted. Perhaps the woman and the explosions were connected in some way? But she wasn’t a problem any longer.

The mop and bucket was in the back, next to the washing machine. As he strolled to the items, he ran through the procedure in his mind: water, soap, and bleach would suffice to clean the floor, and then a lighter and gas to burn the body in the basement furnace, and a bag to hide the remains. Hide the remains. Hide the remains. Hide the remains? Hide the remains, where?

There was a cargo train that traversed the entire rest of the prefecture. It took him a moment to join the two ideas: the train skirted through the woods behind the house at 3AM, and he would drop off the bagged remains then. Androids left no biological trace, so the body could not be pinned on him. This plan became cemented in his mind: clean the scene, burn the body, and the bones board the train at 3AM. He grabbed the mop.

Reporting the incident to law enforcement involved less hassle. 'I was defending myself,' he would say. But Ms. Hee would find out about it, for an interrogation would no doubt be deferred to the head of the house, the human owner of the two properties who had witnessed the death of a dainty and demented female cyborg. Tommy wouldn't let her find out. He had broken the rule by allowing someone in the house, and he didn't want to face punishment by her hands. With stiff, repetitive movements, he scrubbed away at the blood pool using a liquid mixture of soap and bleach, separating the mess into square foot sections until every section was clean. The body was discarded off to the side. Only in her death could he inspect her: brick red hair traveled down to her earlobe, eggshell colored skin was marred with bruises, and face had deep features, the area under her eyes a natural olive.

'Demented: adjective; driven to irrationality due to high emotional states,' is one of the definitions the Parker dictionary had provided him with. It was the correct word to use in this situation, albeit informal. The woman was demented. Or perhaps the cyborg was defected. What was her purpose on this night? She was looking for his Memory Unit. What for?

Tommy didn't have the capacity to seek out answers, nor ask the correct ones.

It was now 9:44 PM.

The woman and her gun was sealed tight in five black plastic bags. Enough so that the smell couldn’t diffuse, but not so much Ms. Hee would notice many were missing.

Tommy was unable to identify her. No internal ID, no model number, no seals, no brand marks. It wasn’t from SSN; as an android with nine months of experience there, and a month of outside experience, he knew that no director from any ACDH company would get approval to make such an old fashioned, bladed machine.

Another explosion lit up the city sky, but the loudest sound in the house was the romantic friction between the mop hairs and the floor.

Tommy couldn’t be bothered.

He situated the bag at the bottom of the basement stairs. When the mop and bucket cleaned, rinsed, and stored away, Tommy washed his hand and arm in the kitchen with hot water, as he was taught. Today’s tasks had been harder with his right arm gone, and he didn’t know how to repair it. Ms. Hee had always done the work. Option-less, the severed arm was stored in his dresser. Tommy could find a repairman tomorrow. They were abundant in Anghang because of the ACDH boom.

From behind the front door, the keys jingled. The knob twitched as it was unlocked. Ms. Hee? No, it was only Wednesday. Finian Yell stepped in.