Hephaestus

The hotel event room will be crowded, and noisy, devoid of furniture except for a row of tables pushed against the back wall, serving exclusive red and white wines, and a wide selection of lavish cheese, imported from all across the world. Couples, some wearing crisp black suits and some donning long, flowing dresses, will dance stiffly around you. Sleek robots of different shapes and sizes will zoom around the room, cleaning spills and refilling the cheese platter. All of it will scream wealth. 

You will sip red wine tentatively, hating the sharp, acidic taste of it. But everyone here has a drink or is dancing, and you’ll stand out doing neither, so you will hold the thin stem of the wineglass in your hand. You will be fearful of your wineglass being crushed if you grip it too tightly, so you hold it too lightly. It will slip from your fingers and shatter with a muffled crash, breaking into a million pieces. You will lurch back, but not fast enough. Red wine will soak the front of your suit, soaking through to your skin, an ugly stain that reminds you almost like a map spreading across your shirt. The people around you will shake their heads in dismay, and everyone will steer clear from that spot, walking around it like it’s not even there, until a janitor bot mops it up and scrapes the glass pieces, glittering in the light, into a trash can. 

Tears will blur your eyes, whispers will break out among the people closest. You were supposed to blend in. You’re clumsy, it will already be obvious you don’t belong here before the wins spills, and you’ll be painfully aware of it. Which of the other guests will have had to sneak in through an unlocked back window to access the engagement party?

Sure, it’s the engagement party of the richest man in the world, so it’s strictly private, invitation only. 

But you’re Ralph Eisenberg’s biological child, given away and adopted at 6 months old. You will not even know that until the week before this engagement party. Even after the lengths you went to to be at the engagement party, you still won't sure why you're there. To talk to Ralph- your dad?

You’ll turn and flee, not knowing where you’re going, heading for the only door you can find. You will push open the door and emerge in the hotel lobby, startling the lobby receptionist and the two unformed security guards that stand before the gold revolving doors. The door will close behind you, and suddenly all will be quiet and you’ll breathe deeply, relieved. 

You were raised in a normal family. Middle-class, loving. For the thousandth time since you found out about your biological father, you will think about how different you might be if he had never gotten rid of you. 

You don’t fit in with these types of people, and you’ll know it. 

“Can I help you?” The receptionist will ask. You will have stopped crying while running, the tears starting to dry on your face as you shake your head. 

“I’m okay, thanks.” You will shift uncomfortably in your soaked clothes while the receptionist tries not to stare. Then you’ll head for the hotel’s main doors, thinking you’d better call a taxi and leave, reaching for the phone in your pocket. But as you’re watching the doors turn, waiting for your chance to step in, someone will bang through the door to the hotel event room in the same way you will have done only a few seconds ago. You will turn to look at him. He will stand against the door, but won’t lean against it. You will keep watching him, and you won’t know why. 

You will feel like there’s something off-putting about him, something verging on uncomfortable. You will watch him curiously, as he seemingly stares into space, and you’ll realize with a start that his eyes seem empty, devoid of life. And his movements. They’re smooth at first glance, but as you watch you will notice the slight jerk of his arms, the way each movement seems to be made up of little ones. You will shiver. He will turn around to head back inside, and adjust the collar on his shirt. You will glimpse a flash of green at the nape of his neck, and then he will be gone, and you’ll be left staring at a swinging door, wondering if you imagined it. 

You will notice the receptionist staring at you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, ma’am?” 

“Yes, yes, sorry.” You will switch directions. “I was actually heading back inside.”

The receptionist will give you an odd look but then shrug and return to their work. 

As you open the door, the noise of the party will reappear. You’ll scan the tops of the crowd, covering your front with your arms to try to hide the wine stain, looking for the man. 

But he blends into the crowd too well. With his black hair and black suit, he could be anyone. 

You still won’t be sure why you came back instead of leaving and will turn to head back into the lobby. But then you’ll see a flash of green, in the corner of your eye, and spin around. It’s just the light flashing on a wine bottle, but he will be the one pouring himself a glass, standing nonchalantly in front of the table. You will approach him nervously, not sure why you are doing it or what you’re going to say. All you will know is that you’re drawn to this guy, the odd way he moves and the green light at the nape of his neck. 

He will turn to you and smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and it’s a smile that wouldn’t set any passer-by on edge. But you will have gone there to understand him, so you will notice the way his eyes don’t move, his eyeballs don’t flick from side to side or up and down, fixedly in the middle of his eye. It will unnerve you, but you won’t leave. You will realize that he’s waiting for you to speak, and will straighten your spine and clear your throat nervously. 

“Hi!”

“Hi, how are you?” His voice is low and gravelly. You will search for any hints of impatience in his tone, anything that could give you a hint to what he’s thinking, but you’ll come back with nothing. His voice is so monotone, you will think jokingly, that it could’ve come from one of the square-shaped assistant bots that roam around your house. 

It will be like a jolt down your spine, right then, when you realize that one of your Dad’s companies probably makes those robots. 

“Hey, your collar is a little crooked,” you will say, hoping he’ll shift his shirt again so you can see the back of his neck. You will sidle next to him at the table, while he stares at the cheese, his eyes not moving, so that you’ll be able to see the back of his neck. He won’t adjust his collar, and instead will grab a piece of cheese and put it on a plate. You will notice that he will not have drunk even a sip from his wine glass “Why are you telling me this?” Again, the same robotic tone. You’ll be filled with the feeling that he doesn’t want you here, he wants you to go. Why else would he talk like this, with clipped, short sentences?

