I closed myself in my arms, ignoring the pungent smell on my sleeves.

"Ok-kay. Thanks anyway."

The Minireena slid off my knee and disappeared, leaving me to come to terms with the fact that I was alone and hopeless once more. I don't know when I left the old apartments; the sun hid away in the clouds, and my watch collected dust somewhere in Father's factory. To my (perhaps deserved) misfortune, Holly did not rethink her decision to abandon me. She never left her apartment. Or maybe she left via the back door when it was time for work?

A phone booth- more aged and dusty than the last- sheltered me from the chaotic world outside. No one paid attention to my rocking, fidgeting, or crazy rambling. Or maybe that's what I hoped. I pried wads of old chewing gum off various surfaces; I collected them into one lumpy, greyish mass. There was no way I'd stomach it. I fidgeted with the gum ball like a stress toy.

If Sasha isn't okay…

On its cord, the telephone dangled near the ground. I imagined I was like that, then swallowed that thought away. After readjusting the old tape on my arms, I grabbed the phone. The jacket string in my mouth tasted sour- I spat it out when I remembered what caused that. The ABC gum ball got more and more enticing as the phone rang. I closed my eyes.

Finally, someone picked up. "Jr's Bar. We're no longer serving alcoholic beverages at this time."

"Hey, Abby," I started, mildly annoyed that she answered the phone. "C-can I-" Abby didn't let me finish.

"You? Do you know you're wanted by the police?" she kept her voice at a sharp whisper.

"Very much so, yes."

"What the heck do you want from me?"

"I just want to make sure she's okay," I replied carefully. I could see the hateful scowl on her face- I didn't even need to be there. Another being-watched feeling made my skin crawl. I glanced out the window. The bush outside lit up with sets of eyes- but only for a second.

"Sasha's not here anymore," Abby deadpanned. "She walked up in here covered in bruises, blood, and puke, and then passed out on the floor still trying to do her job. I sent her stubborn butt home."

I fumbled with the phone cord. "But she's o-okay, right?"

"You better hope so," she snapped, to which I gulped. "You're already famous for jacking up the ER and carving up that one girl and her dad. They found your serial killer clown mask in their car. The weapon, the evidence- you're not walking away from this." My stomach stirred with an aching guilt that I really should have been used to by now. Leaning against the booth wall, I gritted my teeth. How was I supposed to explain that I indirectly murdered someone?

"It was- it w-wasn't just my f-fault."

"Whatever. Sasha said that heifer Greene gave her a beating. You sat there and watched, right?" Her words sliced through my lungs, making breathing a heavy task. "You wanted her to die. Just didn't want to pay child support, huh?"

"No, I-" the words were barely out of my mouth before I paused. What? I didn't hear that right. "Wait, wh- I'm s-sorry, what th- child support?"

"Yeah, don't play dumb, she-" Abby's voice softened after her pause. "She didn't tell you?" I was still stuck on the last thing she said. What the hell is child support?! The more I thought about it, the more my head swam and my frame shuddered. No, no, that doesn't mean she-

"You got her pregnant, Mike. She was supposed to break it to you when we tracked you down? She didn't do that?"

My mouth was paralyzed.

"Ugh, I told her…" Abby's voice trailed off as she complained about Sasha. I couldn't listen anymore. Terrifying thoughts and scenarios reverberated in my head, sending waves of nausea and sheer terror throughout my body. My bones felt like jelly.

I am a father now?

I spat some words out finally, hardly above a whisper, "I- I got- I got Sasha p-" Trying to say that sentence pretzeled my guts to a near-puke moment. I started over, clearer but in denial, "No. She's n- I- I'm- I'm not even- I'm a- I can't possibly have a kid." I clutched the back of my head as if that would stop my brain from overloading. The phone booth seemed to be shrinking by the second. There's no way. We've done things before, but-

"Aren't um, babies technically made in- in beds, anyway? Like sl-sleeping? Or, uh- because w-we were- we just sometimes were fooling around on the couch and the c-c-counter, so there's-"

"Aughhh, I don't care how, Mike," Abby groaned. "She swore it was yours, and… I trust her. Unlike you. I know how stupid you are." A bad taste mixed in my mouth as I remembered the "advice" that Father used to give me. I yanked my hood over my flushing face, the urge to belt a scream worsening.

"Everything lines up," Abby added. She kept talking while I banged my head on the glass wall, "Unfortunately for you, you're gonna get caught by the blue boys and spend the rest of your miserable days in orange peels." Her otherwise-monotonous voice wore a pained edge I never heard. "And that poor kid… is gonna grow up with the knowledge that their father is a killer. Just like you did."

