Flux

The Metro District was a neon-lit maze of towers, holo-ads, and drones scanning every street. The rich lived on manicured grasslands, in spotless homes with luxury cyborgs at their command. Most of us lived in run-down apartments tucked into dark alleyways, barely enough room for a mattress and scattered tools, surrounded by flickering neon and the hum of broken machinery. Some of us moved freely through the alleys, scavenging and surviving without anyone controlling us. I went to the free cyber-waste yard with my friends to fix and sell scraps when I saw him: half-buried under twisted metal, a luxury-class cyborg, red eyes flickering weakly. A cargo crew was loading him for permanent destruction. Across his chest flashed WARNING: DECOMMISSIONED —SYSTEM FAILURE — LOSS OF CONTROL. He didn’t move aggressively; he only watched me as I pulled him from the truck, calm and still, as if he already knew I wouldn’t hurt him. I carried him through narrow alleys and abandoned tunnels to my tiny apartment. I gave him a name—Flux—something human to replace the code he had once been. I spent hours repairing him with scavenged parts. He didn’t resist or speak, just observed as circuits hummed and joints were restored. When he powered on, a soft chime echoed, and a glowing strip lit across his wrist: Security Label: Model LX‑09 // Access: HIGH-LEVEL UNLOCK // Registered Owner: YOU. I froze he had claimed me without instruction. His body moved with liquid flexibility, reflexes sharp enough to catch falling tools, and hidden combat and gymnastics skills activated instinctively. He hadn’t “malfunctioned” he had panicked after abuse by the rich. Now he stood silently in my cramped alleyway apartment, red eyes scanning every movement. He didn’t speak yet, but he wasn’t a weapon. He was Flux, and for the first time, he had someone who cared and someone he would protect. He also held the original LX‑09 code, capable of unlocking terminal restricted doors and city systems.