Thicker Than Acid Runoff

The morning's weather forecast was typical for the central region of Mur: sunny and dry with a 30% chance of despair by early afternoon, 99% chance by nightfall. Faron Haldor, a returning resident to the arid, mountainous district, lived perpetually in the 1% not overcome by despair, but unfortunately it was denial, not personal determination, that kept him from joining the majority of the district's inhabitants.

Over the years he'd lost most of his family, watched his older brother decline physically from health problems (and mentally from his questionable self-diagnosis and treatment of those problems), and just weeks ago, Faron himself had been discharged from the army under less than honorable conditions. The only job available to him upon his return to Mur was a bottom-rung, hazardous mining gig, which made for brutally long workdays. In Faron's shoes, anyone else would have given up by their third day. The ex-soldier told himself it was his duty to be back in Mur. After all, his brother needed him, right?

Truly, when it came to denial, Faron was Delvii's reigning champion, so when he opened the front door of his ramshackle trailer and smiled into the emerging light from Ro along the horizon, that smile took on a level of deranged seldom seen beyond the padded walls of Cecaverri's mental asylums. He nodded at the drab, brown and gray scene of unpaved roads, dilapidated housing and unsightly recycling facilities laid out in front of him. It was good to be home, and Faron was anxious to visit his brother at the scrap yard just across the street.

With thermos in hand, he strode over to Gil's workplace and found a neglected entrance along the facility's expanse of receiving and loading docks. He let himself in and took a seat on some metal risers that connected the docks to the outdoor receiving bay. The dock and bay were empty at this hour, but soon enough the roadtrains would arrive with shipments of assorted plastic, metal and paper scraps to be sifted through and processed by laborers like Gilderlan Haldor.

From his perch on the dock's steps, Faron stared off into the scrap sorting yard where Gil labored and at once was filled with a strange sense of belonging. It was barely daylight and Gil was already hard at work. No one but Gil worked at this hour by choice. He told Faron he preferred to work at times different from the migrant workers, away from their prying, curious stares. Faron hated the way everyone stared at Gil. It wasn't any of their business what Gil had done to his physical appearance over the years!

Gil, once a military man like Faron, had volunteered his body to test built-in, cybernetic weaponry almost two decades ago, but after the cost to keep Gil's internal systems in working order outweighed the cost to release him with a meager pension and laughable health coverage, Gil's days as a prototype cyber-warrior for the state ended. It all snowballed from there, as Gil's will to survive caused him to seek out repairs over the long years that turned him into something that resembled an appliance more than a man getting close to middle age. To most, he was a sideshow attraction.

Faron now saw himself as Gil's protector, and he swore he would deal with anyone who didn't understand Gil and what he had done to himself. Those judgmental losers... Faron gripped his thermos a little tighter and gritted his teeth. He combed his left hand through his dark blond hair in an attempt to calm his elevating temper. He never had much control over his temper, and even less when it concerned his brother's well-being. Gil was the only family Faron had left.

He watched Gil, who was crouched next to a scrap pile, stand up with a long piece of twisted steel in his right hand. There was more metal in that oversized robotic arm of Gil's than there was in the scrap he was holding. Faron never questioned what possessed his brother to replace his arm with something so out of proportion to the rest of his body. After all, it was the military that originally put Gil in this situation. So what if he had to use an industrial assembly line arm as a replacement? That was the Council's fault for not giving him proper medical care!

Gil cocked his giant arm back and effortlessly pitched the piece of steel into a separating bin. He turned to the loading dock and locked his gaze to Faron's. Faron believed Gil smiled at him then, even if it was more of a squint against the morning glare. Gil brushed his left hand--its skeleton of titanium and circuitry missing most of the synthetic skin that once covered it--against his dirty cargo pants, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He walked toward Faron, who could hear the machinery that comprised most of his brother hiss and scrape together as Gil crossed the remainder of the scrap yard.

Faron grinned as his brother approached him. Gil, however, was almost expressionless. Faron didn't notice.

