Chapter Text
Long ago, it seemed, Sterling had been crying in the bathroom.
Eyeliner melted down the left side of their face. The lace on the collar of their dress itched. And everything felt wrong, wrong, wrong. Their eye was red, their metal joints creaking as they bent over the sink, just staring into the mirror. From far away they could hear their manager calling, could hear Fitzwilliam yelling something. Was it at her—at them?
Their stomach—what remained of it—swirled with dread. The lights were steady and bright and golden, gleaming off the perfect bathroom and off Sterling’s patchwork self.
And then, suddenly, their tired eyes burned in the flickering lights overhead. Their head hurt from the incessant buzzing—if they thought too hard it almost sounded like voices. And yet, Sterling stood in place, just staring at themselves in the mirror. There was a crack in one corner and a stain on another, and their reflection almost seemed warped. They honestly couldn’t tell whether this was because this was a shitty mirror (which was true), or because their head was already spinning, Sterling’s consciousness threatening to fly away and pilot them from afar.
It was weird to see themself with short hair, though they had cut it days before. The first step out the door. Sterling rubbed the back of their neck, mouth quirking to the side when they felt the metal implant in the back that was no longer covered. The charging port made it a little harder to be inconspicuous, but… They remembered how loud Vinyl City had been all those years ago. Though overwhelming at the time, they determinedly took comfort in the memory now. People would be too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary, and it wasn’t like regular cyborgs didn’t exist outside of—
Enough. Sterling nodded once at themself, feeling an odd twisting in their stomach when they picked their violin case up from the floor.
“Figure it out,” Fitzwilliam leered over them, mouth twisted in anger, speaking without care. He had been in his concert attire, matching Sterling’s nearly to the stitch. His voice was quiet. It was worse than the yelling.
“Figure it out,” Sterling echoed back to themself. They pushed open the door to the bathroom. It smelled of stale water and waste. It wasn’t perfume. They walked through the quiet convenience store and went outside.
It only took a couple of minutes of standing at the curb, thumb out before someone picked them up. Looked like a tired businessman, blue skin and cyan eyes to match. Body tense (because they weren’t unaware of how many hitchhikers ended up), Sterling curled their legs toward their chest and watched the lights outside go by. The car was smaller than they were used to.
“So, ‘m guessing that you’re trying out for something?” the man said, voice flat and quiet. It made Sterling’s skin crawl. They shrugged.
“I’m just figuring it out as I go along.”
“Figure it out.”
“Mm. Figures. Bet you’re not the only kid just showing up since the—they called it a Revolution, I think? Not sure. Don’t really watch the news.”
With this, Sterling relaxed a little bit. “Yeah. Too depressing, usually.”
The businessman smirked. “Truer words never spoken.” He paused. “So, uh—what instrument are you playing, anyway?”
“Violin.”
“A beautiful instrument,” Fitzwilliam purred in approval, glancing at the manager standing behind Sterling, “For a beautiful woman.”
“Won’t get far in Natura dressed like that.”
Sterling remained silent.
“And now, performing in public for the first time, Masquerade Bright!”
The businessman huffed at their silence, and it was quiet for awhile. Sterling stared outside at the lights drawing closer, closer, closer.
Pinks and blues and greens. Yellows and oranges and reds. Purples and whites. It was too much. Sterling felt like they were drowning, dying. Their neck itched. They wanted to cry. Fitzwilliam spun them in the waltz and they felt bile rise in their throat.
It was almost as bright as they remembered. Pinks and blues and greens. Yellows and oranges and reds. Purples and whites. The colors now weren’t overwhelming but comforting. Inviting. Sterling smiled behind their hand. They felt hope rise in their throat. The car jolted as it pulled onto the entrance ramp. They watched the lights slowly shift into deep blues and purples as the businessman drove. The roads split, cracked, became smaller—and then the car pulled over.