A painful silence passed. I growled, "No. It has to be s-someone else's. You're just lying to me. You always hated me, s-so you're just- just- y-you're lying-g." I licked a tear off my lip, surprised that I still had some left. "Let me talk to Sasha." I wanna hear her say it.

"Go jump off a bridge."

"Maybe I will! Nobody would fucking care, anyways!" I shot. My throat burned.

"Language!" Abby snapped back. "And before you do that, you still owe me for that soda pop-" I slammed up the phone. My entire body trembled like a cheap, overworked washing machine. No amount of rocking or breathing exercises stopped it.

No way. None of this is happening. None of it. I'm just out of my mind. The past few weeks didn't happen! Wouldn't that be a kick!

Violently crushing the gum ball in one hand, I rang up another number. I flung my hood off as if that would de-cloud my mind. I need help.

"Hello?" a little boy's squeaky voice asked. My lungs stiffened for a moment. This is James's kid.

"H-hey, uh…" I scrounged my memories, my hand pressing my forehead. "Mm- Tim? No, Tom- Tommy! That's it. I, uh- it's me, your, uh, your uncle Mike." Even being an uncle felt weird.

"Oh. I don't have an uncle."

I closed my eyes to ignore the sting of my heart crashing down. "No, no, y-you do. I'm your uncle. Please, just- c-can you please tell J- um, y-your dad that-t I'm really really sorry? Or put him on the-e phone, even?"

"I can't hear you very well," Tommy replied. I recognized his mother's voice calling him in the background, and so did he. "Um, I gotta go eat lunch now. Bye, sir."

The phone slipped from my grasp. What was I expecting, honestly? I left the booth, my brain a pile of mush and my legs on auto-pilot. The now-bright-and-wide-open sun shot lasers through my eyes. I threw my hood back on. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was constantly being watched somewhere, so I kept walking. I squeezed the strap of Holly's old purse on my shoulder.

I can't be a father. I can't be a father. I can't be- not like this! I didn't want it like this. I'll mess it up! I forced those numbing, sickening thoughts away to think about something else. MY father is out there somewhere.

By myself or not, I have to find him, I decided but didn't believe in my own determination. If he still has her, then that's a reason to keep going. I scanned the area around me. Which way to go? Back home? None of the buildings struck me as familiar. The street names didn't have a place in my memory, either. I'm sure I whirled around for fifteen minutes. The more I looked around, the more the roads seemed to curl in impossible directions. Wait- now I'm lost! I'm freaking out! I clutched my arms and took a breath. I have to keep moving. My head kept swirling as I stepped forward anyway; I went in a direction that I was halfway sure I'd gone at least once in my life.

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Cracks riddled the sidewalks as I traversed through the darker side of town. The shadow of my hood concealed most of my face, thankfully, but I knew my eyes were visible. Passerby noticed. When the negative attention cooked me, I ducked unceremoniously into a damp alleyway.

Where am I going? I asked myself for the millionth time. What am I even doing? I don't have a plan. I never did. My limbs felt 100 times heavier under my steadily-worsening low-power state. I leaned against a brick building's jagged backside.

What do wanted people on the run do? They skip that part in the TV shows. I probably look really suspicious standing here-

A trash can slid to the left. My breath halted. Did I see that? The world itself paused.

An animal, I dismissed after a few seconds. Or I'm seeing things. Very likely. In my peripheral vision, the trash can dared to move again. I approached it, swallowing back anxiety. I hope this kills me.

I flung off the bin lid like an over-zealous chef. Saucer-wide robot eyes glimmered inside. Bon appétit.

"I knew-w it!" I exclaimed. The Bidybabs screeched and toppled over the bin. They struggled over each other's bodies, trying to stand. Biddy's soiled toddler shoe copped a Bab right in the nose. It's funny to imagine it now.

"How long have you been-n f-following me?" I asked, my stomach clenching with mixed feelings. The sight of familiar faces brought tingles of hope- and dread at the same time.

"Not long," Biddy answered. "We found you only recently. We've been searching for you." Chelsea looked down at her fiddling fingers. My eyes narrowed at the dark smudges spotting her dress and skin. What is… The others bore strange marks like that, too.

What have they gotten into? I wondered. In my close inspection of the Bidybabs, I realised that there was a fourth- one with yellow eyes instead of pink or blue. A faded red bowtie sat on its neck. It held its blackened arms tightly together, staring me up and down.

