18.

There was a point I was embarrassed by my—

Lack of grace?

I guess that's the best way to put it.

I've read a lot of fiction and nonfiction, and a good handful of the books I've dug into ultimately circle around one thing:

Trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with humans.

When A2 hops next to me, perfect in balance, perfect in form, and I trip over roots and get tired from an upwards slope—despite my physique, which I've trained since Nines' explained muscle building and mass to me and all—I don't give half as much of a shit as I did when I was younger. I was not built as an android. I'm a fumbling mess of a human—a thing of nature—and androids are manmade.

Keyword: manmade.

Androids are what humans would be if they could be, made by the dream of humans of the past. My people. The people I came from, and the people I'm trying to find.

I'm done getting flustered when A2 turns around with barely-concealed exasperation, no doubt thinking, "How the hell is he so slow?"

She stops for me a lot. She could cover this entire city in a span of minutes, but not me. I go step by step, minute by precious minute.

At some point I stop and lean against a building, enshrouded by foliage, and pull out a sac of blueberries. I scoop them in my palm and dump them in my mouth like they are crumbs, my eyes shut against sweat that lines my brow. Holy mother of pearl—this is an expression I've recently read and thought was hilarious, by the way—am I hot. It's an overcast day, the sky made of iron above, but holy mother of pearl am I hot.

A2 has done a nice half-circle back to me. Her hands fall to her hips and she levels me with a look.

"Alright." Her tone of voice is flat. "I have to ask."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and keep my eyes closed.

"How did you survive this long?"

I drop my hand, plop my head back against the building, and peek one eye open at her. "That is a very long and emotional story, A2."

It's really not long, or all that emotional—despite some key events—but maybe melodrama will keep her interest.

She breathes out a sigh that stirs the hair in front of her face. Her fingertips tap against her hips, and I tense watching the motion. She's beautiful because she is what humans want to be. They crafted androids in their ideal image. Enhanced. Strong, capable, fast, and, for some reason, beautiful. There is no reason for a soldier to look so flawless except for a human's own vanity projecting onto a, well, project. Do androids understand why they are the way they are?

Probably not, because no one—not even humans themselves—know why they do the things they've done.

When Nines and I speak again, there is so much for us to talk about. Does he know there are sources from humans that completely disagree with one another? Humans have written entire books on one side of a topic, only for more humans to write entire books proving the former ideology false? And vice versa. Nonstop contradictions.

Nines' head would explode if he knew how totally lost humans truly were.

Are.

Were.

Well, we must still exist. More than just me.

I am, after all, heading to find the ones I was with.

The humans with the ribbons.

"Ribbon." A2 is peering over her shoulder. "Shall I carry you?"

Never mind.

I thought I was beyond embarrassment, but that is—

Ugh.

Judging by the books, a "female" carrying a "male" is a massive no-no.

Fuck.

But what are these books and who wrote them to say what's what? I'm not in the old society. I have very little in common with the authors aside from sharing the same species. My upbringing, and theirs—? Completely different. They lived in easier times. Shallower times, where assigning meaningless roles was an actual concern. The structure of humanity based on the preferences of those in power, unafraid of eradication. The victors of war over other lands and even over their own people.

They implemented rules for society, to keep themselves in a position of power, but not roles for survival in particular, in the most basic sense. Survival was a given.

I lower one shoulder and let my pack sag off me. It plops to the ground with a "thump" that is almost comical, and Noggin's noggin peeks out. One yellow eye rolls about, but I don't think the machine is awake.

"You can carry this guy." I spark a grin. "Promise not to drop him down the canyon?"

A2 fixates on Noggin with a taut jaw. "You've got to be kidding me."

I make no audible response, and just flick my wrist like, "Woe is you".

A2 runs a hand up her forehead, up through her hair, and then breathes out her nose like she is trying very hard not to kick Noggin straight into my own skull. "You want me to carry a machine life form?"

Better the bowling ball than me, yes.

I rub my shoulders, exaggerating. "I am very sore. I am tired, weak, and fragile. The pains of being the sole surviving human in such a big, scary world."

Okay, maybe too much melodrama.

A2 is staring at me like I'm a total diva.

Fine.

