Nueva York 2099

“Morning,” he said as he handed you your usual latte. 

“Morning,” you accepted the cup. “Charlie wanted me to tell you that we’re staying open.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“He’s still convinced that it’s going to miss us. He’s in his office watching the weather again.”

Miguel looked past you toward the big windows at the front of the building. Snow drifted gently from the heavens. Charlie’s optimism almost seemed justified.

“I hope he’s right.”

You headed toward the table where you had left your things. Miguel followed and took the seat across from you. For awhile, neither of you spoke. Miguel had fished out a stack of lab reports from his bag, and you were skimming the notes your publisher left on the first draft of your manuscript. The snow continued to fall.

An hour had passed when the lights flickered. Everyone in the cafe glanced toward the ceiling, then to each other. Miguel stood to look outside again. 

“You might want to go get Charlie.” He said. You stood up and walked over to look out the window. The once gently falling snow had suddenly turned into a whiteout. The buildings across the street had disappeared entirely. 

Your eyes widened at the sight. You turned and sped down the hallway, but Charlie was already on his way back.

“Gather everyone - we’re going to close early.” 

You went to all corners of the museum and herded people back into the main area. Thankfully, the few visitors who came earlier had already left. All that remained were the staff and volunteers. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for me to eat my words. We will be closing now due to inclement weather. If you would like to leave now, you are welcome to do so, but I would appreciate it if we could have some people stay to secure the galleries and button everything up.” 

A moment passed, but no one left. Charlie smiled and sprang into action.

“Security, please do another sweep of the galleries and secure the exterior doors. Facilities, please ensure all of the faucets are dripping and cabinets are open so we don’t have any busted pipes. Archives, conservation, please make sure everything is secure and all archive rooms are locked before you leave. Miguel, come with me. Actually, both of you.” 

“Me?” You asked. 

He nodded and gestured you both along toward the basement. “You’ve practically moved into my archives. You can help, too.” 

You fell into step behind him. You were always surprised at how quickly he could move when he was on a mission.

“We have a few things we need to do. Firstly, there are 3 dozen moisture sensors all over the basement. We need to make sure each one has a blinking green light. That means that the battery is still good and that it’s connected to the notification system. Secondly, there are old steampipes in the maintenance room. Miguel, I want you to look at them to ensure there are no leaks or weak spots.” 

You all reached the bottom of the stairs. “I'll do the sensors. You said there are 36?"

“36. The majority of them are in the archives, but they’re scattered around.” 

You nodded. “I’ll get started.” 

Within the hour, every sensor had been checked, every archive room locked, and every maintenance concern addressed. By the time the three of you got upstairs, you were the only souls in the entire building. The conditions outside had only worsened. You had a notification that your train had been suspended. 

You sighed quietly. 

“Something wrong?” Charlie asked as he zipped up his coat.

“I’m going to have a hell of a time getting home.” You said. You began looking at hotels in the area, but the prices were exponentially higher due to the storm.

“What about the bus?” Miguel asked. 

You shook your head. “Suspended. The city is basically shut down. It’s okay, I’ll figure it out. I can lock up if you guys want to head out.” 

They both looked at you with furrowed brows. 

“What?” 

“I’m not leaving you alone here in the middle of a blizzard. That’s nonsense.” Charlie scoffed. 

Miguel shrugged. “My apartment is only two stops away. You can stay until the trains start running again.” 

“See, problem solved. Call me when you’re home safe.” Charlie began ushering both of you out the front door before you had time to argue. 

“But-” you began to protest. The wind was whipping so dramatically that you decided to keep it to yourself. You pulled your hood up and followed Miguel. 

The 10 minute walk to the subway station was miserable. The cold had gotten into your bones by the time you descended the stairs. When you were in the station, the heat was cranked to the max, and slippery, dirty sludge permeated every surface. You stood behind Miguel the entire time, desperate not to lose him on the crowded platform.

  The train was packed. Apparently the mayor had issued an order for all non essential businesses to close for the day, thus sending millions of people home early on very limited transportation. 

