Page 19 of Repossess My Heart

But you know the lies they tell. The upside-down facts of this hopeless world. Perhaps the information CeCe uploaded into that tech wasn’t the mistake of a dying, recycled bot. Maybe… I was meant to start an uprising, to change things. And instead of doing that, I’m begging the very thing that’s haunted me my entire life to kill me. Obeying him and whimpering his name in hopes that something I do will deem me worthy of his knife.

It's fucked. I’m not blind to that. Just as with most things… I can’t seem to make myself care.

I bite down harder on my lip as the lighting changes; the air isn’t so thick and chilled now, but I don’t look up. I don’t care to mark an escape path or look for information no civilian has ever remained alive long enough to see. What CeCe did had to be a mistake, because if not it means I’m more of a disappointment than I had ever imagined. Soon the concrete gives way to black tile. My stomach jolts, going all whirly as the whoosh of a lift fills my ears.

I just want this to end.

Please end this.

My brain responds for him in the cynical, asshole way I know he would. Soon the clack of heels fills whatever hall we’re in just as we step inside. Nine shifts me backwards, backing me into the corner of the lift as the clacking footsteps join us. The otherness tells me there’s two of them.

“Number Nine, we’ve missed you at headquarters. The masters especially.” The soft feminine voice is gentle in all the ways that count, but on the ends there’s an edge. A warning even. The lack of humanity in the voice, the perfect way it coos like a tuned instrument tells me it’s a bot. That they both are. Still my stomach heats, a nasty feeling spreading to my chest before it starts to fade.

“Why don’t you drop that…thingoff and come back with us?” The other one chimes in, her hand brushing past the pad of my foot on its way to him. “It’s not even awake, not like you to associate with street trash.”

“And it’s like me to associate with Mig trash?” He snaps back and suddenly the oddly jealous, irritated blimp in my stomach goes ice cold. Along with the blood in my veins.

A Mig…

Poster girls and killing machines for the Officials. Our world's idea of the ideal being. True perfection, endless enhancements. Women that are far more bot than human now. The cult like dedication to the Officials is enough to fear them, not to mention they are the only thing scarier than Repo Men on the streets. The few times they come down from their castle in the clouds, they act as something of an unofficial sexed up militia for their masters. Part woman, enforcer and pleasure bot… ender all in one.

They are fucking terrifying. He said their name out loud for a reason.

A warning.

Heeded because I’m about to take the cake for playing dead. All the badass fighting I’ve seen him do… I don’t even think Nine stands a chance against a Mig. I’m not even sure they can die. The same fifty-two Migs have been in service for… well way before I was born.

The first one laughs. What I’m sure was once a beautifully rich voice twisted by vocal enhancements giving it an eerie off-putting trill. A particularly nasty procedure, so I’ve heard. It leaves most mute who attempt it on the streets.

“Come on now, Number Nine, you know how we treasure our Repo Men. The masters do too. Don’t let old wounds poison the fun we could have together. You’re just as pretty as you were the day we first saw you. We knew then you’d be so strong.”

“We couldn’t have imagined just how strong, right sister?” The other one adds. Despite her addressing hersister, it doesn’t take a genius to know that was directed at Nine. And whatever the hit was… landed.

He tenses further, his grip on my waist threatening to force a squeal from my lips. I pitch my eye shut tightly, willing my hands to remain limp and dangling despite the pain.

Oh god, he’s crushing me.

“Careful Nine,” one coos, “you’ll kill it before we make it to your floor.”

“We aren’t making it anywhere.” He warns. Air rushes my lungs as he loosens his grip… just enough to make it somewhat bearable.

“You’ve always been a stubborn number, but I believe the master’s message was received. We’d hate to come back down here to tell you again. Finish the collection Nine and report back.”

The other one giggles in an unsettlingly childlike way, “Besides, we’re not just here for you. Ten is back.”

I swear all the breath leaves him as the doors to the lift slide open.

Get out of the lift. Come on, Nine, get the fuck out.

“He’s here now?” He responds, his voice tense.

“Naughty Number Nine.” The first Mig chuckles before hushing him, “I’m sure you’ll keep our secret, right? Especially since the masters are already so cross with you.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” He snaps, I blanch.

Please let whatever it is go.

They part allowing him to step out onto the floor. My heart flutters painfully in my chest as they follow him. Only breathing as their footsteps grow further away. Curiosity wins out over my fear as I twist my head, peeking at them as they head down the long empty hall towards a large staircase. It’s not hard to place which one was which has a sick feeling pooling in my gut. A tall, statuesque woman saunters away. The thigh-high stockings she wears match the lingerie they’re usually seen in. Unless they are hunting or recruiting, even then the clothing covers as little as possible. Most civilians never see a Mig in real life, many that do, don’t live to tell anyone. That’s not the part that has bile prodding at my throat…

---