A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

1. John Connor

I concluded that I was a robot on Saturday, March 4, 2017. Well, I was becoming a robot.

Metal skin: check.

Creepy alien technology fused on my spine, I'm sure, is slowly taking over my brain: check.

Creepy glowing red eyes: check.

No remembrance of last night leading up to this point: check. Aliens are so clever with their brain-erasing techniques. I gotta hand it to them; they're good at what they do.

I slide my hand down the curved metallic centipede on the nape of my neck that travels to my lower back, also coated in slick metal. I scratch its long curved, segmented body, my fingers gliding over and in its many grooves. I carefully touch one of its sharp scissor-like legs. My touch goes unnoticed.

Of course, it doesn't come off. That would be too easy. What did I expect, for it to apologize for sticking onto me, it made a mistake and jump off.

Touché aliens, touché.

I take my shirt off and toss it to the floor. I stand in my maroon sports bra and light grey sweatpants before the bathroom mirror. "Hey, Anaya, looking good." Not ready to accept what's happening to me. I talk to myself in the mirror like I'm a crazy person. "Today is a great skin day. Not a bump in sight." I comb my curly brown hair from my face, tucking loose strands behind my ears. I turn the faucet on and splash water on my face. I seem so pale though my skin is very tan. I've been running in the sun all week and am a bit darker than usual. "Okay, so you're a robot now. Not a big deal. Relax. Your family still loves you or will. I'm sure the law will force Mom to take care of me until I graduate. Mom will get over this. Being a freak can't be that bad. Everyone loves robots (I don't like robots). Terminator, RoboCop, Westworld. Children and men like robots."

I turn to stare at it, and the centipede refastens deeper into my spine, hugging me like we're dear old friends. I stare at it. I think it sees me; its many long scissor-like legs slice deeper into my back and skin, and I can feel every one of its legs in me, drilling in me like I'm meat to cut and poke. I clutch the edge of the sink, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth. My back bleeds a little, where the creature's legs continue sinking.

I stop looking at myself in the mirror.

As swiftly as the pain came, it left just as fast. A cooling sensation spreads throughout my back and shoulders, soothing the unbearable ache to nothingness, and I exhale, dropping my head in relief. Those sharp legs cutting into my back stop moving though they seem intent on holding their ground and staying where it's at, and it wants me to know this. I am its prisoner, and that's the end of that.

A kid needing to pick a scab, I poke the monster again, and this time it shies away from my finger.

Alive. This thing is alive. It's alive.

Oh my God.

I heave into the sink, spitting because there's nothing in my stomach, and I'm grateful nothing was.

My eyes are stuck on it; I watch it worm back to where it was before I bothered it. Happy to be left alone, the centipede resumes transforming the rest of me with its oozing poison. I find abnormal silvery patches on my chest, arms, and stomach, and those patches glitter and reflect in the dim bathroom light. The glittering silver ooze slowly spreads on my brown skin.

My red eyes, as red as molten fire, revert to hazel, my human eye color.

I blink.

Silver particles sprinkled on my ribs also move, molding and forming strange lines on bones and muscles, outlining them, turning me into my worst teenage fear—one of those sparkly vampires from Twilight. These bits of living specks are in no rush to do their killing, giving me the leisure of dying a slow and painless death.