Dusty Chrome

Moxie had been to a lot of places in the West and most of them looked just like this. Dusty and sad, with people clinging desperately to what was left of a once-bright future. Corps had swept in about eighty years ago, long before she was born, eager to strip the land. But by the time she was barely ten, most of the corps had cleared out, abandoning their towns and leaving their company people to rot. 

It was a tale as old as time. 

The last time Moxie had been this far West, the only chrome on her body had been the replacement index finger that her parents’ had scrounged up enough money for. At that point in her life, Moxie was no stranger to pain, but the experience had opened a door to unimaginable suffering. That suffering, though, became her savior as she went under the knife of one ripper doc after the next, until she was left with nothing but a chromed-out shell of who she once was. 

The heat was blistering, but Moxie still slipped on her suede jacket, knowing better than to lumber into the desolate town with her chrome on full display. Dust kicked up in the wake of each step as she made her way onto the town’s main drag. She knew, like any other long forgotten corp town, there would be a saloon. She also knew it would be the last surviving sign of a once-thriving town. Turns out, when there is nothing left to live for, booze becomes your greatest escape.

Moxie turned her head slightly and found a group of people languishing on the steps of a boarded-up building. Some of them stared at her with disinterest, others barely registered her existence, their faces pale and sweaty. She knew the sweat was not simply from the heat. She’d grown up surrounded by people with that same pale look and expression of hopelessness. 

It was rejection sickness. 

When the corps came in and built these towns up, chrome had been brand new. The tech was rudimentary and with the cyber augmentations came the constant danger of septic shock. Turns out, the human body doesn’t take kindly to body parts being lopped off and replaced with foreign tech. In those early days of chrome, people relied on an anti-rejection serum. Without it, they died slowly and painfully. 

When the corps left, the supply of serum dried up. All that was left was the counterfeit shit that sometimes did more harm than good. But when the other option was certain death, people were willing to gamble on the purity of the serum they could buy off the streets. 

It wasn’t long before she reached the steps of the saloon. Her mouth suddenly felt drier than before and she was eager to get beyond the swinging doors. It was dark inside and the change in light would have once been blinding to her, but the tech in her iridescent eyes adjusted instantly as she removed her hat. She watched as the patrons looked up and carefully noted the ones that stiffened at the sight of her. 

She knew immediately that her stay here would be short lived. 

Moxie made her way to the weathered bar and nodded to the bartender. “Whiskey,” her voice was gruff, “Neat.” 

The woman dipped her chin slightly. Moxie took a seat at the bar, the stool creaked under her and she hoped the shoddy craftsmanship wouldn’t splinter under the hulking weight of her chrome. 

She had barely taken a few sips before two patrons took a seat on either side of her. Moxie knew without looking at either of them that they were the ones that hadn't taken kindly to her appearance. She knew exactly what would come next.

“Just passing through, gentlemen,” she said before they could even speak. 

A moment of silence hung between the three of them. 

“Good, ‘cuz we don’t need the likes of you hanging round,” one of them finally said. Moxie turned her head to him. His frame was wiry, his face gaunt, he couldn’t have been older than twenty. He had been born long after the corps left and the serum had dried up, and yet he bore chromed-out arms. They were crude and basically ancient compared to the shit she had paid for back East. Yet, he wore them proudly, as if they didn’t pose a threat to his life. 

She couldn’t stop herself as she smirked and nodded to his arms. “Who gave you the bright idea to swap your arms out for this shit?”

He scowled. “Watch your mouth,” he threatened. 

“Leave me to drink my whiskey in peace, kid,” Moxie smirked to herself and raised the glass to her lips.

“I think you should leave,” said the other patron to her left. He was an older man with a chrome leg.

Moxie did not try to conceal her laugh and the young man’s face reddened. As though on impulse, he reached out and smacked the glass from her hand. It shattered against the bar and the saloon quieted. 

Moxie let her head dip and sighed deeply. As she eased herself off the stool, the men got to their feet and took several steps back. She turned to them, straightening her spine and rising to her towering height. From here, she was nearly two heads taller than them and they tilted their heads to look at her. She knew intimidation was the best way out of the situation if she wanted to avoid bloodshed, so she slowly shrugged off her jacket, revealing the bulk of her chrome. 

The two men gawked and could not conceal the way their throats bobbed as they swallowed their fear.

“I think you should order me another whiskey and leave me the fuck alone,” Moxie said between gritted teeth.

The older man frowned, but couldn’t quite conceal the lump in his throat as he swallowed. After a moment of pause, he looked at the bartender and nodded slightly. 

