#bodywise

     She thinks… She? Hmm… No, not a she day. He thinks it’s the only thing he’s seen for days that is supposed to be natural, of the Earth itself. Madigan shifts, pulling legs close to chest. He does have male genitals today. Have to be careful with those.

Some people say that things not made by man are sacred, the last… What was it? Bastion, that was it, of nature. Others say that the cities were made from the Earth, and so were humans, so in the end it all balances out. Madigan doesn’t care one way or the other. His choices are made for him, most days.

The pure black of sky is interrupted by the massive Intellascreen sliding into view and casting a cacophony of light into the alleyway. As it comes into Madigan’s focus, something in his brain begins to translate the nonsense light into the language he can understand and hear. 

“Viseo Medio, originally of Southwestern Russia. Wanted for: Resource Wasting, War Profiteering, Collusion. Vivian Anderson, originally of the Citadel. Wanted for: Wasting Resources, Unkept Oaths. High-Princess Sal Tanniran, originally of the Citadel. Wanted for: Assasination, Collusion, War Prof- '' The ugly faces of the Citadels most wanted flash by as the Intellascreen floats out of view in low orbit, the sounds of the criminal’s own voices fading from Madigan’s mind.

For a while, nothing comes. Madigan shifts uncomfortably in the grimy gap, sliding out of a puddle he had been lying in. To big to be his piss, but it didn’t smell much better. This movement causes ripples, warping the purple flashing reflections of the skyscrapers above him into disambiguation, oil pooling up in a slimy pile on the surface. He stares at them, the ripples, until they dissolve. He is high, it seems. Not as high as he had been when he collapsed into an alley nap, but that might mean the user had fallen asleep too. Madigan checks the time in the top right of his vision, a blurry three AM and some blinking back at them. Five more hours until the user would have to give up control.

To her knowledge, she had no orders. It was getting harder to remember stuff like that. So Madigan sits in the gap, and returns to staring at the natural, non-man made inky blackness. Most nights end like this. Hours of partying and then a long, quiet night in the streets. Madigan doesn’t mind. Doesn’t matter what the user does with her, Madigan still gets paid. Though the parties were a lot of fun, if they didn’t get too rowdy. Most drugs provided a nice haze, less self-thoughts, which allowed for a more realistic user experience. And god damnit, Madigan prides themselves on a realistic user experience! Or, her agent at the offices did, for her.

A shock of pain goes through her head, imagining the stark white offices, where, after tonight, they’ll spend the next month, “cleansing the body.” She didn’t want the everparty to end, but those in white suits are always careful with their property. Someone stumbles into the alleyway, and Madigan feels almost relieved, tearing her eyes away from the sky to look at the silhouetted stranger. “Djerin!” they whisper at her, er, him.

Madigan’s user doesn’t rouse at the call, apparently still sound asleep. She locks eyes with the man. “Djerin?” The stranger repeats, leaning on the glassy wall with one arm, extending the other to the sky to block the purple lights flashing across the alleyway. He idles forward slowly. “That you?” Madigan recognizes the man. Djerin’s boyfriend. At least for tonight. 

Crouching down next to Madigan, the stranger extends their fingertip towards him. Softly and slowly, it illuminates, shining a light across a handsome face and a clear cut jaw, his shoulder length silver hair shimmering against his skin, which was almost as dark as the sky. A bit more clear though. Briefly, his eyes flutter to Madgian’s barcode, printed on her temples and marking her as a body. “Yawake? You in there?” He asks.

Madigan is unsure of what to say. So she doesn’t. A helicopter is passing overhead, drowning out the clamor of foot traffic outside the alleyway that Madigan hadn’t noticed until she couldn’t hear- “Hey, honey, yeah I’m awake.” The user grunts, his voice resonating deep inside Madigan’s head. She feels it in the back of the brain, spilling down the spine to her tailbone. “They said this body has a lot of built up tolerance to firemoss this time in the month, but I guess…” Djerin’s boyfriend looks down at the ground, the helicopter passing so low the oily puddle vibrates with its wings rotations. “Let’s go inside, okay!?” He shouts over the droning.

=========

Here, Madigan feels at home. The warmth replacing the fierce coldness in her feet as they dangle from the bar stool, feeling like furnaces themselves as the heat seeps into them. She looks across the table at the handsome man. The user made her drink too much again, but that’s okay. The tender knew her here. A nice old man, stroke a deal way back when. Gets… some percent of her cut… Her agent does all that stuff. Djerin’s boyfriend is still staring at her. Or, she guesses, at Djerin, inside of her. What’s his name again? He’s handsome, but not Madigan’s type. For one thing, he was a he. She can’t stand men. But collect checks from them? She could do that. She does do that! Shit, he is still looking. He’s gonna say something. Does her breath stink? Well, probably. Alcohol will-

“Djerin, I just don’t think I can take this any more.” Oh. Oh no. Was he breaking up with Djerin? Right now? Fuck. Fuck. 

Djerin orders another drink, his words coming out of her mouth, slurred and… “Well what do you mean by that, eurr… Marco.” A waitress slid by slyly, dropping a small glass of something putrid into Djerin’s hands. He urges Madigan to drink it. She obliges.

