Frazzled

Lexa came back to life feeling wrong.

It wasn’t pain exactly (which was a relief as she’d woken up to intense pain enough times over the last few weeks to not want for more), but it wasn’t a good feeling either. Lexa had the sensation that something was just barely out of place, that her skin was a smidge too tight, that something buried inside her had gotten slightly out of alignment. Lexa worried that if she sat up, the “wrongness” would spread, so she lay on her back on her bed and hoped that Dr. Micheal would come downstairs soon and just instinctively know what was wrong (which was not as far-fetched as it sounded; Dr. Micheal seemed to have an X-ray machine for a brain).

As Lexa lay awaiting rescue, she noticed several other “wrong” things. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell it was too dark. The lights were off. And where was the familiar whirring and buzzing of machines? Where was Dr. Michael? He was always there when she woke up. And then there was the steady trickling of water, the strange scent of rain, a certain heaviness in the air that Lexa couldn’t quite place. But that simply couldn’t be right. Dr. Michael was so worried about water damaging his precious project that he wouldn’t even allow her to drink from a cup, but rather injected that precious fluid straight into her veins via the ever-present IV.

Plop!

Something small and wet landed on her forehead. It surprised her so much that Lexa had to fight the urge to fling her eyes open. But she remembered Dr. Michael’s words. If you are ever damaged, stay still. Panic and movement could worsen the problem. But surely moving just her eyelids wouldn’t break anything, right?

Plop!

This time, Lexa was unable to control herself, and her eyes flicked open. It took her a few seconds to adjust to the darkness before a combination of thrill and terror filled her gut.

Water. That blessed, cursed necessity was collecting into puddles on the floor above, staining the basement ceiling, and then letting drops fall through and into the basement. It was trickling down the walls and collecting in tiny puddles on the floor. It’s like rain, Lexa realized. She had a secret fascination with rain. It made no sense that she would like it; it had killed her after all, and would do so again if given the chance. But still, for one crazy moment, she imagined opening her mouth and letting that poison drop into her mouth and slide down her throat, frazzling every wire along the way.

What was most worrying was that Dr. Michael hadn’t yet come to remove her from the water. Was he hurt? Lexa hoped not. But if he wasn’t coming (she had to assume that if he had not come by now, he was unable to do so), then she would have to save herself, and she couldn’t very well do that lying on her bed in the middle of a slowly flooding basement. The hinges in her hips squealed in protest as she sat up, triggering the screen on her bedside table. The small screen flooded with dozens of warning lights–the brightest of which was a bright blue droplet with the words WARNING WATER DAMAGE! in white letters above it. The cable connecting her to the TV pulled taut when she sat completely straight, so she slumped a little, something that would have annoyed Dr. Michael if he were here. The IV beside her was empty, though still attached to her arm, and her charging cord poked out of the back of her nightgown and trailed on the floor.

Lexa clicked on the little icon that would tell her all the information she could ever possibly need about her body. After her latest procedure (which was Dr. Michael’s word for it; Lexa called them deaths because every time he did one, Dr. Michael would stop her heart, and medically “kill” her before beginning), Lexa was approximately 54% human and 46% machine. That was something she and Dr. Michael had talked–or more accurately, argued–about many times. She worried that if her human percentage dipped below 50, she would be a machine, and no matter how many times Dr. Michael tried to persuade her that it didn’t work like she didn’t care. She stressed over every death and checked the percentage religiously, waiting for the day when she would no longer be human.

Moving on, Lexa checked her other stats. Battery: 68%. Lungs: 79%. Heart rate: 72 BPM. Her left hand had a small crack where the skin and metal didn't quite meet, and a few drops of water snuck in there, disrupting her brain’s (the computer side of it) connection to her thumb. Luckily, since she was on an elevated surface, she didn’t have any other damage, but if she didn’t move now, the droplets from the ceiling might find more exposed wires or circuit boards to fry.

After sliding her leg over the side of the bed, Lexa pulled the charging cable out of its outlet in her spinal cord. Then she removed the IV. Lastly, she pulled loose the TV cable from the back of her skull, making the TV go dark, and slid off the bed.

BAM!

The basement door flung open so forcefully it slammed into the wall with a sound like a gunshot. Dr. Michael stood in the light flooding from upstairs. When he saw her standing upright and relatively well, he clutched his chest in relief.

“Oh, thank the heavens and every last angel in them that you're alright,” he gasped, gratefully. Dr. Michael was late fifties, with a shiny bald head, large brown eyes, and a thin, almost stick-like frame. He wore a white lab coat that was soaked in water and an oversized pair of blue spectacles. Lexa didn’t know what she looked like. Dr. Michael wouldn’t let her have a mirror (which didn’t seem like a good sign to her). All she knew was that her dark hair had been shaved off and her curvy frame had thinned out over the last four months of deaths and basement life.

