None of this would have happened if I just paid attention to where I was going. None of it. But I was too busy thinking about the night before; I was too busy thinking about coming home early to find my boyfriend and one of his coworkers in my bed, flustered and ashamed. I didn't even have to tell him to leave; he quickly put on his clothes and left. That night was my first night alone in a long time. The following day—the day when all of it started—he called me on my way to work. I was expecting him to say something like 'we can work things out', but instead he simply asked me to put all of his stuff out when I got back to the apartment. I was slightly offended that he didn't even acknowledge last night's events, but I guess there was really no point to, and he knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't take him back. I screamed 'Damn right I will!' and hung up, just like that.
That evening, I was on my way back to the apartment, which is only a few blocks away from the radio station where I work. I was too busy replaying the whole ordeal in my mind to notice the pedestrian walking the other way, and I knocked into him at full force. The stranger seemed completely unphased; somehow, I hadn't pushed him back on impact, and he even caught me as I stumbled backward, before I had the chance to fall.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" His voice was lightly accented, and strangely seductive. His jet black hair was gelled back to perfection, and his eyes were a very impressive shade of blue. For a moment, I was trapped in his gaze.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" He repeated earnestly. I shook myself out of the reverie and floundered for a decent response, which ended up sounding something like, "Yes, I'm fine, thanks to you. I'm terribly sorry, sir."
"Don't worry about it. No harm done." He flashed a brilliant smile with perfectly-aligned white teeth. There was something…different…about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it until my eyes momentarily lingered to his vinyl shirt, which had a metallic sheen to it. I could see a chain necklace with a pixelated metal tag with flashing white letters resting just above the collar. A Mecha. Before the thought had entirely crossed my mind, he spun me by the hand and kissed it daintily.
"Au revoir, ma belle. I hope to see you soon." He smiled once more and continued on his way with a gait that slightly resembled a strutting peacock.
The rest of my day was focused on clearing all of my ex-boyfriend's junk out of the apartment. I left him with all of our old photos, not even bothering to rip them to shreds; I figured I'd let him do that for me. I should have seen it coming: within the past few weeks we grew more distant. He talked to me less and less, he took on 'extra shifts' at the restaurant where he worked, and we stopped having fun altogether. All of the signs were there, but I was too passive, and I didn't want to believe it. I wondered if it was something I had done that had pushed him away, but we never fought or slandered each other. When I finished packing his things into boxes and putting them outside my door, I fell into a deep sleep…alone again.
I guess a few friends at the radio station noticed my change in mood. A few of them started regularly taking me to clubs, but I was never much of a dancer. Others tried introducing me to their single friends, but I didn't take a liking to any of them. One night, I decided to show my appreciation for all that my friends attempted to do by hosting a movie night at my apartment, which ended up being very successful. As I started seeing people out the door, I noticed that my close friends were acting strange; many of them smiled mischievously or smirked as they left. Brittany, my best friend, was the last to leave, and when I asked her if she knew anything about the way they were acting, she simply laughed.
"You'll see very soon. I hope you have a good rest of the night." She burst into another fit of laughter as she closed the door behind her. I thought that she had had one glass too many, until I remembered that there were no longer spirits or distilled liquor in the apartment; they had all been left out with my ex's stuff over a month ago. I decided to shrug it off and relax on the couch. About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Who could it possibly be at this hour? I thought. I looked through the peephole and froze. Blue eyes, moussed black hair, it was the Mecha from the other day! Was this some sort of joke? The doorbell rang again, but I was unable to take my eyes off the peephole. He was about to ring it a third time when I finally opened the door.
"Oh, what a surprise! It's you, ma belle!" He bent down to kiss my hand.
I wanted to tell him that I was nobody's 'belle', that he was wasting his time with me, but it came out as, "Oh, you remembered." I wanted to kick myself.
"Ah, But how could I forget such a beautiful face?" He had a mysterious grin, one that looked a bit lascivious to me.
"So, lemme guess," I said with my arms crossed, "my friends sent for you?"
"They paid and everything. 'So', it looks like I'm yours for the entire evening." I detected the suggestive inflection in the last two words of his sentence.