“Seriously? Marco is… Marco is my ex. How the fuck do you even get that mixed up? Are you two hooking up behind my back, Djerin? Tell me fucking honestly.” Not-Marco pushes back from the table in disgust, his silver bangs swaying against his eyebrows. The table wobbles, the drink in Not-Marco’s glass almost tipping over with the motion. He barely drank any of that, Djerin mumbles in Madigan’s mind. I could. Shit’s expensive. I should fucking know. God damn, I should fucking know. 

The thought bubbles out of the mind and through Madigan’s mouth. “Addy, I’m fucking renting a body right now. You know how expensive that is? I dropped a month’s pay on this just to come see you tonight.” Addy, apparently, scoots back in, leaning on the table and pointing his finger at Madigan. This time, his drink does spill, coloring the elbow of his white sweater a deep pink. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“No, you’re right,” Addy hisses. “I did the damn research, Djer. It costs less to come out here physically. Your out god knows fucking where and I have to see you through through this, this fucking woman while all along you could have been here physically for a plane ticket.” Addy slides back in his seat and crosses his arms as Madigan slurps on the poison Djerin so nicely paid for. 

“Look, I paid extra for it to have the right parts, okay? Same thing you’re used to, the only thing that’s different is the face!” Madigan sighs, annoyed, playing the part. “And here I thought what mattered was what was inside!” Madigan slams back into the chair, acting exasperated for Djerin. If she was being honest, discussions like these were probably the most fun she’ll ever have with her job. Playing the part in a one way discussion, piecing together the puzzle of what these two were like outside of her. Sometimes it isn’t fun. But this is okay. A bit dry, a bit done already, but sometimes she needs simple.

“Why do you look so happy, huh? So satisfied? What the fuck are you thinking about in there? Are you even fully here? I’ve heard that some people do two bodies at once, are you doing that, you sick fuck? Maybe you’ve got three, one here, one fucking Marco, and another in a business meeting.” Shit. Madigan let it slip through too much. She slides back into the fervor, sensing that Djerin really, really wants to punch Addy for that comment. Madigan doesn’t let him, instead going for a- 

Her fist slams into Addy’s face, throwing him from his chair. He slams into the table of the couple next to them. Madigan’s fingers are broken. Djerin stands through her, fully intending to leap at Addy and continue his lesson. This didn’t make sense. Madigan had stopped him, hadn’t she? Her knees bend in preparation for his leap. This was too much.

Djerin gets a hold of himself, and wipes Madigan’s brow with a dirty sleeve, looking around the bar as a bloodied Addy holds his cheek, staring up at horror at Madigan. “I’m sorry,” Madigan says as she looks down at him, his blood dripping slowly from her knuckles. It’s her voice. Hoarse and light. She falls back against a wall, and slides down it, staring at her the knuckles as she opens and closes her hand.

The bar erupts in a flash of white lights, the windows of the bar exploding inward as a swarm of people in everyday clothing spill through the new entrances in a rush towards Madigan. She closes her eyes.

=========

Snow. She feels it land then melt on the skin of her legs. Madigan holds her tongue out. Tastes like blood. She’s awake. She opens her eyes, the floating white specs threatening to drop into her eyes. Stretching wide into the sky, the buildings flash with their ads in a million languages she can’t read. For some reason, she can’t hear them in her head. She tries to parse them, failing each time. Light spills out into the black of sky, peppered with snow. Sirens pass somewhere nearby. No clock in her vision. They took it all from her.

Madigan coughs, blood dripping from her mouth and spilling into the snow around her. Something in her is broken. Feels like ribs. She tries to roll over, and does, greeting the piles of blood stained snow around her with a grimace. She remembers it in flashes, doesn’t want to, but still does. Gravity now on her side, the blood pours out of her nose and onto the snow. She breathes in, and then closes her eyes again.

Years later, a noise pulls her out of her stupor. She looks up, red snow dripping from her face as she leans to the side to examine the woman walking up to her through the snow. “How do you fare?” It’s the loudest thing Madigan has ever heard. 

The woman sits down in slow motion next to Madigan, the action repeating time after time in her head as she closes her eyes. No. No she did not fare. Madigan coughs. The woman’s warm hands are pushing under her neck, poking her ribs. She moans loudly. “Broken ribs,” the lady says in a deep monotone. “Can you walk, Madigan?”  

“What?” She sputters. 

“Do your legs work.” Madigan opens her eyes again, the light at each and every one of this woman’s finger tips aglow. The soft light shone across her earthy brown skin, the barcode on her temples illuminated in the shadowy excess.

“No. They don’t... work.” Just speaking felt exhausting. She thought, almost distantly, as the body lifted her in a bridal cary. “They’ll kill you too.” She sounded terrible.

Slowly, the woman trudged through the snow towards something else. Something warmer, with hope. Madigan stares at the hole her body left in the snow, caked with blood. “Don’t worry,” the body said. They can’t go after me. I’ve got her in me.” 

A tired voice crept from the body, a different one than had before. “Is she important to your… mission? This, Madigan?” Her voice was pink and light and fluffy, and regal. It felt wrong coming from the body. The voice from earlier returned, the voice of the body vibrating deep into Madigan’s body. “No. Not yet. But she could be. She’s got a very important man inside her.”