My grin widens. "Okay, okay." I push off the wall. "Let's go."

I reach down to retrieve the pack, but A2 is beside me in the next instant, hauling the pack onto one shoulder. She slings it back like an edgy explorer, and I blink at her, wondering how I can make fun of someone who has probably never read human literature and therefore would not likely get the reference.

I just smile my gratitude at her, because shit, that thing was a chore for me to lug around and she's carrying it like it's a feather.

"This android." She spins around, hair cascading behind her. I almost reach for it, to feel the fibres, to see how close her hair feels to mine—mine, real hair—and then I falter. What does "real" hair mean? What defines whether hers is more or less real than mine? It is just differences in—

"Ribbon?"

I snap out of it.

Sometimes I revert to a kid-like state of questions. Stupid philosophical bullshit that has no place where I'm at now.

"Sorry?" I rub my jaw. "I wasn't listening."

"This android." She walks a few paces ahead. "The one you stalk."

My eyes go half-lidded. "I don't 'stalk' him."

"Of course not. Why him?"

I peer through alleyways, silent.

"Ribbon?" she presses.

"What if it were you?" I ask.

She keeps walking ahead. "What?"

"What would you feel about a human who's—" I hesitate. "Who is obsessed with you?" I know what I am, at least. I know why I am the way I am, but the funny thing about humans is although we can identify a problem, that doesn't mean we can solve it.

Because sometimes, we don't want to.

I don't think it's a problem, per se.

I want to save my friend. If I'm obsessed with that idea, is that so bad?

"I don't know," A2 says. "At one point, I may have been honoured."

The grass and leaves crunch beneath our shoes.

"I want to protect humans, even now, despite—" She takes in a sharp breath. "I was made this way, so how can I fight it? However." She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she glances back at me, and it's such a sly, sarcastic glance my stomach does funny things. "If someone followed me without my consent, I'd hurt them." She flashes teeth in what is meant to be a smile, but is not truly. "I do not like those who try to trick me, nor control me."

Well, she won't be happy to know I've become a bit of a control freak.

I smile back at her, la-di-da. "Say." I trot to her and fall in step beside her, and then I link my hands behind my back. I learned this innocent posture from Nines. "If that's the case, can I share something with you?"

A2's forehead creases. "I suppose."

"That android I've been watching. The male one."

"Yes?"

"I've got a bit of an unhealthy mind-set towards him."

She adjusts the strap of the pack. "What do you mean?"

My heart rate's going all sorts of crazy. "I want to save him."

A2 keeps frowning.

"I mean, I want to protect him." My voice is raspy. "But that doesn't mean I'm a nice little human."

"What are you talking about?"

A2's gonna find out I'm a bit defiled, because she's an android and she's smart as hell, so before she finds out on her own, I should tell her, right? I should be upfront, because she just told me she hates being tricked.

I click my tongue. "A2, I'm saying I—uh, you know how androids tend to think of humans as saviours?"

"I suppose."

"I want Nines to think of me as his saviour." I pause. "Even though I may not be. I'm just me, plain old bland human hauling a machine head around and trying to figure out if my kind really has been decimated or not. I don't own who or what and I don't even know my past. But I want Nines to be grateful to me, to worship me, to be fascinated by me."

A2 stops walking, and so I do, too.

We've stopped next to a small river that flows into a canyon. A long radio tower stretches upwards in the distance, and above, the clouds churn and roll. A droplet of rain hits my cheek.

A2's lips quirk into a half-smile. "The humans I've encountered have been despicable liars."

I scratch my elbow, waiting for her to lop my head off.

"You're just despicable." She spins around. "Where did you say you want to go?"

Raindrops spatter around us, sporadic and gentle. I take a slow step.

"Oh." I wander after her. "Along the river, to the canyon. Go right at the bridge. There's an elevator down an obscured path."

She waits for me to catch up, and we walk side by side amidst the open grass. Raindrops mark us.

The place I want to go?

Wherever that place is, I need her to carve my path.

AN: I am sorry for the slow updates. I've been trying to find time to replay Automata to keep the characters consistent, but that hasn't been a reality until recently. I miss writing about these little tarts, so please let me know how I've been doing!