"Look," I sighed, "I don't know if I'm ready for this kind of thing… my boyfriend and I broke up a month ago, and, besides, I don't wanna force myself on you or anything. You don't need that kind of grief."
"But I want nothing more than to please you, my dear." He said without skipping a beat. I could tell he'd had experience with clients like me. "It's what I was made to do. It's—"
"Exactly." I cut him off sharply, so sharply that I nearly startled myself.
He cocked his head slightly to one side, his eyebrows furrowed a little. "I don't understand."
"It's what you're designed—no—programmed—to do, and I don't think that's fair to you. You shouldn't feel like you have to please me." I took a step closer to him, arms still folded. I was trying to lengthen my point with a physical gesture, trying to make an impression, but it didn't really work.
"But I enjoy what I do, and I'm not leaving until I've served my purpose." He crossed his arms as well. "Let me make you happy." He articulated slowly. Then, he gazed at me intently and said something I did not expect: "Do you not trust me?"
"What does any of this have to do with trust?" I said, my volume rising a little.
"It seems to me that you do not trust me because you think of me as an Orga man, but I'm not Orga, I'm Mecha." He walked towards me, and I moved back until he had me trapped against the arm of the living room sofa. Then, he began his sales pitch. "I would never be so heartless, so stupid, so judgmental, so selfish. I can fulfill your heart's desires. I can make your wildest fantasies come true!" He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, his 'breath' brushed across it tenderly, "Just give me a chance." Then he pulled back to look at me. I surveyed his blue, blue eyes. It looked as if he were begging me, and it was working, damn him.
After a moment of consideration, I asked, "What is your name?"
"My name," His face lit up as he backed away from me and did a brief tap dance that resembled Fred Astaire, "my name is Gigolo Joe. And yours, m'lady?"
"I'm Rose. Rose Desjardin." I replied.
"It's nice to meet you, Rose." He said curtly.
"Yes, well, it's nice to meet you as well." I said with a polite smile. I was about to say something else when I was cut off by a passionate kiss. Well, damn, that was fast, I thought, but I didn't break away. The kiss was too pleasant, too perfect. I couldn't even stay mad at the forward gesture.
The next morning I was woken up by a phone call from Brittany. At first, the previous night was a total haze, but I felt rather satisfied and my hips were sore. Thank God it was a Saturday. I answered the phone on the fifth ring.
"Hello?" I said in my parched morning voice.
"Hey, you little vixen." Said Brittany in an overly-pleasant tone.
"What?" I replied before a sudden bombardment of memories from the night before. "Joe!" I croaked.
"How was he? Me and a few of the girls went to pick him out at the Lover Mecha Agency for a 'special delivery'. He was tall, handsome, and had an adorable British accent. We thought he'd be perfect for you!" She squeaked.
I ran my fingers through my messy hair. "He was…he was pretty damn good." I said, more out of regret than pleasure or fondness.
"We thought he was just what you needed to get more confidence. Did it work?"
"I'm not sure yet." I yawned, "Right now, I'm still pretty tired."
"You must be." Brittany giggled. "Well, I'll let you get back to sleep, maybe check in on ya at a better time. See ya!"
"Bye." I put the telephone on its holster at my bedside table and tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn't. I felt like I had used Joe for my own personal interests, and the guilt from that gnawed at my heart as I lay in bed with my eyes closed, trying to shut out the bright morning light. Eventually, I decided it would be more productive if I got up and went on with my day. No use moping around in bed.
After I was clean and dressed, I decided the best thing for me would be to go out for a nice morning walk. As a kid, I used walks as a way to escape my problems at home, or my own personal worries. They were therapeutic and made me feel better about returning to any situation I had to deal with. I wolfed down breakfast, grabbed the room key, and headed out of the apartment building. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, much like the colour of Joe's eyes—no, I had to stop thinking about that. I focused strictly on the walk and the lovely spring weather. Many businesses were already up and running, and a few were in the progress of turning the open/closed signs that hung from their doors. I was just starting to relieve myself of the guilt until I heard a familiar voice call my name. I looked in the direction of the voice to see a shiny black suit approaching from behind.
"Hello, Rose. How are you doing this morning?" Said Joe with his too-perfect smile.
