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Melissa is huddled in the corner of her cell. Her metal arms are wrapped around her- a cold, hard hug, but the closest thing to a hug that she ever gets these days.
She flinches when she hears footsteps. Her handlers are at the door, looking as bored as ever. “Up.” Savannah says. “Verliezer wants you.”
Melissa stands immediately, long past the point of outward resistance. She follows them to the meeting room, head bowed, march brisk and professional.
”Brick, Savannah.” Verliezer inclines his head as they walk in and sit down. Melissa stands next to the door. “Merry Christmas.”
Christmas. When she was little, when she was human, that was an exciting time. Now, it just means more events to guard at, to hunt at. More fun times to watch from the side, to not be allowed to participate in. Cyborgs don’t go to parties, or get presents, or eat nice food.
“Or, should I say, Christmas Eve. You’ve all got a day off tomorrow- even you, cyborg. Don’t you feel lucky?” Verliezer smiles coldly at her.
So lucky. A whole day huddled in her cell, alone. Nursing her wounds, imagining the Christmases she had when she was a child, a human, living with her father. Crying, because no one can see to punish her for it. At least a better Christmas present than being forced to kill and capture.
“But tonight, I’m holding a little Christmas Eve ‘do’, as they say. And I’ve heard that some rebels are planning to try and assassinate me there.” Verliezer continues. “Your job is obvious. Stand outside, kill the assassins. You understand?”
“I understand.” Melissa says, staring at the floor.
———
The hotel that the party is being held is large, grand. Robots escort guests from their v-cars to the door, where more robots take their coats and escort them to the room where the party is being held. Holograms glow inside, and the v-cars that show up are some of the fanciest ones that she has ever seen.
She is situated next to the open gate. The snow is thick, her metal foot is nearly entirely covered. She is just thankful that she can’t feel cold in her metal limbs.
But she feels plenty of cold in her flesh parts. Her uniform is not exactly warm- a grey skirt, a black t-shirt, a white jacket with the v-tech logo. She once tried to ask her handlers for warmer clothes for winter. She hasn’t bothered asking again.
The bustle outside quiets down 18:00. She stands stock still, trying her best not to shiver visibly. Her nose is turning red, her cheeks are following suit. Her hair blows around, caught by the frigid wind. She ignores it.
Her skin prickles with cold, then stings, then goes numb. Her eyes are burning with unshed tears from the freezing cold. She feels like a girl frozen solid, not letting herself move even one inch. She knows better than that now.
20:00, and she almost wants the assassins to just show up so she can move. A chase, a fight, that will warm her up.
She wishes that she could wait inside. The lobby looks warm, is decorated cheerfully, lit brightly, heated with only the most high tech of equipment. Her spot is dark and cold. Her handlers said that she needs to wait outside, because if the assassins decide to go another way she needs to be able to see that. She isn’t stupid enough to not see the other reason.
21:00, and she isn’t sure that she could move even if the consequences wouldn’t be so dire. She remembers a really, really old movie where a girl got frozen solid. She feels like that. A hug would be nice, but she doesn’t have anyone to hug her.
Two people are approaching the gates. They look furtive, shady. One a girl with red hair, one a blond boy. They glance at her and then keep walking for the gates. Hours late, no car, and nowhere near nice enough clothes. These must be the assassins.
“Hey!” She calls out. Her voice shakes in the cold, and she curses herself. Her handlers will be furious at the show of weakness. “This is a private event. Please show your invitation.”
“Will this do?” The boy sounds teasing, amused. He draws a gun and points it at her.
She doesn’t want to hurt the assassins. She wants them to succeed, she really does. She just doesn’t want to die. Nor does she want to be tortured for failure.
She raises her weapon and fires.
But she doesn’t fire. Nothing happens, aside from a pathetic little noise from her weapon. She dodges to avoid a bullet, and stumbles. Falls headfirst into the snow.
Her weapons, her limbs. They’re malfunctioning because she has been left in the snow, in the sub zero temperatures, for so long. So she can’t run, she can’t fight. She’s defenceless.
“Handlers! Handlers!” She says. No reply from her earpiece, not even a crackle. Can they hear her, can they see? She never thought that she would desire their constant surveillance, but if they can’t see her state, she will die here. Alone in the snow.
Two sets of footsteps approach as she tries to stagger to her feet. She keeps stumbling, keeps falling. Her limbs are locking, she can’t keep control. She falls over and over again, while certain death approaches.
Eventually, she can’t even do that. Is that her mechanisms finally freezing, or are her human parts just too exhausted to fight against it anymore? Either way, she lies in the snow. She can hardly feel the snow that soaks into her clothes and flesh. Her eye is glitching. Her human eye flutters shut.