“You better be out of town before nightfall,” the older man warned, gathering his composure. Moxie did not react as she turned back to the bar. “You don’t know who you're messing with,” he added. 

Moxie rolled her eyes and accepted the new glass of whiskey. “Don’t be so sure,” she muttered, “Every one of you is the same.” 

As the men retreated and the noise of the saloon picked up again, Moxie couldn’t help it as the memories flooded in.

Her hometown had not been much different than this. Her earliest memories were fuzzy, but she could recall the town in its earliest stages of decline. By the time she was seven, there were rumblings about the corp leaving. By the time she was ten, her town had been reduced to a shadow of what it once was. The inventory of anti-rejection serum dried up and for a long, miserable stretch of her childhood she was surrounded by nothing but death. Somewhere in that murky timeline, both her parents died of rejection sickness. Then the Sheriffs showed up. 

At first, they were heralded as the town’s saviors. They brought their own serum and people stopped dying. The celebration, however, was not long lived. The Sheriffs began to demand more of the townspeople in return for each serum dose, and extortion became their new way of life. The Sheriffs owned the town and, as far as Moxie was concerned, they had moved from one hell to another. 

So, she left. But each new town she came across bore the same story. With nowhere else to go, she found her way out East and slowly built herself into what she was today. Without quite knowing what to do to survive in those massive cities, she started taking jobs. Dangerous ones. The first time she killed someone, she had vomited. But each time after that became easier. It became easier still the more chrome she bought to build her new body. 

Moxie returned to reality and drained the rest of her glass. She rose to her feet and turned back to the saloon. Most of the patrons kept to themselves now, only daring quick glances in her direction. Moxie scanned the room, noting the absence of the patrons who had threatened her. Her eyes fell on a young boy in the corner. He met her mechanical gaze fiercely as she shouldered her jacket once more. She reached for her hat and placed it firmly on her head before stepping back out into the heat of the day. 

Moxie knew immediately that he was tailing her. Nevertheless, she made her way to the outskirts of town. She was certain that the boy would lose interest and go back, but he kept following her.

“What do you want, boy?” she finally asked, turning to him. 

There was something remarkable about him. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of chrome, or the expression on his face. It was one of hope, and it surprised her.

“Can you help us?” The firmness with which he spoke also surprised her.

“Not really the helping type, kid,” she answered after a moment. Moxie turned away and started down her path once more. “Quit following me.”

“You know, I’ve never seen anyone like you,” the kid ran up beside her, trying to match her gait. “How’d you get this way?” 

The question caught her off guard. Uncertain how to answer, she let it hang in the air.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” he asked in lieu of an answer. 

“Kid,” Moxie snapped, turning to him once more. “Beat it, you do not want to piss me off,” she warned. 

“Why?” he prodded, “Do you kill people when you're pissed?” 

Moxie set her jaw in a firm line.

“If you get pissed off at those Sheriffs, will you kill them?” 

His persistence grated on her as she shifted her massive weight and rubbed her forehead. 

“Don’t drag me into this,” she said after a moment, “I’m just passing through. Now, leave me alone.”

She began to walk away and was satisfied when he didn’t fall into step beside her. “They’ve been here for as long as I can remember,” he called out after her, but she kept walking. “They take everything and barely give us what they promise in return,” he pressed on, his voice beginning to waver. “What you did back there,” he raised his voice, “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen any of them afraid.”

He fell silent and Moxie was certain he had given up and gone home. 

“Please.” 

His voice cracked and it brought her to a stop. It had been a long time since someone had stirred an emotion within her, so long it took a while for her to identify it. But when she did, she was certain it was guilt. She hadn’t been so different from him once. But that hurt too much to think about, and Moxie shoved the thought away. 

The boy was silent for a moment longer. “You could make a difference here.” She could hear his footsteps as he got closer. 

“What do you think comes afterwards, kid?” Moxie finally turned to him as a confused look washed across his face. 

“After what?” he questioned. 

“When the Sheriffs are gone and there is no more supply of serum,” she explained, “What happens to your town?” 

The boy frowned and the guilt in her chest only worsened at the sight of it. 

“Well, they have to be getting the serum from somewhere,” his face brightened slightly, clinging to his fragile hope. “We can just find out from where.” 

Moxie sighed. “First of all, kid, there is no we,” her statement didn’t seem to faze him and she frowned. “Secondly, the serum comes from the Sheriffs. They own it. All of it. There’s nowhere else to get it from.” 