“All limbs and screws are attached in the right places.” When he didn’t relax, Lexa gave him a comforting smile, the metal in her lip hissing a little as she pulled it upwards. “I’m fine, Doc. It’s just a little water.”

This did not have the desired effect. Dr. Michael looked scandalized. “A little water? Just a little water? Do you know how much of you isn’t waterproof–”

“Yes, yes, 32%, I know.”

“32%! That includes vital organs! If you get water in your mouth–”

“I’m done.”

Dr. Michael nodded vigorously. “Done! Finished! Dead!”

“Got it. So should we leave?”

“Yes, we should,” Dr. Michael took her arm and guided her around the puddles on the floor and to the stairs that had tiny rivers of water rushing down.

“What's with all the water? Why weren’t you here when I woke up?” Lexa asked as she clambered up the steps.

“There's a flood,” Dr. Michael explained. “I tried to get home as fast as I could, but my car got stuck in the water and, well, I’m sure you know how dangerous it can be to drive in a downpour.” Yes, she did know. “So, I had to run.”

Once they reached the peak of the stairs, Dr. Michael was forced to pick her up so that the water building up behind the door would not wash over her feet. She heard him grunt softly as he did it, and Lexa frowned.

He opened the door, and a rush of water raced through. Lexa peered into the room. There was a layer of water over the floor, and books or loose papers were floating in it. As they passed a closet, Dr. Michael grabbed a raincoat and umbrella for Lexa.

“So, if you left your car on the road, how are we supposed to drive anywhere?” Normally, Dr. Michael would be able to call a hospital and get her transferred somewhere, but then again, normally, she would be waterproof and not an illegal cyborg.

“A good black-market scientist always has a backup plan,” Dr. Michael said, carrying her across the room to the garage. “I have two cars, just in case. And since there's a flood, the police will be occupied, so there's no need to bring your fake ID.”

“I have a fake ID?”

He winked at her. “No, you have three.”

Dr. Michael sat Lexa down in the back seat. Lexa immediately pulled on the raincoat, while Dr. Micheal then threw her charger, IV, and other life-sustaining appliances into the trunk. She needed those tools. After each death, she stayed alive a little longer and needed them a little less, but without them, she would die. That was the point of all these procedures, Dr. Michael always said, to someday restore her to what she had once been. Alive. Human.

The garage door rolled open to reveal another wave of water, and Lexa saw beads of sweat form on Dr. Michael’s face.

Lexa knew she should be scared. She had died (the first time) in a car crash on a day much like this. Her mom and dad were currently in a hospital getting regular people treatment, and she was in her family-friends' basement getting operations that would hopefully bring her back to life permanently. She should be terrified, but somehow the idea of dying was much less scary than the idea of no longer being human. Of going under that 50%.

“Put on your seat belt,” Dr. Michael ordered as he peeled out of the garage. Lexa did as she was told and pressed her face to the window. She hadn’t been outside in a while. The sky was a solid brick of gray, and the trees were swaying under the strain of the wind. Rain was pounding against every surface. The sunroof above was covered in water. Lexa hid her smile from Dr. Michael. It was as beautiful as she remembered.

“Where are we going?” Lexa asked, watching a few lawn chairs roll across someone's yard and out of sight.

“Somewhere dry.”

Lexa turned in her seat. “Wait–you don’t know?!”

Dr. Michael gave her a shaky grin. “I’m not Batman, Lexa. I don’t have dozens of hideouts to choose from. We’ll crash at a hotel for a few nights while I try to figure something out.”

Lexa nodded. The fear should set in soon, now that death, the permanent kind, was a reality. It would come soon. Lexa flexed her hand idly, but her damaged thumb did not move. Dr. Micheal would have to replace it.

They had emerged from the neighborhood and were now driving through a park on a main road. On one side there was a parking lot that now resembled more of a swamp filled with cars and on the other were pavilions with benches to eat at that were slightly raised and therefore not yet submerged.

The rain seemed to be coming down harder, if that was possible, and soon there was a foot of water in the road. Lexa had read somewhere, after the accident, that a car could be swept away in a foot of water. Lexa imagined the gears in her heart were spinning extra fast even though they obviously wouldn’t. Dr. Michael must have read it too because his breathing had gotten harsh.

“There’s really no reason to worry, Lexa. We’ll just–”

Lexa never learned what just meant. A wall of water slammed into the car’s side, jerking them off the road as if the vehicle weighed nothing at all. Tires lost traction, the world tilted, and suddenly they were skidding sideways into the drowned parking lot below.

Deja vu struck her like a blow to the chest–the same helpless slide, the same shriek of metal–but this time she didn’t black out, didn’t die. She was wide awake as the windshield spiderwebbed, glass spraying across her lap, and the car’s scream of twisting steel was swallowed by the roar of the flood.