They are standing above her now. She winces, waiting. Maybe she should want to die. She wants the rebels to win, she wants to stop thwarting them. She doesn’t want to be a weapon anymore, and the only way out is death. But perhaps her greatest weakness, her most selfish trait, is that she has never wanted to die. And now she will.
Instead of a gunshot, she hears quiet voices. “Jeez, look at her. She’s just a kid.” The male voice. He sounds young.
“She can’t be more than a few years older than my brothers.” The girl, also young. They both sound… shocked, nervous? She can’t quite muster the energy to think. “Give me a hand.”
She doesn’t expect to feel hands on her, hauling her up. She can’t even flinch away, is helplessly dragged to the feet that she can’t get under herself. Her head hangs, her eyes shut. She waits for pain, for these young rebels to take their revenge.
“Ow! That metal is absolutely frozen.” The boy says. “How long has she been out here, hours? Why would they do this?”
“Evil bastards, the lot of them.” The girl spits. “Come on, inside. Is she awake?”
“Not sure.” Her legs are lifted, they must be carrying her. She can feel them moving. They are warm, she is struck by a strange urge to get closer. “This eye is off, does that mean she’s off?”
She can’t muster the energy to talk. Besides, she is used to people talking about her, while she is present. Why address a weapon, why ask the opinion of a weapon?
When she feels warmth, she manages to crack an eye open. Panic jolts in her frozen heart, thawing it somewhat. “No’ allowed in here.” She manages, her voice barely a mumble. “I’ll ge’ punish’.”
“We’re rebels, and we’re capturing you.” Considering his words, the boy’s voice is surprisingly soft. So soft, it is foreign. How long has it been since someone spoke to her like that? “We can break the rules, and it’s not your fault because you’re our prisoner.”
“Ok.” She mumbles, with not enough energy to try and fight him. She doesn’t want to be captured by the rebels, but she isn’t really in a state to stop them.
She is carefully lowered to the ground, sat against something. Furniture? It feels soft, and the carpet on the ground is extremely soft. She wants to curl up on it and fall asleep. She hasn’t sat on something so soft in a long time.
Her arms are taken behind her and bound to something. Fear squirms in her, but she can’t do anything about it. Her head lolls in front of her, hangs like a deadweight.
“Hey, kid.” The girl crouches in front of her. Touches her frozen face with a warm hand that she can’t help but lean into. “God, she’s frozen. Kid, we’ll be back, ok? We’ve just gotta take care of something first, then we’ll be back. And we’ll look after you, you’ll be safe.”
Melissa tries to nod. She doesn’t really understand. But maybe being the rebel’s prisoner will be better than being Verliezer’s weapon.
“Verliezer is busted, I swear.” And with that dark, furious threat, they leave. She doesn’t manage to hold onto consciousness for long after that.
———
When she wakes up, she is restrained to the table in the workshop. She doesn’t squirm, she isn’t that stupid. But she looks around. The workshop is warmer than usual. She feels stiff and sore.
“Look who’s back in the land of the living!” A jovial voice. “Hey, sir, ma’am, it’s good. It’s awake.”
Savannah and Brick fill her vision. “Oi, cyborg.”
“Sir. Ma’am.” She says automatically. “What… happened?”
“You failed. The assassins failed, thankfully. You were found unconscious and tied up in the lobby.” Brick reports. “We lost contact with you around 8:30pm. It appears that the cold damaged your mechanics. They have been fixed.”
“Oh.” Melissa presses closer to the table. Fear squirms in her chest.
“Verliezer is furious, of course. Your failure will be punished. But for now, just rest. We weren’t sure if we’d lost you or not.” Savannah sounds… almost relieved. Savannah never quite seems to show emotions other than boredom and anger. But sometimes she has almost emotions.
“The assassins.” She shouldn’t ask, but she can remember vaguely what they did. And she needs to know. “Are they dead?”
“No. They escaped, by the skin of their teeth.” Brick says. “Did they hurt you?”
“I don’t remember.” Melissa says, the safest response. She might get some almost sympathy if she claims that they did, but she might be punished more for her weakness. And if she says that they didn’t, they might punish her for not fighting back, for giving in too easily.
“Hypothermia, most likely” Savannah says to Brick. “At least it can’t lose its fingers with frostbite.”
They speak over her for a while. She lies back and stares up at the ceiling.
Those rebels didn’t kill her. They could have, easily. She had no defence. And then they didn’t. Why? What made them choose not to? Why did they show mercy to a weapon?