"Now that we've found you," Chelsea started, "is it okay if we stay with you?"

"Uh…"

The Bidybabs gazed up with a child-like desperation. My stomach turned for the umpteenth time. I swallowed. If they stay, something bad might happen. I tucked my fingers in my belt loops.

"Stay? Why didn't you st-stay at the house?" I didn't want to answer the question.

"The house caught on fire this morning," Biddy stated primly, "and Circus Baby's was vandalised. We're the last of the Bidybabs. And we have nowhere to go."

My ears rang after that first sentence, so I didn't comprehend much else. I stammered, "Wh- what do you m-mean it- it- the house was- the house caught on f-f-fire?"

"Yes," half of the Babs replied. My brain played out the haunting imagery of tapes melting, photos crumbling, and plastic body parts dissolving into glop. I could hardly imagine flickering flames nicking at that old wallpaper. I looked back down at the Bidybabs. Anger billowed from my stomach. Destructive little devils! I knew- why the hell did I leave them there alone?! They're robot toddlers!

"What did y-you do?" I cried, jabbing a finger at the air. They raised their hands and shook their heads. Bitey protested with a mouthful of what looked like a greasy toddler bib, "We didn't do anything." I released a breath but not enough to cool down.

"Right. Of c-course you-u didn't."

"Michael, there's something else you should know," Chelsea grabbed my attention immediately. "Before the fire, there was a person in your yard-"

"What?"

I swooped down to grab her shoulders, staring right into her large eyes as I demanded, "What did-d they look like?"

"They wore dark clothes, a red hat, and-" she poked Bitey's face to show an example- "-little shiny things all over their face." My brow furrowed for a moment. Who has… I palmed my forehead as my eyes ballooned.

"Piercings," I breathed. "Abby's p-piercings." Dizzying heat washed over me. My hands fell to my sides. My head drooped soon after. I swore, my voice a bitter rasp going past shaking lips.

"Who's Abby?" a Bab asked, then jumped back when I slammed a fist into the concrete. I let raging thoughts overwhelm me in lieu of answering the question.

It was Abby- Jrs isn't far from there! Why would she do something like that? Why? She has to be crazy! A pyromaniac! That's what fire-lovers are called.

Chelsea's gentle voice couldn't break through my sad-angry stupor.

What did I ever do to her anyway?! She's trying to ruin what's left of my life by telling me I got her best friend pregnant and then lighting my damn house on fire!

She tried again, "Michael, are you okay-"

"Leave me alone!" I burst, aimlessly swiping the air with a hand. "I don't wanna h-hear anything else, okay?!" Out of energy, I flopped back onto the ground. The world was tripling, full of blurry inkblots and static. The Bidybabs distanced themselves from the damaged man at their feet. I'm not sure if they kept trying to talk to me or not. I just know that they were gone when I lifted my head an eternity later.

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I tottered near the edge, peering past the rails to the terrain below the bridge. My shaking intensified. The bitter autumn wind whistled through the holes in my body. I felt sick- dizzied by the sensation of even breathing. I climbed over the railing and sat, watching my feet dangle in air. With every silent second grew the sea of intrusive thoughts and the empty void in the depths of my stomach.

Almost autonomously, I reached for my journal in the bag on my hip. It took no effort for me to draw another face- a different angle this time. It scared me- how much detail I could remember despite knowing of my terrible memory capacity. Usually, drawing comforted me. Today, I had trouble swallowing back agonising fantasies. Mabel is out there somewhere. No, she's not. She's dead.

If she were here now, she'd hug me, and probably buy me food, and tell me that everything was going to be fine. She'd go on and on about something that makes her happy and I'd listen intently, absorbing every word and absorbing her energy. She'd call me stupid because it was never what she meant to really say. She'd be there for me. And I took it for granted.

I took everything for granted. The house. The clothes. The things I liked. The attention- the good kind. The people I knew- the ones that I neglected to reach out or apologise to when I really should have.

I listened to the painful tick-tick-ticks and thump-thumps and quiet hums of constantly working mechanisms in my chest. As I removed the strap of Holly's bag from over my shoulder, I wondered what would happen if I ripped out my beating heart. Would it continue to pump in my fingers, spewing artificial blood all over my skin? Or would I drop? Just drop dead? With a small head-shake, I documented my violent feelings, put my journal back in the bag, and stood, tottering on the tiny ledge.

What if Elizabeth lied to me? How would she know what I am? She was six- she didn't know what she was talking about. A jump from this height HAS to kill me.