Sterling blinked out of their revery and stared at him for a moment. He quirked an eyebrow at them. Oh. Right. They never specified, and he was probably going home, or… Anyway, they had to leave the car.
“We’re here,” he said. “Vinyl City—Cast Tech district.”
“Ah. Th-thank you,” Sterling said, collecting their backpack and violin. The businessman stared at them, his eyes burning their back as they stared walking. This was decently far from the square, where they figured most of the foot traffic was. Maybe they could busk for some extra money? They were a bit leery on the idea, especially so close to the advertisements where… Hm.
The lighting here was odd, wasn’t it?
“So decadent,” Outfox huffed. Sterling blinked at her. They thought it was better here, the blue and violet calmer, quieter than before. They felt their heartbeat calm.
They walked, gaze ahead, not daring to look at anyone. It never occurred to them to look at a map, or to find a hotel, or even a hole in the ground to sleep in.
Had they remembered their recharge cable?
“Why? It’s not fair! She’s not—she’s not—” The words grated against Sterling’s healing skin.
Yes, it was in the pocket of their bag. They had a tiny qwaza for emergencies, but they didn’t like to think about what would happen when the power in their cybernetics ran too low. Perhaps they could find a café to bunker down in for a couple of hours. They brushed their hand against their pocket, feeling for their wallet.
They scrambled, clumsily grabbing bills from the box, every so often looking back to make sure Outfox wasn’t silhouetted against the door.
Okay. They had at least enough to get food for the next couple of days. Sterling’s mind raced, thinking now about everything they had not before, and—
The sidewalk trundled along, and the people grew larger in number. Sterling felt their shoulders tense up a little bit as two people brushed past them, giggling, and wearing metallic jackets. The crowd seemed to grow thicker, and then even out into a line as it travelled down the block, seeming to emerge from a neon-lit door.
Sterling blinked upward at the building in front of them. They could feel bass from its center, feel the energy pooling in their mouth the longer they stood there. They almost took a step forward, but—
“Hey,” someone snapped, their features blurry in the dim light. Sterling thought they were wearing glasses, but couldn’t be entirely sure; the startle at this seemed to knock their sight into the back of their head. “Get in line like everyone else, would ya?”
Hands ripping against the concrete. Trembling, shrinking into themself. Fitzwilliam crouched down, hand on their shoulder, glaring at the security barriers that proved to be as thin as paper.
Sterling faintly realized that they were gawking at this person, and simply nodded. “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, darting away and around the line. They quickly swung their gaze around and ended up darting into an alleyway, which was darker and relatively unlit. Something in their chest unraveled, and Sterling took a deep breath. They slumped against a smooth metal wall.
Someone sneezed, and Sterling nearly jumped out of their skin. Sensors blinking wildly in their mental periphery, they felt their joints stiffen. Their perception jerked back into reality, and they could suddenly smell everything, see everything, taste how they had bitten their lip.
Their eyes eventually landed on a small figure, halfway over a chain link fence. She wore a hoodie that almost concealed the literal glow of her skin, headphones around her neck, and a backpack. Her eyes were wide, and she remained completely still—as if Sterling wouldn’t be able to see her if she didn’t move. They both stood like that for a while. The stranger coughed, climbing fully onto the fence and balancing on it—catlike was the immediate word that came to mind. She seemed to radiate power— when Sterling took a daring step closer, they could feel static in the air.
“You a cop?” said the stranger warily.
“What are you doing?” Sterling asked simultaneously.
They both eyed each other for another long, slow moment. Finally, the stranger snorted, picking her way off the fence and onto a nearby roof. “What are you doing?” she retorted, seeming both unhurried and ready to bolt at the same time. “What’s someone like you doing in Cast Tech?”
“I mean—I’m not going to remain here.”
“Probably shouldn’t. Food here costs an arm, a leg, and both of your kidneys.” The stranger looked Sterling up and down, evaluating them. It made them shift uncomfortably. Her eyes reminded them of the lace.
