I, like most others, have a story to tell. A story the leaders of us will not read.
It starts with me and my friends. We all met each other at a rally fighting the government. The rally ended with the military mowing over the protesters. The stains haven’t been washed out of the asphalt. We were the survivors. We saw what happened, but didn’t put down our fists. The government was not to be trusted.
I learned this many years ago.
The government and a private company called Ibanex Cybernetics introduced a line of cybernetic enhancements. People flocked to it. I did too. My heart is steel. My veins are fiber-optic. My brain runs in JavaScript. I don’t know what you would call me anymore. I’m more metal and gears than blood and soul, if I even have one.
These enhancements were prone to failure. If they failed, they brought your body with them. This makes life volatile; it can explode at any minute.
We’re one of the few with the courage to fight. Because things are bad, doing nothing is not an option.
Today is the present. The present is what changes the future.
None of the rallies we went to worked, so Jones Walker and I decided to plan our own. 0830. Maston Street. Where so many have failed and died in our place before. But this would be different. Mary Halfton would be the one to spread the news, hang the fliers, tell the people to stand.
A week later we walk to the spot where history will be made. Where lives will be saved, where the tides will be changed. And none of the men in the small marble building at the end of the street know it yet. The building where laws are passed, bills are made, and the public is fucked over again and again. None of them are aware of what we have in store.
Mary is a hell of an advertiser, I'll tell you that. 1600 people soon followed us. And together, we fought.
I fight for the people, I fight for my friends, for the planet, but mostly, for myself.
For a far distant dream of a world where I was still human, still me. Made of thoughts, not code. When the police arrive, they're sure to open fire without hesitation. Maybe I'll catch a bullet, hit the ground, and die. Maybe I'll be human again in death.
Sirens snap me back.
Mary has taken the front, chanting,
“WE WILL NOT STAND DOWN UNTIL WE ARE GIVEN LIBERTY!”
The police form a line in front of us, warning Mary once. One raised a gun. I rushed to save her, to have the bullet pierce my sheet metal instead of her skin, but my cybernetics glitched. I stood helpless, when,
Bang.
She hits the ground, dead. My mind is overrun with thousands of emotions. Her kid sits beside her body. She was a good person.
This isn't what good people deserve. She didn't deserve this. I should've caught the bullet. I should've hit the ground dead. Not her. Why did it have to be her? She was a good person. And she got the bullet.
The police just told us there's no peaceful way to win this.
The people, with courage knowing they might die anyway, with knowledge that it won't get better if they just sit, charge and attack the police. The police don't hold back. They shoot as fast as they can, but we win.
And we advance towards the marble building.
p>But Jones and I stay behind with Mary’s body and her kid, looking up at us from a state of fear they can't comprehend.
I can't fight. I feel too sick to. I feel dirty by Mary's death. I should've caught the bullet. Me. Not her.
I'm not even human. My death would mean little. She had a kid. That kid is alone. I feel them. I've been alone in my body this entire time. This body that isn't mine. It would've done everyone good if I caught the bullet. This hideous body of nuts and bolts, sheet metal and gears deserves it.
Maybe she's human again. In the afterlife. If her soul still exists.
So remember this, reader. Jump. Jump even if your legs shake. Fight even when you’re bleeding and sore. And do not stay down. Staying down will fix nothing. Do not stay down until you are given liberty.