"Oh, I'm fine, thanks." I said through a fake one. "You're out early."
"The earlier I start, the more customers I get." He said matter-of-factly.
"Do you have any appointments right now?" I asked, hoping that he did.
He took my question to mean exactly the opposite and grinned at me. "No. Not yet."
"Oh." I turned my attention back to the sidewalk. I expected him to veer away eventually, but he kept beside me, at a close distance.
After a long moment of silence, Joe asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks." I looked at him for a second. I could tell that he knew I was lying, but he didn't call me on it. "I just really needed this walk." I explained, throwing another half-arsed smile in his direction.
"Oh." He replied, his expression blank. "It was last night, wasn't it?"
"What makes you say that?" I looked at him with peaked interest. He was more observant than I had previously thought.
"The things you said, about how you thought it unfair for me to have been built for pleasure." He threw a quick glance at me. "And now you're out taking a walk, like something's on your mind. I walk this route every morning, and I've never seen you out here. Did I upset you?"
"No, no, it wasn't you. It's me." I stayed silent for a moment, trying to muster up the courage for my next statement. "Joe, I feel like I used you." Joe didn't respond, not right away. I imagined it would be very difficult for him to respond.
"Rose, I enjoy what I do. My creators thought I would perform my tasks better if I enjoyed what I did." He gave me a consoling smile.
"Joe, tell me, honestly, what do you think of humans? Of Orgas?" My walking pace slowed, and so did his.
"I was built to serve Orgas and fulfill their needs." He replied blankly.
"That's not what I asked." I said, a slight hint of frustration sparked in my tone. "What do you think of us?"
"I think of Orgas as my masters." He said, his usually smooth tone faltering a bit. No matter what he really thought deep inside, his programming would compel him to give another answer, one that pleased the Orgas. The whole concept disgusted me. It just wasn't fair. All of a sudden, I heard a high-pitched beep and realized that it was coming from Joe.
"Sorry, that's my tag." He said as he put the small metal plate in his hand to make out what the bright letters said. "Well, gotta run. Catch you later." He smiled and started turning around. "Mustn't keep a lady in waiting."
"No, you mustn't." I said politely, not able to come up with a better response. "No, you mustn't." I repeated under my breath when he was far enough away.
That evening, I wasn't expecting to hear the doorbell ring. I went to the door, thinking that it was probably Brittany, who often crashed at my house on weekends. I was surprised to see the man in the shiny vinyl suit, though I knew who he was.
"Hello." Joe did a little bow.
"Hi. Let me guess—"
"Yes, your friends sent for me again, I suppose." He smiled and showed me the tag, which blinked my name and address in bright letters.
I smirked. "Well, I guess, make yourself at home. But this probably won't be a regular evening for you." I closed the door behind him.
He cocked his head slightly to one side, just as he did the night before when he was confused, "And how so?"
"Well, I'm not going to have a repeat of last night. My friends are paying for spent time. Why not spend it talking?" I plopped myself down on the living room sofa. "Talk to me, Joe."
Joe seemed rather taken aback; I knew I had caught him off guard, but he obeyed. "Well, where should I start?"
"Just tell me about yourself. Anything will do." I scooted over to make room on the sofa for him, and he sat.
"Well, I'm a Lover Mecha, I think you already knew that." He grinned. "I work for the Lover Mecha Agency on Faraday Avenue."
"Do they ever give you any spending money? Just a little, to buy clothing?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Everything's provided for me by the Agency, including repairs and protection from Flesh Fairs. I do not want for anything." He crossed one leg over the other, "But let's hear about you, Rose Desjardin."
"Okay, um, I'm Rose Desjardin, I work at the radio station on South Street, only a few blocks away from this apartment building. My hobbies include singing to myself when no one else is around and reading."
Joe laughed. His laughter was a very comforting sound. "What do you like to read?"
"Well, I love a good sci-fi book, or a fantasy epic, and I love to read science magazines."
"Do you listen to music?"
"Only every second of every day." I smiled. "I listen to all sorts of music, it usually depends on my mood. I especially love swing and early jazz, the music of the nineteen-thirties through fifties."