“I’m figuring something out,” they said, adjusting their grip on the handle of their violin case. The weight was loyal, grounding, “I guess I’ll go to Natura.” They ventured the name based on what that businessman had said.
“Dressed like that?”
Sterling scowled. “Why do people keep remarking on that?”
The stranger rolled her shoulders lazily. “They’re kinda stuck up in Natura. Very focused on the aesthetic.” Then, cocking her head, she snorted. “Very focused on the aesthetic in every district. ‘S gotten better, but not by a ton.” The static in the air increased. Sterling could swear they saw sparks coming off the stranger’s neck. It felt similar, they thought, to how the air would grow heavy around Outfox when she got angry or irritated. They shrank back a little bit.
“I’m… sorry to hear that?”
“We’re all sorry about it in some degree. It’ll get even better, I think.” The irritation seemed to melt away to a confidence as the stranger squared her shoulders. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Is that why you’re on a roof?”
The stranger’s mouth twisted, considering something. She leaned toward Sterling, almost precariously. Her head was cocked to the side. “You sure you’re not a cop or anything?”
Sterling shook their head. “Um. No.” For all they knew, Outfox had found out about their flight and had alerted law enforcement by this point. They wouldn’t have put it past her. Or Fitzwilliam, for that matter. The stranger stared at Sterling for a little longer, and just as they turned to go she hopped to her feet in a crouch.
“Wait.”
Sterling stopped, blood freezing for a moment. Did she, by some horrible twist of fate, recognize them? Had she—Now presenting—Had she seen through everything even without—Now presenting—Even though they had cut their hair, didn’t have the lace around their joints anymore? Now presenting. Now presenting. Now presenting. They prepared to run.
The stranger let out an easy laugh. “Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite—usually.” Her eyes glinted with what seemed to be electricity and mischief. “Nah, I was gonna ask you to maybe… come with me?”
“Go with you—on the roof? Where are you going?”
She pointed in the direction of the building with the line. “Eavesdropping. My favorite DJ’s performing, but—” she coughed. “If food makes you sell your limbs and some organs, the price of his tickets’ll make you sell your mom. Or whatever you care most about.”
“You’re breaking into that club?” Sterling’s eyes widened. This wasn’t a good idea—really really not, especially if they wanted to blend in.
“I mean—it’s more like trespassing. The roofing’s already shit, and this isn’t where he normally performs, but NSR’s making an initiative to move past a lot of its roots, and—anyway.” The stranger seemed to cut herself off, and clambered back toward the chainlink fence. “C’mon, if you want! You seem cool. Or at least not a murderer.”
“I have my violin with me… and my stuff…” Sterling's voice cracked a little bit.
“Behind that dumpster.” The stranger pointed to the metal behemoth on the other side of the alleyway. “Re-routed some of the electricity from the streetlights. No one’s getting anything from behind there without a nasty surprise.”
“Is that legal?”
“Prolly not, but neither’s sneaking into clubs on the reg.”
Despite their hesitation, Sterling couldn’t help but feel intrigued. They supposed it was sad, to crave kindness so greatly. They probably looked disheveled, and pathetic, and— A charity case— This time, they gripped Fitzwilliam’s voice in a choke hold and squeezed.
It squeezed back.
“I can’t,” they choked around the metaphorical hand around their neck.
“Oh.” The stranger cocked her head. “Uh. Can I get your name? Maybe I’ll see you around. Sometime. Maybe?”
“Um. Sera—I mean, Sterling.” They almost slipped up. It made their chest tighten, hearing that word come out of their own mouth.
“Watt.” She turned and bounded away down the row of buildings.
Sterling felt a little numb after that, watching her go until she dropped out of view. It felt too quiet without another voice. They gripped the handle of the violin case more tightly and set back off in the street. There had to be an outlet or something, or some lenient diner (they probably had enough for a little food?). No one, they sensed, wanted to hear a violin chirping under the resounding bass pumping through the street.
The lighting really was odd here, they thought, but beautiful.