Your suspicion will be confirmed when he abruptly turns away and disappears into the throng of people. You’ll be left feeling bruised, but you’re not the type to give up, especially because you don’t care what this guy thinks of you, anyway. 

You will push past people to tap on his shoulder. He will turn around, but he won’t show even a flicker of recognition. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” you will say, trying to sound light and airy. 

“Hephaestus. Yours?”

You will give him your name absently, mind spinning. Hephaestus, you’ve heard that name before.

“That’s a beautiful name,” you will say, trying to keep the conversation going. You will be confused by the way he doesn’t seem to show any signs of emotion. No tensing of the back, no blush. Even his breathing, so steady. 

“Thank you. I like your name as well.”

There will be silence, you panicking and trying frantically to find something to say. 

“Will you be there for the wedding?” You will say, knowing that it will let you know if you will see him again. “They’re having it quickly, aren’t they. Engagement party today, wedding in only a month.” 

“Yes. Yes, I am going.” 

“Cool,” You will respond hesitantly, and this time you will be the one who turns and escapes into the crowd. 

You will sigh heavily. But he isn’t what you will have come for. You square your shoulders and scan the room again, but this time for Ralph. You will see him, finally alone for what might be the first time all night. Your chance. You’ll start making your way through them, calling out to him. 

“He-” but then you’ll stop, remembering your wine-stained clothes. You won’t even have anything prepared, nothing to say to a guy that preferred to pretend you were never there, as he rose to fame. 

But it’s too late. His head will swivel towards you, and you’ll take a breath in anticipation.

His eyes will cloud over. “Who- are you?”

Back to the lobby, but you won’t stop this time. You will keep running, through the rotating doors, pounding the floor with your shoes. 

***

The next time you will see Hephaestus will be at the wedding. The wedding will be easier to get into than the wedding, just waiting until a guard was sufficiently distracted before sneaking past. Hephaestus will be talking to Ralph, dressed in a suit identical to the one you last saw him in.

Your eyes will narrow, seeing the way Ralph seems to like him. Hephaestus is not who he says he is. 

“Hey!” You will have practiced his name, wanting to get this right. “Hephaestus!” 

He will turn to look at you and you’ll wave. As he lifts his hand to wave goodbye to Ralph, you’ll finally get a clear view of the green light. A small circle of light, at the base of his neck like it was before. 

“Hey, what is that thing? That light?” You will say, not being able to stop yourself. You’ll immediately regret it when he stares at you blankly. 

Hephaestus will hesitate, for too long. “What light?” He will say. You will decide to keep prompting him, leading him outside the party, hoping he’ll be more likely to tell you his secrets in private. 

Because you will have figured him out, lying in bed. 

He’s a robot. An Android. 

You will remember the moment when you figured it out. But now you want to know why he’s here, what he’s doing. 

As you push open the door, you will realize how much time has passed since the meeting started. The bitter wind will create goosebumps all over your skin and you’ll shiver. The sky will be a velvet sheet, dusted with glitter. You will notice how unfazed he will seem by the wind. 

But of course, you will think. He’s a robot. 

“So, what’s the green light?”

He will smile and say again, “what green light?”

You will be irritated. “The one at the base of your neck.”

His hands won’t move, and you’ll think that if he was normal, they would’ve moved at least a little. 

You will take a step forward when he feigns ignorance. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You’re not sure if androids can understand tone, but he seems to get it. 

“You’re a robot, aren’t you?” You will press, pushing him.

“No.”

You will look him square in those unfeeling eyes, which you will think of as cameras now, scanners, and smile a toothy smile, that borders on a sneer. “What do you want with my… Dad?”

You flinch at the way calling Ralph Eisenburg “Dad” feels like glue on your tongue, sticky and wrong. 

He will show no emotion at this, and you will hate it. You will hate how you can never get a read on this guy, how easy it is for him to conceal his body language. 

“I don’t want anything with your Dad. Why are you asking me these things?”

You will sigh, bitterly. You will realize that he’s not giving information voluntarily, so you will attempt to scare him. Let him know how much you’ve figured out, imply that you know more, even though you don’t. 

“You want the ring.”

Everyone will have known about the wedding ring Ralph has planned out for Jenn, his fiancee. You will have seen it in real life. Huge, sparkling, with a thick band and chunky, rare gemstones sprinkled around. You will think it’s hideous. 

It will be worth $100 million. That’s how you will know why Hephaestus is here. Why else would such a brilliantly designed, never-seen-before type android show up to one of the richest men on Earth’s party?

“How will you get it?” You will demand, stepping forward again.

“You know too much already.”

Your head will snap up to meet his eyes, wondering what that means, when your eye catches on a flash of silver in his hands. You will stumble back, and he’ll punch you, right in the throat. But punches don’t draw blood, do they? A dull ache. Pain. Pain. Pain. It will be hot, like fire, and you’ll collapse on the ground, your mouth filling with blood. It will gush out of you, hot, as you try to scream on the sidewalk, making a guttural noise. You will see him escaping behind the corner of the building just as the first security guard hears your noises and runs over, gun at the ready. You won’t be able to hear him, your vision will get darker, and everything will fade to black. 

That’s how you will die.