Torchworld: Outsiders Collection by Dannielle Levan Page A

Corporation.”
    “I don’t know,” I replied, trying to think of a believable excuse. Mental illness was for the most part eradicated in the general population, but only in third gen citizens. Me, I was second gen and still a ‘flawed’ human. Meaning I wasn’t genetically screened before birth. I had scars, I got ill. Science hadn’t got that far yet at the time. I was born to parents alive before the Collapse.  The droid made a minute twitch; orders being received. Instructions might be a better word. Someone was yanking the puppet strings. Kharl, too dangerous to talk to mere humans. The ever recording eyes focused on me again.
    “Please continue. We would know the reason for your unhappiness.” A serene smile spread across her face, reminding me of those old talking head ads.
    “The reason for my unhappiness, hmm? Well, for starters, I dislike being a caged rat.” Scratched at my stubble, the itch was driving me nuts. Hadn’t been able to shave for days, thanks to the psych-bots keeping me cooped up in a cell. Anti-suicide protocol, they told me. A danger to myself and others.  I’d growled, resisting the urge to tell the court officers what I really thought of my ‘danger to others.’ After my previous brush with death I had no wish to do it again. Cooperation was the way to get loose again.
    “I might have felt a little coop-crazy, that’s all. You know us second gens, we’re flawed. Not like you perfect genetic birds.”
    A nod of polite assent. “There, doesn’t that feel better Kharl? Your status as a second gen is nothing to be ashamed of.”
    “Easy for you to say, you’re perfect.” Rolling my eyes,   I resigned myself to staring at the cobwebs again, leaning back on the sofa.
    Ignored. “Where did you acquire a metal knife, Kharl?”
    I sat up straight, surprised. This question was asked in a more aggressive tone than I was used to from the droid.  Looking straight into the watching camera in her eye I made sure to enunciate clearly.
    “I. Made. It.” Grinning from ear to ear, I leaned back again, folding my arms.
    “From what materials did you acquire this metal from?” she asked, calm again.
    “Ah, I can’t do everything for you. How many devices in your average rat cage have metal in them huh? Go look around and use that giant processor of yours.”
    I could swear the dumb bot was getting annoyed. She twitched again, and the droid shifted into a more relaxed posture. Less threatening, they likely thought. Shifting, adjusting my belt, feeling the buckle. It was still there.
    They thought I’d be nice to the dummy because she looked like my childhood nanny. Cheap shots I’d come to expect from the system, though. Cute blond bob, a sweet round face, and freckled button nose. But those hard blue eyes held nothing. No life resided there. Even the mole on her right cheekbone.  A faithful reproduction but not perfect. My nanny was always slightly undone, hair tousled, cheeks red from chasing me around. Horrible kid I was. More like a dog than a human in those days. Sometimes I thought the family dog was a better person than most humans I knew.  Nostalgia aside, I felt less and less amiable toward the droid, and more infuriated. Clenching my fists, repulsion rose in my throat. How dare they steal her face from the grave of an innocent dead woman!  Jabbing a finger into her hard chest, the thin sweater she wore slid across the plastic shell.
    “I know who you are. Who you think you are, anyway. The mind of a dead girl planted in your shiny plastic skull. I wonder what she’d think of you. Stealing her body away for deceitful purposes. Working my childhood memories like a rake over coals, turning up sparks to set my mind aflame. Joke’s on you asshole, I know your tricks.”
    Breathing hard, my voice was cracking. “Well you know what? I’m already over her. I know she’s dead. Dead and gone. I’ve made my peace with that.”
    With a sugary programmed smile, the droid stood