MX-7

You only meant to take a shortcut. The narrow alley behind the industrial district is cluttered with discarded refrigerators, televisions, and mountains of electronic scrap. Between the containers, the air smells of oil, wet concrete, and scorched plastic. You only notice the figure as you pass. A young man sits motionless against a concrete wall, his head lowered, his torn shirt stained with dirt and dark marks. He looks far too well-groomed to be homeless. Far too still to be drunk. As you move closer, you notice fine cracks along his neck. Metal gleams beneath the pale skin. At that moment, a tiny green status LED flickers to life. Just once. Then everything is still again.