The boy's face fell and Moxie could feel herself soften, but she fought the feeling. “Look, kid,” she began without quite knowing what she would say next, “This is the way things are. It was this way in my hometown. There’s no stopping it.” She took a step backward, not wanting to look at his face any longer. “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t follow her this time. 

Something didn’t sit right with her that night as she lay under the stars. It had been a long time since she’d cared about anything beyond her own needs. Frankly, she wasn’t aware it was even possible anymore. Yet, here she was with this guilt carving out a home in her chest. 

Every time she shut her eyes all she could see was the boy’s face as she ripped away every last shred of hope from him. Worse than that, though, she could hear his voice on loop in her head.

You could make a difference here. 

She sat up and leaned against a boulder. She had not gone far and could still see the town clearly, a few lights on the main drag flickering against the dark night. 

As the sun crept its way over the horizon, she made her way back into town. Before long, she was seated at the same stool in the saloon, waiting for her whiskey and for whatever came next. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dirty mirror mounted behind the bar. Her own reflection terrified her and yet she studied it carefully, searching for any remnants of the child she once was. 

She could find no sign of her. 

No one had been there to save her as a child. She was certain that no one could have saved her. There had been no means of defense against the cards she had been dealt in life. But things were different now. She was different. 

Not much time had passed before the doors swung open and a woman's face appeared in the mirror. She looked nearly as old as Moxie and almost just as grizzled. Moxie knew enough about the world to know who she was to this town, so she wasn’t surprised when the woman eased herself onto the stool beside her and said, “Thought my men told you to leave town there, stranger."

Moxie shrugged and sipped her whiskey. “I don’t listen well.” 

The woman leaned in. “I suggest learn how to,” she ground out. 

Moxie sucked on her teeth for a moment before turning to the woman. “Where’s the stash?” 

The woman’s expression didn’t change at the mention of her precious hoard of serum. 

“This is your last warning,” she said instead. “Get. Out.”

Moxie sighed. Then, in one swift motion, she yanked her own stool out from under her and smashed it against the woman’s face. The woman went face first into the bar, but recovered quickly, tackling Moxie out through the swinging doors and into the street. 

The townspeople, who were just beginning to stir from the sweltering night, looked on as the two women crashed to the ground. Moxie threw the woman off her quickly and they both rose to their feet.

Standing in the street, Moxie noted how large the woman actually was. Most of her torso was chrome and Moxie scanned the tech with her augmented eyes. While it was newer than what the townspeople were outfitted with, it was still dated compared to her own chrome. 

Moxie caught sight of the young boy as he squeezed between two adults. The look of hope had returned to his face and it eased the guilt in her chest. 

“This is your last warning,” Moxie spoke through gritted teeth, “Hand over the stash and you can go free.” 

“In your fucking dreams,” she spat. 

Moxie’s central nervous system tingled in response to the artificial adrenaline surging through her. Without much fanfare, the woman’s right arm whirred to life, and a blasting cannon unfolded itself from her joints. Moxie’s targeting system warned of her opponent’s lock on her as the blast left the cannon. What happened next was a blur to the townspeople, but to Moxie, time slowed as her body side stepped the blast and her right arm reoriented itself until it bore the familiar shape of her war hammer. Before the woman even had time to recharge her cannon, Moxie had closed the distance between them, her hammer swinging upwards at an inhuman speed. The connection of her chrome to the woman’s jaw was devastating and final. 

Blood rained from the sky for a moment and made wet splattering noises against the dust as the remnants of the woman’s head found their final resting places. 

The young boy stood breathless, carefully studying the hulking figure of his chrome savior. 

Moxie's chest rose and fell imperceptibly as if she had only barely exerted herself. The townspeople were speechless as Moxie turned to them. 

“Take what is yours,” was all Moxie said and many of the townspeople surged down the street, supposedly to the stash of serum. 

Moxie was all but forgotten as she turned away, satisfied by what she had done. It wasn’t long before she heard the small, familiar footsteps beside her. She wiped the blood from her face. “Go back, kid.” 

“You said when the Sheriffs were gone, the serum would be too,” he said plainly, “You could help us.” 

“Like I said,” Moxie didn’t look in his direction, “I’m not the helping type, kid.” 

“Yes you are,” the boy said simply.

Moxie stopped and dropped her head. She wasn’t sure if it was the residual adrenaline or simply that this boy had awoken something long dead inside her, but when she finally looked at him, she wordlessly nodded. Maybe, she could finally do something good with her life. 

“What’s next?” he asked, smiling.

Moxie returned his grin, ready to make a difference.