"The commuter transport won't come for another hour, so I thought I'd stop by to see you for a while," Faron told Gil, who pulled out a cigarette from the pack with his teeth.

Gil barely acknowledged his brother. "How touching," said Gil in monotone. He replaced the cigarette pack in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He extended it toward Faron, who obediently put down his thermos of coffee, stood up and took the lighter from Gil. "Since you're here, light 'er up. Hard to get that thing going without skin." Gil wagged his metal fingers.

Faron happily lit the cigarette dangling from Gil's mouth, and then handed the lighter back to his brother. Faron watched Gil take a couple of long drags before he gathered the courage to ask his brother about a nagging idea. "You think they're hiring here, Gil? We could work together, you know."

Faron was hopeful, but Gil grimaced. "You don't want to work here," Gil said while exhaling smoke. "This place is a dump, literally."

Faron threw his head back and gushed unsettling laughter. "It's better than what I got! In the mines-"

"The mines?" Gil interrupted with more curiosity than concern in his voice. He craned his head in the direction of the imposing mountain range behind him. "That's where you work?"

Faron blinked, surprised his brother did not remember what job he took since his return. Perhaps the two of them should have better conversations over supper. Faron paused. On second thought, Gil had his health to worry about, so maybe he shouldn't bother his brother with such mundane things.

"Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you about the mines," Faron said, followed by a guilty cough. "Yes, it was the only thing available through the career center. Maybe it's not so bad, ya know? We're all given proper equipment and supplies, so the acid mine drainage..."

Gil shook his head at Faron, who tried not to stare directly at Gil's face, or what remained of it, anyway. If not for the few rivets that tacked down the skin around his features, Gil would be nothing but a galvanized skull with eyeballs. But it wasn't Gil's unnerving face that bothered Faron, it was the stress he might have caused Gil that kept Faron's gaze elsewhere.

Gil tsked. "Nothing good ever happens in those mines. I can't even figure out why the Council still forces folks up there." He took another lengthy drag and stood quietly. Faron wasn't sure if Gil was angry at him or if this was an attempt to urge a confession out of him. Until now, Gil had shown no interest in how Faron really felt about being back in Mur, his job situation or their new living arrangement. Gil finally asked, "How old are you now?"

Faron looked up. The random question took him aback. Gil didn't know his age? Faron knew exactly how old Gil was, and that his birthday was three months from now. "I just turned 23?"

Gil raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound too sure about that." He tapped his cigarette and sent ashes to the ground. "Is this really what you want to do with your life? You're young; get out of here before this godforsaken district turns your brain to mush."

Faron wondered where else he could go. Didn't Gil want his help? Disappointment crept up on him. His hands quivered nervously. He twitched his lips into a smile and thought about changing the subject. "So, uh-"

Just then a wire snapped somewhere on Gil's back and sent a short stream of blue sparks over his shoulder. Faron jumped; Gil grunted a profanity.

"I wonder what it is this time," muttered Gil. He flicked the cigarette out of his hand and felt blindly for the exposed wire on his bare back. He wore no shirt because there was no point in covering a body that was mostly machinery. "Must not be anything too important. I'm still standing, anyway."

Faron ignored Gil's half-joking dismissal over the loose wire and came to his brother's aid. He treated the moment with utmost urgency. He perused Gil's back and asked several questions about how Gil operated. Gil answered in one-word replies and then produced a roll of electrical tape and pliers from a compartment embedded in his right shoulder. He handed the items to Faron, who repaired Gil in mere minutes thanks to their teamwork. Faron thought he heard Gil chuckle while he put away the supplies and closed up his access panel, but it was rare for Gil to laugh at anything. Still, he was surprised to see Gil smirk.

"A back repair like that would take me three times as long without help; maybe you're worth keeping around."

Faron stood a little straighter and took in a deep breath. "So, about me working here..."

"I'll see what I can do, kid."

Faron's chance of despair dropped to 0%.