I untangled my fingers from the bars of the railing, then put them back immediately. My body's shaking jostled my grip loose. The rocky terrain below taunted me.

I'm doing this. I'm doing this, I told myself firmly. I stepped forward to lower myself onto the support beam below the ledge. My breath came out rapid and shallow, hardly doing anything to help me. I looked down. Absolute terror and regret came crashing in my stomach.

I can't do this. Not like this. There are plenty other, less-dramatic ways to-

My footing slipped. I let loose a shrill, throat-shredding scream. My tailbone collided with the ledge, then my head. In my tumble, I somehow ended up gripping the support beam with one hand twisted backward. The rest of my body hung like a limp, swinging corpse. Dizzy and already losing my grasp, I tried to swing my other hand up. Both of my elbows now clung uncomfortably to the ledge. My entire body trembled as I struggled to keep myself steady, straining my energy levels. Getting a leg up was an impossible task now.

"Help! Help-p me…" I cried out with a weak shudder. "I c-c-can't pull mys-self up!" I would've accepted the police at this point. The wind gave a shuddering whimper in my ringing ears. After several quiet seconds of dangling 70-something feet in the air, I realised that I really was alone. No one was available to grab my hand or swing my leg or even motivate me to keep trying.

I had nothing else to do but let go.

All the bones in my body shattered upon the jagged, wet rocks below the bridge with a crackling splat. I struggled through red and black static. What am I?! I was just a mind. My thoughts scattered apart, unable to hold together. What was left of me convulsed and twitched. I couldn't control anything anymore. I was reduced to basic functions. Black, white. Error. Broken. Error. Function. Bad. The loudest static screeched like a thrashing river. I'm broken.

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I'm sure I was really down there for hours, motionless and without a single conscious thought. The first thing I felt was heat. My body oozed with a strange, sweltering heat. I remembered that feeling. I could smell and taste it pulsing down my throat- I know that could sound weird out of context, but anyway- understand that I felt like I was on fire.

Hours passed. Maybe days- I don't know. I raised a hand and stretched out its fingers. My muscles throbbed in response. I rocked myself onto my stomach. Debris and rocks trickled from my hair as I curled my legs together into a crawl position. The movement took ages. I could feel my energy levels fluctuating haphazardly. My doubled vision finally focused on the new, shiny, reinforced layers of tape and wire and metal pieces on my arms.

I coughed up fluids- a mixture of blood, vomit, and that burning liquid. My lungs awkwardly began to breathe again in an unsteady, rattling pattern. I remembered something- tiny faces and hands. The more I tried to see them, the more static I got in return. With a huff, I staggered to my feet. My lanky legs buckled under the pressure. I used a sturdy rock to hoist myself upright. My spine curled too far down, rendering the action of standing up straight near-impossible. After a full examination of my "new" body, I leaned against the rock and stared up at the glaring blue sky.

It's a miracle, my first thought was a bitter one. I'm still alive. My hand slid underneath my tattered clothes. An empty space and dangling pieces of cracked skin and broken wire replaced my torso. Nothing ticked or pulsed inside my chest. I touched my actual heart and gasped. It was cold.

I'm still… alive?

I found a journal that looked familiar. This is mine, I quickly restored this tidbit of memory. It wasn't always mine, though. It belonged to someone else. I scanned its contents. Flawless symbols of perfect android handwriting scattered the pages. I'd poured out my sorrows, and I'd sketched out my nightmares. Exact replicas of people and objects of significance were scattered across the papers- every single detail portrayed through swift, harsh lines, dots, shapes, and figures.

A girl took up an entire page herself. I left out not one attribute to her design. Uneven fingernails. Paint stains. Stretch marks. Nose blemishes. Curls, some frizzy and some forming tight cylindrical shapes. Perfect, off-white rows of teeth.

I kept flipping pages. Memories spoke complex colours in my head. Static and ones and zeros and ones and zeros- I couldn't process everything. Faces. Voices. Errors. Who are they? I know them? No? Where? What happened? I can't speak! Errors. I killed her! Where are you? I love you! Eyes. They hurt me- Nobody loves me- what happened? What did you do? I love you! Man up, will you? I miss you. Don't touch me like that! I love you! Please, I don't want to be alone! I'm too young to die! Alone. No! Where am I? I'm trapped! I didn't mean to! Can you hear me? I don't like that one. Where is she?

What human could process this much? Too much. It's all too much. I remembered everything and yet, I remembered nothing. Because nothing made sense.

I closed my journal.