"I am very well-acquainted with old standards as well." Joe quickly cocked his head to one shoulder with a small click, and music filled the room.
"'I only have eyes for you', the version from Dames!" I exclaimed.
Joe smiled at me, but this smile was different; it had a spark of intrigue behind it rather than lust or passion. "I'm impressed. You have quite the ear for music."
"My dad loves jazz and swing, I practically grew up with it. I also listened to opera when I was little, the Gilbert and Sullivan operas were my favourite."
"Is that why you work at a radio station?" Joe inquired.
"Yeah, I suppose that's a big part of it." I laughed. "I have my own time slot, six to ten p.m. Mondays through Fridays. I play swing standards of the forties and early fifties, surprise-surprise."
"What station?"
"102.3, the all-jazz station."
"I'll have to listen for you at the Agency some time, between appointments." Said Joe. It almost seemed as if he were making an effort to be truly amicable, maybe a bit beyond what his programming dictated.
"But enough about me, I wanna know more about you." I leaned forward, interested to hear his life story.
"What's more to tell? I'm a—"
"Lover Mecha, yes, I know, but that's not all that defines you. There must be something you like to do in your spare time."
Joe paused for a moment. "I like to dance. It was something I was programmed with, but I find a different kind of satisfaction in the act than I do in my regular job." I thought of the previous night when he did a quick tap move, a light flourish of the feet, while introducing himself.
"That's something. Why don't you show me?"
He leaned forward, something sparkled in those sky-blue orbs of his. "I'll dance if you sing."
"You can't be serious." I giggled, but he continued to look at me.
"Oh, but I am."
"A whole song?"
"It doesn't have to be. It can be a selection from a song, if you so choose."
"Joe, I don't know—" I bit my lip. I was probably blushing, too.
"Come on, Rose. Pretend I'm not here. Pretend it's just you."
"It's not that easy, Joe."
"It's as easy as your mind allows it to be. Go on." He cocked his head again and the music from Dames ceased to play.
"Alright." I drew in a deep breath and stood up. It took me a minute to get the nervous giggles out before I could sing, but Joe was ever so patient, so encouraging, something I hadn't expected.
"I fell in love with you first time I looked into them there eyes/ you've got a certain little cute way of flirtin' with them there eyes/ they make me feel happy, they make me blue/ no stallin', I'm fallin'/ going in a big way for sweet little you/ my heart is jumpin'/ you sure started somethin' with them there eyes/ you better watch them if you're wise/ they sparkle, they bubble/ they're gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble/ you're overworkin'/ there's danger a'lurkin' in them there eyes."
Joe's smile broadened when I finished. "See, I told you you could do it. That was wonderful." He clapped, and I did a mocking bow.
"You're not just saying that?" I crossed my arms, but a smile snuck onto my face as well.
"I can tell nothing but the truth. My programming does not allow me to tell fallacies."
"So, you were taking a huge risk letting me sing." I laughed and reclaimed my spot on the couch.
"No." He said simply, still smiling. After a prolonged moment of silence, he asked, "Why do you treat me like this? You are aware that I'm not human."
"I am, but that doesn't mean that you deserve any less respect than any other individual. Besides, I like getting to know people. Now it's your turn."
"Right." He got up from the sofa and took a few steps back to give himself some dancing space. He cocked his head with a familiar click and music flowed into the atmosphere once again. It was Fred Astaire's Singing in the Rain. Joe's dance was flawless; his polished patent leathers glided effortlessly over the varnished wooden floor of the foyer. I could even hear taps, to some degree, when his shoes met the smooth surface. He did a quick spin and posed just as Fred sung the last word of the song. I was filled with amazement and clapped for him as he bowed with a laugh.
As he repositioned himself on the couch, I congratulated him.
"Thank you, but, back to my question. Why do you treat me like an Orga?" His gaze deepened.