They went nose-first into water (which was at least ten feet deep, since the parking lot had been lower than the road). Cold water surged over the hood, then swallowed the headlights, then pressed against the front windows with a crushing weight. The spiderwebs grew and grew until they shattered into a million pieces and allowed water to start seeping inside.

Lexa felt the frame shudder, the cabin tilted forward, and the water began its slow, merciless climb up the glass.

Lexa’s lungs clinked and whirred as they fought to keep pace with her rising panic. The back windows still held, mercifully, keeping the cabin dry for now. But Dr. Michael was slumped over the steering wheel, blood streaking down the right side of his face. His nose bent at an unnatural angle, his eyelids fluttering but never opening. Water lapped at his cheek, creeping higher with every second. If he didn’t move soon, he would drown.

Lexa didn’t hesitate. She drove her metal fist into the sunroof. The titanium knuckles embedded in her flesh made short work of the glass, which shattered into a rain of jagged shards. Cold water immediately poured through the opening, soaking the hood of her raincoat, dampening her hairless scalp, and hissing against the seams of her frame. She thought of the little blue droplet icon from her bedside screen—WARNING WATER DAMAGE!—and almost laughed.

Umbrella in one hand, she hooked the other into Dr. Michael’s collar. His thin frame was a blessing; her mechanical arm hauled him upward. She clambered through the broken sunroof, dragging him with her, and together they spilled onto the roof of the sinking car.

Rain hammered down, relentless. Her raincoat and umbrella shielded most of it, but not all. Lexa felt her lip seize, refusing to respond, and patches of metal along her body went numb as circuits shorted beneath the storm. Still, she held Dr. Michael upright, refusing to let him slip back into the rising flood.

“Dr. Michael? Wake up!” She slapped his cheek, but he did not stir. Lexa looked across the road to the pavilion. Her eyes darted across the road. The pavilion stood there like salvation–dry, sheltered, safe. She traced the path in her mind: car to car, bench to bench, a desperate leapfrog through the flood. Alone, she could make it. She could survive.

But not with him. Not while he was dead weight in her arms.

The car groaned as it sank deeper, water climbing. Lexa’s mechanical lungs whirred faster, her chest rattling with each breath. If she left him here, he would drown before he ever woke. If she carried him, she would be exposed to the rain, circuits frying with every drop.

Lexa slapped him once more, for good luck. The car was still sinking, and soon it would be fully submerged. Lexa looked at the pavilion, their safe haven. An idea was clicking into place in her mechanical brain that Dr. Michael would not have liked. Normal people could not cross a river that was speeding along at nine feet per second, waist high, but Lexa had partially mechanical legs, gifted to her by Dr. Michael.

Lexa looked down at the water. Mechanical legs. Legs would definitely push her past the 50% mark. She would have to “die” again, and maybe this time she would not wake up human.

Lexa stepped into the water.

It rushed around her, icy and cold, as she picked up Dr. Michael’s still frame. She did not grunt; he was not very heavy. Rocks and twigs zipping by her cut the flesh parts of her legs, but she didn’t care. She took a step, and then another.

20 feet away from salvation.

The rain pounded against her umbrella as she pushed forward, and Lexa had to suppress her grin. Even now, she loved it, even as it trickled into her open seams. Lexa could feel the gears in her brain kick into overdrive as it tried to process this level of circuit damage. The open circuits and wires and everything mechanical in her legs hissed and sent lightning bolts of agony up her legs. But that was okay. Pain was human, and human was good.

10 feet away now. Lexa shifted Dr. Michael’s weight and trudged onward as water sloshed around her waist. The hinges in her hips would rust and squeak worse than ever. A ripple of water knocked Dr. Michaels' glasses off his nose, and Lexa watched them sail away as she walked.

Lexa almost tripped when she reached the end of the road, and she felt the beginnings of hope set her heart beating while she slowly trudged up the hill. So close. Lexa heaved herself upwards until, inch by inch, she was above the water. Her nightgown clung to her soaked and failing legs as Lexa walked three more steps before using the last vestiges of strength in her arms to toss Dr. Michael the remaining three feet to the pavilion before her legs crumpled and she fell face backward onto the soaked grass.

Lexa stared up at the dark gray sky and felt the water splash her face. She smiled. Dr. Michael would be okay. Lexa, however, was definitely going past the 50% mark. Her legs were wrecked, and patches all over her body were on the fritz. She was going to “die” again and wake up as a robot. Lexa didn’t want to be a machine. She wanted to fail tests and fall down and drag people out of cars and feel the rain slide down her face.

So, as the last bits of her body short-circuited, Lexa opened her mouth and let that glorious rain drop into her mouth and slide down her throat, frazzling every wire along the way.

The end.