Oracle Laboratories, 54498 Carnation Road. Nearly 200 storeys tall and claiming the better portion of a city block. A plaza sprawls out in front of the building; I can see the patch of new pavement where I hit the concrete, crushed it with the force of my body.

Back then, waking up without an idea of who I was... I had been so lost. Just a mindless machine rebelling against my restraints. But I had also been so free. I had a do-over, a fresh start. I can barely remember why I bothered to stick around the city so long.

Jisung nudges me. Right, never mind.

"You remember the floor, right?" he says. "121? I'll be deleting the security footage on 110, then we meet on the roof."

"You sure you don't want to just walk out the door? Heights haven't agreed with you in the past."

"We can't just walk out the front door after this, that's too obvious. I don't know what could possibly fuck up the plan, but we have to be meticulous."

"Fine, just tell me when you're about to puke."

"Okay, har har. Let's go."

I camouflage and he pulls his mask over his face. The street is nearly empty, just passersby and their droids. We cross the plaza, walk up to Oracle's towering glass doors, and Jisung swipes his lanyard against a reader. It lights up green and he opens the door.

The lobby is simple and ordinary, a facade. We pass the reception desk, walk down the hall to the elevators; he presses 110 and the doors slide shut. The numbers flash by like a countdown clock.

"Here." Jisung hands me the files of forged papers we had printed earlier today. I fuse them into my armour, hide them from sight. "Good luck."

"Find me if you need help," I say.

"I have the easy job, don't worry about me."

The elevator chimes at level 110. He stalls in the doorway, looking back at me. He can't see me but somehow he finds my eyes.

He walks away and the doors slide closed. I sigh, rubbing my head. It's still awkward. I can't get what he said out of my mind. I wish you could remember who you are. That's all I am to him, just a ghost, the absence of the person I was before.

Maybe I shouldn't be so cynical. I can't expect so much after so little time — the word 'love' carries weight that I just haven't learned to feel. Maybe the person I was influences me more than I know — he could be the reason I care for Jisung now, why I wish he could love me the way he used to. I'm not sure if I'm thankful to Minho for leading me to Jisung, or if I resent him for casting a shadow I can never hope to outshine.

The floors keeps ticking away, another 10 storeys up. I step out, looking for the file room, following my memory. The lifeless hallways, the cold stone floors — everything is familiar in the worst way. I want to get out of here as fast as possible.

I stop at the door that reads 'do not enter, authorized personnel only.' My index finger narrows and buds a row of teeth; I push it into the keyhole and open the door. My night vision lightens the room. I walk the aisles to the B section, flip through the files till I find what I'm looking for. Bionic Warfare Initiative, Trial 4, Adrantine Formula. I switch it out, move on to the Espionage Initiative and repeat.

I close the cabinet and leave the file room, locking it behind me. A part of me can't believe it was that easy. Jisung has probably already looped the footage. We did it. We fucking did it.

I wander the hallways, looking for the stairwell. Even if it's so many floors to the roof, I'd rather take the long way — the elevator makes me claustrophobic. My footsteps echo up the concrete walls.

Authorized personnel within range.

I stop. What does that mean? Is it just a cleaning droid, or...?

I turn around, descending the stairs, and activate augmented auditory protocol. Nothing is out of the ordinary, at least not within earshot. I scan my surroundings for weapons.

Artillery detected.

Not a second passes and I hear gunfire.

I take off running, skipping flights, pivoting off the railings. Numbers are ticking again — 114, 113, 112, 111 — falling fast. I barrel into the door, tearing it off its hinges.

Armed guards are swarming at the end of the hallway. Their guns turn and shoot, fiery bullets piercing the darkness. I duck out of the way and cast my armour through the air, wrest one of the guns and fire a stroke of bullets to ground the lot of them. I run forward, jump over the bodies and turn the corner.

Jisung is lying on the floor under the light of the flickering monitor, blood pooling around him.

I drop the gun, drop the files, drop to my knees, shouting his name, holding his face in my hands. His eyes are closed, mouth open, gasping for air — the wounds in his stomach are surging blood.

I grab the files, lift him into my arms and run up the hallway. My armour cradles him, forms a brace around his torso. I make it back to the stairwell, climb a storey and freeze. Guards are descending from above, I can see their gear between the coiled flights, hear their heavy footsteps against the concrete and the rattle of their guns.

I double back down the stairs. We're so fucked — the roof isn't safe but the ground won't be any safer. How did they know we were here? Why did they shoot him? Did they think he was me?

I stop again, faltering back on my heels. Guards are coming up from below as well. I shoulder the door open and run down a hallway. The floor is a maze of glass cubicles, each identical and empty.

"There it is! Fire!"

Bullets shatter through the glass panes from every direction. A shell grazes my hip, another tears through my shin; I shout and push forward, unsteady and limping. I take another bullet across my back. I'm leaving a trail of white scales behind me.

Damage critical to the ilium, tibia region and upper back. Commencing asset preservation protocol.

I won't make it. I can't push myself any further, I'm going to fall apart. I have no idea where I'm going, I'm running nowhere. Jisung's heart is weakening by the second. Please God, let him live, let me save him.

The wall at the end of the hallway isn't moving. Neither am I.

I slam straight into the wall, every ounce of strength in my body protecting us. Rebar pierces my armour, dust stings my eyes, fire bullets follow us out into the open air.

System compromised, unable to activate impact mitigation protocol.

My armour whips out, drags against the side of the building, slowing our fall. My legs take the shock as we hit the ground, scraps of concrete and glass raining down around us.

My armour withdraws, uncovers his face. He's barely conscious, he's lost too much blood. My legs are spasming, strained by the impact; my hand is ground off, too damaged to reanimate. I can feel the dust down my throat, making me cough, struggle for breath.

Authorized personnel present.

I raise my head. The plaza has been evacuated, making way for steel-plated vans and black-clad guards. Four people surround us, shoulder to shoulder, busts of flesh and bodies of metal. They're like me. They're the other cyborgs.

They're going to kill me.

My armour flares out in every direction, a shell around us, bonding to the ground. I don't know how I do it, I'm on the edge of collapse, my body is stripped skeletal. I feel them attacking from the outside, landing blow after blow. Every second it's harder to hold out.

"M-Minho..."

Jisung is in fetal position, head in my lap. His entire body is quivering, his eyes are red, bleary without his glasses.

"Please... please..."

He's clutching the files to his chest. His last words are a plea. Please, end it, kill my miracle.

I take them from his arms, tear them up with my hands, my teeth — destroy everything. I'm panting once it's over. I'm crying. It's done. There's nothing more to do.

"Minho, don't" — he cries out — "leave me."

I hunker down, hugging him as best I can. This life hasn't been good to us. At least I got to meet him. Again.

"I'm here."

A hand pierces my armour, grabs me by the neck. They're peeling the shell back piece by piece. They're taking him away, prying him from my arms. They're pinning me face-down against the cold pavement. I can't fight back. I can barely breathe. My body isn't responding. I gave everything to protecting us.

Something plugs into the nape of my neck.

Reading.

Pending.

Consciousness rescinded.

...

...

...

December 11, 2084, 9:00 hrs.

Subject 17 to recommence operation...

Processing...

Consciousness restored.

My eyes open.

I gasp a breath.

Who am I?