“We’re the next stop.” Miguel said. You looked at him. You were bundled up head to toe, but he had somehow managed with nothing more than a light winter coat. You still hadn’t decided if he was simply impervious to the cold or clinically insane. 

You followed him onto the platform and up the stairs. Somehow, the weather seemingly got worse. You desperately hoped you could get home tonight after the worst of the storm passed, but that hope was quickly fading. After a short walk from the station, Miguel headed toward the door of a large, glass-fronted apartment building. He held the door open for you and you scurried in. A wave of warm air washed over your face. 

“Thank God,” you sighed, tugging your gloves off. You stepped aside to let Miguel lead the way. He led you across the lobby to the elevator.

The silver doors opened, and he gestured for you to step in first. You squeezed yourself into the corner and watched him press the button for his floor. You kept your eyes trained on the numbers that continued to climb as you ascended. 

“I should probably mention that my guest room isn’t really a guest room anymore. It’s a workshop. But you can have my bedroom.” 

“Absolutely not. Do you have a couch?” 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. You followed him as he went down the hallway. “Yes, I have a couch. I can sleep there, and you can sleep in my bed.”

“Absolutely not! I can sleep on the couch.” You waited as he held his watch to the apartment door. It unlocked seamlessly. 

The apartment was exactly what you expected. The furniture was practical, every surface was neatly organized, and everything in the space was functional and high quality. 

“You’re my guest.”

“It’s your apartment.” You carefully took off your boots and set them on the rug near the door. 

“Exactly. That’s why you should sleep in the bedroom.” 

You sighed. “Miguel.” 

“We can decide later.” 

You stood next to the door awkwardly as you watched Miguel walk further into his apartment. You unzipped your coat and unfurled the scarf from around your neck. 

“Hi!” 

You yelped. A small, holographic woman appeared in the air in front of you. 

“You can put your coat in this closet.” She pointed to a closet next to the door. As if on cue, it opened to reveal a few coats hanging. 

“LYLA!” Miguel chastised. “You scared her half to death! I’m sorry about that.” 

“Whoops, my bad! I forget most humans don’t have an autonomous AI assistant.” 

You clutched your chest, willing your heart rate to come down. “It’s okay.”

You hung your coat in the closet, and the figure was still watching you. 

“You seem cold. I’ll turn up the temperature by two degrees celsius. If you would like to shower, I can also set the water to your preferred settings.” 

You inspected her closely. “What else can you do?” 

“Don’t encourage her.” Miguel called from the kitchen. 

Lyla rolled her eyes dramatically. “He’s no fun these days. Anyway, I manage the apartment, monitor its systems, coordinate deliveries, maintain Miguel’s schedule when permitted, and provide assistance with research upon request.”

“When permitted?”

“She has opinions.” Miguel was standing in the doorway drying his hands with a kitchen towel. 

“I have correct opinions, Miguel. Your life would be easier if you let me manage your calendar again.”

“Not making that mistake again.” He said. 

You walked over to the living room and saw something that could only be described as generic. A nice couch was the centerpiece of the space, with a large glass coffee table in front of it. There were two corner shelves that held plants, books, and photographs of a much younger Miguel and what you guessed were friends and colleagues. There was a throw blanket hung over the back of the couch, and some decorative pillows that you could only assume were picked out by LYLA or a store associate. 

“Your place is nice.” You said as you walked over to one of the shelves. 

“Thanks. I don’t…have people over often.” Miguel said. You could feel his eyes on you. 

You shrugged and studied the titles of the books. “Me neither. My apartment is too small, and I may or may not have a bad habit of letting it become extremely disorganized before I decide to clean.” 

“Are you-”

“Jeez, Miguel, you’re not going to offer the poor girl a snack or something? She just endured a once-in-a-lifetime weather event!” LYLA appeared again right in front of his face. 

You spun to see her gesticulating dramatically with her hands, and a laugh bubbled up out of you. 

“I was getting there, LYLA.” He said dryly. 

“I’m fine for now, but I would love to borrow a pair of socks if you don’t mind. My boots didn’t do a great job of keeping the snow out.” 