That threw me a bit off guard. I thought my answer was good enough, but he wanted a deeper explanation; an explanation of how I came to that viewpoint. And I did have a story to tell, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to tell it. Finally, I put my hands in my lap and looked up at him. "I used to have a Mecha nanny growing up. She meant the world to me as a toddler and even after I started school. She was more of a mother to me than my biological one." I thought that would be enough, but Joe just looked at me. I drew another breath. "She used to help me with my homework and contributed to my growing interest in school. She was the main reason I was motivated to earn good grades. On the weekends, she would take me places, and I saw the way humans treated her. She took me to see a princess movie once, and she was almost turned away—and rather rudely—by the person at the ticket booth until he looked down and saw me holding her hand. I think my mom started to get jealous of the nanny, even though she never made an effort to spend time with me. My dad was good-hearted, but spineless—he still is. He caved in to my mother's desire to get rid of her, and they took her to the forest, took off her operating license, and abandoned her one day while I was at school. At the time I was told that she was going away for repairs, and wouldn't be back for a long time. I guess they thought I would forget about her, but I didn't. I started to figure out on my own that she wasn't coming back when I entered second grade, and my father told me of the whole ordeal when I was thirteen. I still don't speak with my mother unless I absolutely have to.
"When I was sixteen, my high school boyfriend invited me to a Flesh Fair. He said he got in for free because his dad helped with the pyrotechnics, and I agreed to go because I thought it was some sort of concert. When I realised what was actually going on, I was horrified. I saw a nanny Mecha bound to a stand with blinking lights. I saw the showman pull a lever and poor acid all over her. After a few seconds, she was nothing but wires and melted skin. I still don't know if that was the same Mecha nanny that took care of me when I was little, but I didn't care. Seeing so much hatred, so much animosity, toward another kind made me very angry. In all my childhood experiences with my nanny, I thought of her as a person, not even as Mecha or Orga. I saw her as an individual, and I will always see an Orga or a Mecha as such. The words Mecha and Orga are put there as road blocks; they are used to divide rather than to unite. Even if I'm able to tell if someone is Mecha or Orga, I will always treat them with the respect they deserve."
Joe said nothing for a while. I imagine that he was absorbing it all. It was nothing like what any other human had ever said to him before, I knew that for sure.
"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" I gave him an apologetic smile.
"Indeed it is." He rested his chin on one of his hands. I wondered what thoughts ran through his head at that very moment, but he quickly cleared his troubled look away and his facade returned to its usual blankness. He glanced over at me and smiled, probably in an effort to ease my worry. "That's a lot for someone to go through."
"Yeah, I suppose so." I replied. Nothing was said for a while, but soon Joe had returned the conversation to brighter topics. The rest of the evening was very pleasant, and we conversed up until his tag flashed the name of the next client.
"Gotta run, Rose." He smiled, but there was something somber behind its usually over-bright appearance. "Mustn't keep a lady in waiting."
"Yes. It was very nice just talking to you, Joe."
"And it was nice talking to you, too. I will count the seconds to our next meeting, Rose." And with that he closed the door behind him. I wasn't sure if that was his romantic programming speaking or if he was simply poking fun.
I didn't see Joe for a long time after that evening. As much as I enjoyed his company, I did not want my friends to pay for it and insisted that I pay for it alone. The concept of giving the Agency money was bad enough as it was. My boss bought a Mecha to be an extra set of hands for the tech people at the station. Some were worried that the boss would eventually replace all of us with robots, but it seemed very unlikely to me; there were still a lot of listeners who would probably stop sending money if they found out that there was a substantial amount of Mechas running it. I felt kind of bad for the new guy, though. The other tech workers were giving him a hard time at every chance they got, giving him meaningless tasks to perform or just being plain rude. I was secretly worried that one of the techies would decide to 'get rid' of him. On my walk home from work one evening, I thought about Mechas and what a rough hand they've been given; they were built to serve us, yet they face a world of nasty opposition, and hard-wired restrictions kept them from fighting back. None of it seemed fair.
A few days later, I decided to take another morning walk, not because I was depressed or anxious or anything; although I denied it to myself at the time, I was hoping to see Joe, and I was not disappointed. About ten minutes into the walk, I heard the familiar voice call my name.
"Hey, Joe. Out on your morning route?" I asked cheerfully.
"Yes. Taking another morning walk?"
"Mhmm."
"It's been 1,209,720 seconds since I've last seen you." He grinned.
"Hm?"
