Metal Genes (Full)


The slums in the West Side were always marked red and they were off limits, but when you have a problem, that is a place to go. Dark streets dotted with ponds where neon signs changed their colors in, the smell of burnt meat and sound of a verbal fight was the usual for this place. Hologram commercials were fishing for the ignorant fools to enter one of the locals in the back alleys, seek for cheap gynoid hookers and get their master chip carved out. Cyborgs had no business walking in here, yet I needed to.

After two shady groups passed, I came onto Chinese symbols. My integrated translator glitched, pupils fought to focus, but words came up saying “Love Palace and rooms”. Old combat drone scanned me for weapons and checked my battery levels before door hissed, letting the loud music and girly moans out.

My filters switched to biological attack mode so smoke couldn’t do any damage to me. A swift mapping gave me notification of the crowd present at the bar and the exits in the structure made in the last century. My moisture levels showed that mold was severely ruling the place, covering all of the outer walls and some corners in the upper levels.

– Here to find pleasure? – blue hair gynoid approached me, no clothes on her, just poorly assembled torso and bare wires that fell over her arm.

– No. – I said, my voice losing power, – I am here for Jin. – nervous shake of a head told her I was in a bad shape, so she tilted in hips and gave me a weird look.

– What do you want? – a different voice came from the device meant to be used as a cleaning bot.

– I need adjustments. – the electronic voice fell and climbed in the next minute when she fired up the additional eyes on the bot and ran down my body.

– You need a miracle to fix everything that broke down. Military fixed you up pretty good. – I sensed a judgemental smile behind the robotic mask that wasn’t moving, and I knew she was looking at the empty spaces that surgeon robotic arms left in me in order to fix the war scars and pacify my abilities, – What treatment do you need?

– An update on the system and guns. – me nervously looking around wasn’t helping my cause, – I can pay. – I said to keep her interested when a sound of a lighter and a sigh broke from the gynoid that turned around and made me follow the plumpy plastic butt.


Alley, a small pass where gangs gathered before the actions, urban soldiers, criminals made laughing noise I detected. As I walked toward the noise in the bottom of the darkened space, memories came back to me. These traumas were erased after combat cyborgs came back from the battle, but I have let Jin summon few of them back. I needed them.

Eyes focused, red shadows moving in the thermal specter. Five of them, only three at the side of a dumpster, doing something. All human. Two other gangsters puffed smoke, acting ordinary and without fear of cops that rarely came down from their patrol cruisers.

– The fuck you want? – the first one asked when I got near the group.

Those men by the dumpster bolted me, while one of them remained down, entertaining himself with a gynoid they caught passing by. No human would have stopped them from what they were doing to that poor bot, as we were considered things, objects without stature of a human, of a person.

Electronic eyes begged me for help. Even she hasn’t said anything, our systems synced in and I felt her suffer. Her skirt was lying beside her, the sweater she had pulled over her face, panties ripped apart.

I left them full of holes, blood dripping from the brick walls where gang graffiti was painted. It wasn’t viable for police to react, nor for the Justice Department to take actions, so I had to do it. I had to bring order in chaos, to shed light in Hell, to fight for our rights.


I was told if you want to exterminate mice, feed a young rat with mice and let him in the basement to catch them all. If sick, find what makes sick, find the cure and use it on the infected body. This city needed a cure for a sickness that took over it. Crime, drugs, murder – it all must end.

I was told, breathing is important to soldiers and counting helped. One, two, three, breath. One, two, three, breath. And so it was. One – I pulled the trigger and bullet flattened the goon on the corner. Two – second shot broke the glass and blew off the head of a bodyguard standing near the dinner table. People in a panic went for the door, a Bossman went for the back door. Three – the echoing sound of fire caught their ears, but the third shot broke the cyborg behind the wheel of a limo.

– Spread out! Spread out! – one of them shouted at the men who came out of the second car.

They had no idea I was on the rooftop so their eyes went everywhere. Bossman crawled back and opened the door. He slowly ran across the parking lot, bowed in back, he searched for the incoming assailant, but he saw running civilians instead.

Fourth round cleaved his arm holding a briefcase, fifth set him on his knees, six ended it all. His men were slow. Not many cyborgs in his clan, that’s why his organization failed. They fear we could be hacked, used against them by some rogue hacker, blackmailed by the tech guy for the secrets told in presence of a bot. Many got rich listening to secrets told to gynoid in late hours, in the sheets of silk. Many got killed because of it, many cyborgs.

My crime intolerance was reaching the overload, a rash I could scratch now. These men were an allergy and death was the only cure I could come up with. City deviant and distorted in violence, in sins that festered their rotting hears – I was the cure.


Patrol cars were lined up, officers were everywhere on the street, putting on the “crime scene” ribbons, holding the crowd away. News reporters tried to put a drone in the no-fly zone, but swift cyborg devices chased them away. It all seemed calm on the street where flashes of the cameras captured the position of dead gangsters.

A detective came about in a modest stroll, breathed in the air, looked around trying to crack the case. Some cop brought her a tablet with analysis from the mobile laboratory, a cyborg capable of doing the advanced searches in the police database. She nodded and the man left to yell at the crowd.

– It must be military training. He was able to gun them down in less than two minutes. – she said her winsome smile reflecting in the screen, – He even sniped the bodyguard with a curved trajectory. He must have calculated the wind, planet rotation and dented the shot. I would also say it was an android shooter. Four dead, every shot demanding its own fire adjustments… In two minutes? He is an android. – she added and looked at her partner that took a sip from the cup.

– How sure are you it’s “HE”? Maybe it’s a gynoid with stolen software. I hear they were used as spies before. – he said, casually observing the rooftops.

– We will find out. – she said leaving the spot, – If its a gang war, we should expect many more dead on the street. Lucky for us, we have help from the Birou. They’ve sent us a cyborg they used to bring down cartels in New York. His file is without a stain. – the conversation continued on foot, – Are you ready to find a killer on a loose Lieutenant KLD 553? – she stopped, her lovely smile now pointed at someone else.

– Yes, madam. – I said.

Cyborg Marksman

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