“Of course.” Miguel began walking toward the bedroom. 

“It would be most efficient for you to take a shower now. Miguel typically showers at 7:56pm, and he takes approximately 27 minutes to finalize his routine. Would 90 minutes be a sufficient amount of time for you? I can start the water now.” 

You widened your eyes at LYLA as Miguel returned to the living room with what looked like a black crewneck sweatshirt, black joggers, and a fresh pair of socks. 

“Ignore her, please. You can shower whenever you want.” Miguel side eyed her as he handed you the clothing. 

You chuckled. “Now is fine, if it’s going to ‘maintain efficiency.’”

LYLA twirled in the air and pointed a finger dramatically. “Water has started. It will be to ideal temperature in approximately 120 seconds.” 

“Thanks, LYLA.” You said over your shoulder as you walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you. 

Though it was small, Miguel’s bathroom was meticulously organized. His toothbrush and toothpaste stood at attention on the left side of the counter. A black comb and some hair products were neatly lined along the right side. You pressed your ear to the door for a moment. After deciding that the coast was clear, you quietly pulled open the small drawer. What looked to be a straight razor shaving kit was laid out inside, along with floss and some other toiletries. 

You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find, but you gently slid the drawer closed and shrugged. By all accounts, Miguel seemed extremely normal. 

So why did he make your hair stand on end? 

Charlie’s recollection of his ‘catlike reflexes’ had been no joke. Once, you were hidden deep in the archives when he came in to find something. You were sat on the ground behind one of the many shelves when you heard Miguel’s distinct footsteps heading your way. You soon realized he was going to be one row down from you. 

You hatched a plan to try to scare him since it seemed that he was unaware of your presence. You were quiet as a mouse, and your plan was to grab his foot from your spot on the ground.

You smiled mischievously as you heard him coming closer. He stopped a few feet away, and you were still confident in your plan. You were about to crawl closer to where he was standing, but a large, heavy box inexplicably came down from the top shelf. You heard Miguel catch it. 

You cocked your head in confusion. The top shelves were nearly 12 feet tall. Everyone needed to get on a ladder, and several of them were so heavy that they needed to be pulled down with extreme care. You had kept your eyes on Miguel’s feet the entire time, and he hadn’t so much as jumped. 

You remained quiet as you saw him walk back down the aisle toward the door. When you saw a glimpse of him from behind your shelf, he was carrying the heavy box with one arm, and not a bit of strain. 

After that, you noticed so many little things about him that no one else seemed to acknowledge: his eyes were always trained on movement, even when he was pretending to be focusing on something else. He didn’t have any tics; he never bounced his leg, or tapped his pen, or bit his lip. You noticed, after awhile, that he was unnaturally still. Most people swayed a little when standing or shifted their weight. Miguel could stand still as a statue for an entire conversation. 

The most infuriating thing you had noticed were his eyes. In the fluorescent lighting of the cafe, they looked red-tinted. You blinked, thinking you had hallucinated it, but you had noticed it more than once, but never for more than a few seconds. 

You had frankly seen your share of weird things over the years. Most of the time, you chose to mind your business and ignore it. You tried to do that with Miguel…but you stupidly seemed to have fallen in love with him. 

Your heart skipped a beat every time he walked through the museum doors. You could listen to him talk about spot welding, chemical baths, and rust removal for hours. You could feel the blood rush to your face every time the corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. 

The feeling was decidedly not mutual. You had discovered all of his strange quirks while looking for evidence of reciprocity. He was kind to you, but he seldom sought you out. He didn’t seem to treat you differently than he treated anyone else that you had seen him interact with. Miguel was just a good guy who seemed to be content with his life as it was. 

The evening went on without a hitch. You and Miguel had a relaxed dinner, and now you were sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he graded lab reports and you read one of his many books. The storm raged on all afternoon, so it was a given that you would be spending the night. 

You looked down at your watch. “It’s almost midnight. When do you usually go to bed?” 

He looked up from the paper in his lap. “It depends.” 

You yawned and looked at the bedroom door. “You can go to bed. I will sleep out here.” 