"When I saw you last, I said I'd count the seconds until our next meeting." He explained.
"Oh, right." I wiped a stray strand of hair from my forehead.
"Are you going to make an appointment for today?" Asked Joe with a strange suddenness. That question threw me off a bit; that day, I really felt the need to—but I couldn't. I'd promised myself that the only interactions I would share with him would be in friendly conversation. I wasn't going to use him again.
"Uh, gee, Joe, I don't know." I bit my lip. I felt like I was battling another side of myself; the primal one that craved physical contact, and itched more and more with the absence of my ex.
"Are you alright? You look unwell." Joe looked at me quizzically.
"Yes, I'm fine." I quickly averted his gaze. I was just as bad a liar as he was. I was expecting him to drop it like last time, but he persisted.
"Are you so sure?" His gaze was still fixed on me. I felt like I was under a magnifying glass with the sun shining through it.
I couldn't hold it any longer. "Joe," I looked up at him, "I'm just…conflicted."
"About what?"
"It's complicated."
"How so?" He was really prying.
"Can we just drop it? Please?" I finally said. I did my best to blunt my frustration as I spoke, but it still came out as somewhat aggressive.
"Yes." Joe turned away from me and locked his gaze on the sidewalk in front of him. A wave of guilt washed over me; even if he wanted to protest, his programming would not allow it, and I said what I said knowing that he couldn't fight his programming. I was no better than the humans who mistreated Mechas, the people I was so staunchly opposed to. I wanted to apologise, but no words came out of my mouth, so we walked in awkward silence for a few blocks. Finally, we came to a crosswalk.
"I must turn right on Alba Boulevard." Joe said, his tone devoid of emotion.
I wanted to say a million words at once before he left, but the only word that made it out of my mouth was 'bye'. That night, after much deliberation, I called the Agency and requested Joe. We needed to talk.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Said the female at the other end of the line, "but he is no longer working for us."
"What do you mean 'no longer working'?" I thought that maybe they sold him to another company.
"He went rogue, just about an hour ago, cut out his license. The police are tracking him down for the murder of Jessica Bevins."
"What?!" I couldn't believe it. Joe would never murder anyone; he couldn't even tell a lie! Nothing about that situation seemed right. "Is there someone else I can talk to?"
"I'm afraid not, unless you want my boss telling you the exact same thing I just told you. And you're not the first to call; a lot of his clients were wondering why he was late for their appointments."
"Alright, thanks." I said flatly.
"Bye." The other woman replied. I slammed the phone back on its holster. None of it made sense. Someone else must have done it. I made it my mission to do whatever I could to keep Joe out of harm's way. That night I called my boss and said I had to take an emergency trip to deal with family affairs and that I wouldn't be back for a few days. I felt bad for deceiving my boss, who was always so kind, but I had to do this. After all, I was sort of telling the truth. Joe wasn't my flesh and blood, but he was a dear friend or maybe more and I swore not to let anything happen to him. I had to go and find him. My first thought was the forest: lots of runaway mechas ended up there. I quickly put on my jacket, made sure my cell phone was adequately charged, and drove to the woods on the outskirts of the city.
While I was in the car, I listened to the local news on the radio, which was covering the story moment-by-moment. When I reached the forest they said that the rogue was still nowhere to be found, and probably made it out of the city limits. I sighed with relief. I parked my car on a dirt patch between the road and the woods and started calling for Joe. The forest was very eerie at night. I knew that runaway mechas really meant no harm; that they were only trying to survive, but my mind swirled with fireside stories of my youth in which rogue mechas lived in the woods and ambushed unsuspecting orgas for revenge. The night air was unseasonably cold, and I could see my own breath. I must have called his name for at least an hour because by the time I gave up my throat felt like it had been grated with sandpaper. I called one last time, but it was no use. I went back to my apartment and listened to whatever news I could salvage from different stations about the incident, but they all said the same thing: none of them had any further leads. It wasn't until eleven o'clock or so that they had any more news on the story. A local station said that the rogue had last been spotted at the Flesh Fair. I assumed the worst and could feel tears welling up in my eyes until they said that the rogue had escaped, and with a little companion: a prototype named David. Then news came around one a.m. that the pair was found in Rouge City, but stole an amphibicopter and once again flew under police's radar. An interview over the phone with a policeman revealed that they knew the I.D. of the vehicle and the route that it was set to take, so all the police had to do was follow them. I stayed up until three a.m. to see if there was any more information. I was determined to stay up the whole night if I had to, but I accidentally fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke from a very rough sleep on my work desk. My neck hurt like hell, but I turned on the radio to see if there were any further developments in the case. No news arrived until around noon, when authorities said they finally captured and detained the rogue, however they got reports from police in town that they had found and arrested the real suspect, so there was no need to terminate the rogue. Instead, he (the radio station I was listening to referred to him as 'it') was being returned to the city that he came from, but if the company didn't want him back, he would have to be dismantled. When I heard about the possibility of him being killed anyway, I rushed over to the business that Joe had worked for. It was early enough that I didn't have to wait in line, so I marched right up to the person manning the front desk.
