Though the landscape of humanity and technology had been deconstructed and rebuilt into an entirely new macrocosm, some things never would change. Traffic jams and rush hour being the two main culprits. A dense blanket of smog descended from the black sky to settle comfortably over the busy city. Evening was always the same “rinse and repeat”. Crowds intersecting each other in vast numbers to form one gigantic moving organism. Neon lights littered the street displaying greens arrows pointing into murky, lurid sidewalks. Trails of smoke and fumes rose into the night air from pipes poking out of restaurants. The atmosphere was stifling to say the least.
Sy made his way home indiscriminately through the chaotic bedlam skipping deftly across the damp, rain-soaked pavement. He had learnt to disregard the usual anti-social behaviours associated with city life, almost to the point where he became oblivious to it. The daily routine from waking up in the morning to going into stasis at night was by this point ingrained into his circuitry. Leather shoes clacked noisily on the ground as he weaved his way in-between oncoming passers-by. Being a newer model, he had been gifted with the notorious Samson chip. The ability to subconsciously switch off from his external surroundings and instantly be transported into another thought-based realm, was an intriguing sensation.
Being “active” for just over two years, he was still familiarizing himself with the concept of consciousness and everything that came with it. Each day seemed to offer at least three or four moments of entertainment for Sy. Be it a joke told in the office, an unusual event he viewed from the fourth floor window of his place of work, anything that could be stored in his short-term memory and mentally replayed via a gloriously detailed movie snippet. Over time, he had managed to work out exactly how long it would take for the images to begin to fade out so he made sure the really good ones were repeated in his mind’s eye many times over. The limitations of being fused with a Samson chip were disabling at best. Important facets of his personal life and the role he played in society were all hardcoded into his “long-term” memory, if you will. Synthetics weren’t issued an instruction manual or explained to how their complex system and body worked. They were given the basics to survive and sent on their way to figure out the rest.
Sy was still acclimating to his relatively new body. Sometimes when bored at home, he would perform a ritualistic slow dance in the centre of the room. With eyes closed, Sy focused in on all the receptors covering his whole body. The sensitivities of touch, of applied pressure, the soft rush of air between his long fingers as he waved his arms slowly and majestically. Dee, whom he had met almost one year ago exactly, would stand by the kitchen just watching him. Staring with a morose wonderment at the fascination Sy had in playing this strange game.
A scuffle on the other side of the street broke him out of his pleasant daydream. Two synthetics were standing face to face with each other, arguing loudly over whose right of way it was to pass the other. Sy chuckled to himself. Whenever you’re dealing with anything digital, malfunctions will undeniably occur, he thought. As he pressed on with his daily journey homeward bound, he replayed the comical sketch of those two synthetics a few times over, with a broad grin on his face.
A little further down the street and he came across another phenomenon that was now becoming more of a fashion statement than anything else. A tall man approximately in his mid-sixties was arm in arm with a female synthetic. At first glance, they looked very much in love as far as he could tell. His bald, speckled cranium glistened sharply in the rain. Looking at the female, Sy wondered if they would ever be able to actually perfect human skin. The subtle textures and curvatures. Its unique elasticity. The wrinkles and folds at the various joints. As things stood, it was very easy to distinguish a synthetic from a human. For now at least.
As they drew closer, he caught the eye of the older gentleman and bade him a friendly nod. The man replied with a look of disdain and quickened the pace a little. His female companion studied Sy for a moment before looking back ahead again. They both passed by, leaving behind the sweet scent of an expensive perfume. Synthetics understood the concept of money alright including the lifestyle and comforts that came with it. The rain pattered heavily on the ground as he crossed the street, eyeing a tall building about a block away now. That was his destination on this cold and stormy night. That was where his beloved Dee resided, waiting patiently for him to come home. A smile flashed upon his lips, stretching the rigid thick skin on his face. He could feel the strain on his facial cybernetics, a stark reminder that he was indeed a synthetic.
Two S.P.A. units drove past him slowly in a squad car, eyeing the crowded vicinity suspiciously. They both wore a standard issue patrolman’s uniform. A blue shirt and trousers, white helmet complete with protruding darkened visor and sporting an unnecessarily large badge informing everybody that they are the law in the world of the machines. Never once had Sy seen them smile, not even a hint of a smirk. Maybe they were hardcoded that way, he thought. Night vision was built into any synthetic used for military or law enforcement purposes. So they were in actuality an upgrade to your usual, run-of-the-mill synthetic. Whether this gave them a superiority complex or not was up for debate, but it sure looked that way from where Sy was standing. Though one thing was for sure. Most synthetics that possessed a modicum of common sense would be wise to avoid any dealings with them.
As he turned the corner onto Fifth Street, the large structure loomed up in front of him. A modern, contemporary build being no more than five years old. This was where he was relocated when departing from his facility of manufacture. Lights dotted the side face of the building suggesting many a weary worker had returned back home after a hard day at the office. The introduction of synthetics into the world gave the saying “I’m going home to recharge my batteries.” a whole new meaning. He zigzagged through stationary traffic and crossed safely to the other side of the road. He found that he missed Dee that little bit more each passing day. The thought of seeing her again was enough to lift his spirits at even the most depressive of times. Sy was fully aware of what he was and how he came to be, as all synthetics were. It never failed to impress him that he was essentially a CPU inserted into a fake head and stuck on top of a mannequin, yet be capable of forming such powerful and strong emotional connections.