He set the papers on the coffee table and sighed. “We never finished our earlier discussion.”

“Yes, we did. I’m sleeping on the couch.” You crossed your arms defiantly. 

He stared at you for a long moment. “I have a king sized bed, you know.” 

“And?”

“And…there is enough room for two adults. You can put a wall of pillows in between us or something. Trust me, this couch is not going to do your back any favors.” 

You weighed the idea in your mind. “...Okay, fine.”

You two stood on opposite sides of the large bed. Miguel meticulously placed large pillows down the middle. To your surprise, there was a decent amount of room on your side. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

You were trying to be as mature about the situation as you could be. Still, your heart stuttered in your chest, and your subconscious went to places you knew it shouldn’t. 

“See? No harm done.” Miguel slid under the covers and turned off his bedside lamp. You did the same.

Surprisingly, sleep came quickly. The bedding was soft and clean, and LYLA must have set the perfect temperature in the bedroom.

Hours later, a strange noise broke into your dream. You tried to ignore it, but the noise became louder. You blinked slowly. This wasn’t your bed, nor your bedroom.

The sound of fabric ripping broke through the last of your sleepiness. You looked over to see a large hand on a pillow. What could only be described as claws sank deeper into the fabric, tearing it to shreds. 

Your eyes widened at the site. On instinct, you began to retreat, only to fall off the bed and land hard on the floor. 

It all came back to you: the storm, the argument. You were in Miguel’s bed. Something must have happened while you were asleep. 

Miguel’s head popped over the side of the bed, and he saw you on the floor. His hair was disheveled. He looked like he was just torn from a deep sleep. “Are you okay?” 

Confusion clouded your sleep-addled brain. You stood up and rubbed the side of your hip where you took the fall. The room was dimly lit with moonlight. 

You shook your head, trying to make sense of what had happened. “I…think so.” 

Miguel stood up and turned the light on. You both stared at the shredded pillow in the middle of the bed. 

Your brain finally caught up. The only hand that could’ve done that was Miguel’s. You played the image of the claws retracting once again, and you looked up to find him still staring at the fabric with a defeated expression.

“Miguel…” you whispered. 

His eyes darted up to meet yours. You couldn’t read his expression.

“...I shouldn’t have suggested this.” He said quietly. 

You looked from him back to the shredded pile of fabric. “I saw claws.” 

You expected him to scoff or to tell you that you were dreaming. The silence stretched on. 

You furrowed your brow. “...Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

He stared at the floor for a long time before looking back up at you. “I don’t know where to start.” 

“Just try.” You plead. Your mind was racing with possibilities. 

“You should probably sit down.”

“I’m fine.” 

“You just fell off the bed.”

“I’m not sitting on that bed until I get a plausible explanation.”

“...Right.” Miguel exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been trying to avoid this conversation.” 

You furrowed your brow. “What?” 

“I know…if we kept spending time together, then eventually something would go wrong.” 

“Why would you keep spending time with me, then?” You questioned. 

“Because I like spending time with you.” He confessed. The words made your heart squeeze. 

You dropped your gaze back to the bed. “...That doesn’t explain…” 

“I know.”

“I saw claws retract into your fingers.” 

“...That’s correct.” 

You blinked. Surely you were still dreaming. “Are you human?” 

“Mostly.” His answer was quick.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly. “Miguel, what the hell does that mean?” 

“When I worked at Alchemax, I was involved in an accident. It changed my genetic makeup.” 

“...And gave you claws.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Can I see them again?” 

“Are you sure?” He questioned. 

You nodded. “I’m sure.” 

He paused for a long moment before holding his right hand toward you. Small, needle-like claws protruded from the pad of each finger. 

You gasped and climbed onto the bed to get a closer look. “They just…retract whenever you want?” 

He nodded. In an instant, they sunk back under the skin and his hand returned to normal. You inspected his hand curiously from all angles. He held it there for you patiently. You gently pushed on the pad of his index finger, and the sharp tip of his claw protruded. 

“You’re like a cat..." You observed.