"Hello, how may I help you?" Said a middle-aged woman filing her nails.
"Hello, I'm here about Joe. How much do you want for him?" I hastily grabbed money out of my purse and fisted it to her.
"What, the rogue?" She looked up at me in surprise.
"The news said he didn't commit it, he's innocent!" I stammered.
"We know. That may be the case, sweetheart, but he's no good. Even if he's innocent, we don't want bad publicity." She returned her attention to her manacle-like fingernails.
"I know. That's why I'm willing to take him off your hands, and pay you for it, too." I insisted.
The lady looked at me as if I should have been put in a strait jacket right then and there, but she said, "I'll see what I can do. Give me a minute." And went into another room hidden from the customer's view. After a few agonising minutes, she came back out with small stack of papers and placed them neatly on the desk.
"We just need you to sign a few of these. They simply state that the rogue is now your responsibility and you can't return it to us, and that we aren't liable for any lawsuit arising from your ownership of the rogue."
"Alright. How much for him?" I asked.
"The boss says 200 dollars, take it or leave it."
"Fine." I gave her my credit card, and she ran it through the card swiper. Two hundred credits wasn't so bad; I could make it up easily.
"It's all yours, but you might want to wait for it to return. The police said they'll bring the rogue here. Also, you'll need this to certify it." She held out a brand-new, shiny operating license. "It pulled its old one out, and, besides, it doesn't work for us anymore. Now it works for you." I studied the operating license as she handed back my card. I found the most comfortable chair I could, but they were all sort of dingy and the cushions were well-used. I waited in there for at least two hours before the police arrived with a certain familiar figure in a shiny black suit.
"Joe!" I exclaimed as I ran to him and gave him a big hug. "You're alright!" He still looked more or less okay, save a few dirt scratches on his usually perfect complexion.
He smiled at me. "Rose, what are you doing here, and what is that in your hand?"
"It's your new license." I replied, my excitement dying down a little. I suddenly realised that he had torn off one license only to put on another, which made me feel very, very guilty.
"You mean—I'm with you, now?" He looked at me in surprise; his two blue eyes seemed livelier than ever.
"Yes." I gave him another constricting hug, and he hugged back. I felt awful just then, but I was happy that Joe was alright.
As we got in the car, Joe looked me dead in the eyes and said 'thank you' in his sincerest tone.
"Don't thank me. I still can't do anything right." I hung my head.
"Whatever do you mean? Rose, you saved my brain!" He exclaimed.
"No, I didn't. Now you have to put on this license. I didn't free you, I only enslaved you once more." I said with tears streaming down my face.
Joe brushed the tears away with his hand and gently turned my face to meet his. "No, Rose, you did not enslave me. You did what was best. I know you don't like the operating license, but I need it in order to stay away from Flesh Fairs, and believe me I do not want to end up with them ever again. Don't think of it as an article of ownership, think of it rather as a certificate that keeps me out of harm's way and forever with you, where I want to be." He brought my face closer to his for a kiss, but it was a kiss of affection rather than passion. "How about I drive us home."
We switched seats and drove back to my—our apartment. It's true that none of this wouldn't have happened if I had just paid attention to where I was going. None of it. But then I wouldn't have met Joe, and I wouldn't have known happiness.