I felt the mechanical cat on my workbench sputter and die for the third time that night. A shower of blue sparks rained onto my cluttered floor, illuminating the cramped workshop in staccato flashes. I let out a growl of frustration and tossed my soldering iron aside. "Come on, don't give up on me now," I muttered, leaning over the feline-shaped hunk of metal and wires.
In the half‑light of a flickering fluorescent tube, its chrome-plated spine caught my scowling reflection. I brushed a strand of oily black hair from my eyes and squinted at the tiny circuit board in the cat's abdomen. A fried capacitor, again. The city's unreliable power grid must have surged. Ironbound City was generous like that: if the toxic smog or street gangs didn't get you, the rolling blackouts would.
I sucked on my teeth and reached for a replacement capacitor from a jar of assorted spare parts. My calloused fingers danced through the mix of screws, chips, and wires until they found a match. With a deft twist and a spark from my prosthetic hand's soldering tip, I fused the new part in place. The metal cat twitched as a flicker of life coursed through it. Its LED eyes glowed a faint green, then faded again.
"Stubborn little furball, aren't you?" I sighed, but a wry smile tugged at my lips. I scratched its metal ear with my screwdriver. It didn't react, yet, but I knew it would soon if I had anything to say about it. This patchwork of salvaged robotics and custom code had been my labor of love for weeks.
Outside my workshop's one grimy window, neon signs painted the midnight fog in electric pinks and blues. The distant whoop of a siren echoed through the maze of alleys, followed by the faint thud‑thud‑thud of an AV patrolling overhead. Just another night in Lower Reach. I'd learned to tune out the noise, both the city's clamor and my own doubts and focus on breathing life into steel.
A soft chime rang from a makeshift communicator buried under a pile of circuit schematics. I shuffled aside empty cans of caffeinated drink and protein‑bar wrappers to find the blinking holo‑screen. An incoming call, Nyra's ID.
I tapped the screen and a flickering bust of a young woman popped up, translucent green. Nyra's buzzed pixie‑cut and cybernetic eye implant were rendered in ghostly detail. She was grinning. "Burning the midnight oil again, Riv?" she asked, playful sarcasm crackling from the speaker.
"Midnight, morning what's the difference?" I rolled my eyes. She could see every grease smudge and dark circle under my eyes. "If I don't finish patching this cat tonight, I might actually go insane. And you do not want to see that."
Nyra chuckled. "Too late. You passed crazy a long time ago. Still working on that robo‑kitty? Doesn't that thing have nine lives by now?"
I snorted and glanced at the inert feline form on my bench. "At least. But I think I've burned through eight tonight. If the city grid spikes one more time, I'll march down to the power plant and feed the engineers to their own reactors."
"I'd pay to see that," Nyra said, and I caught the colorful lights of the arcade hub behind her holo. "Anyway, you still on for tomorrow? Market opens early. We could hit the old electronics bazaar on 12th Street. Rumor is someone's selling pre‑Collapse tech again."
I wiped my brow, leaving a grease smudge above my eyebrow. Pre‑Collapse tech, tempting. Old‑world components were often higher quality than anything Ironbound's sweatshops churned out. "Yeah, I'll be there," I said. "As long as I get this furball purring by then. I'm not leaving him half‑dead."
Nyra smiled softly. "You and your metal pets. One day you'll realize normal people have flesh‑and‑blood friends."
"Who needs normal? Last I checked, flesh‑and‑blood friends aren't bulletproof and don't see in the dark," I quipped, gesturing at the cat. In truth, I appreciated Nyra's friendship, one of the few humans I trusted but sentimentality didn't come easy in a city that chewed up tender hearts.
A sudden boom reverberated through the walls, rattling a few tools off a shelf. The holo‑call fizzled with static, Nyra's image flickered. "What the hell was that? Riv, you okay?"
I instinctively reached under my workbench for a slim pistol, heart thudding. Probably just another transformer blowing or some joyriders setting off firecrackers. But in Lower Reach, you could never be too careful. I eyed the door, half expecting a gang of cyborg tweakers to crash through.
Seconds passed in tense silence. No follow‑up explosion just the usual distant sirens and street mutters.
"I'm still alive," I grunted, relaxing my grip. I set the pistol aside, within easy reach. "Guess something decided to explode. Normal Tuesday night."
Nyra's voice cleared as the static dissipated. "Stay safe, okay? The Hive's been active around your sector. One of their patrols got hit by rebels last week. Could be retaliation."
A prickle of unease crept up my spine at the mention of Hive Tech Solutions their bulging security drones and neural implants were as creepy as their street‑level enforcers. "Thanks for the heads up," I said quietly.
"No worries. Ping me if you need backup. I may not have killer robot cats, but I've got a mean stun baton," she joked with a mock salute.
I managed a chuckle. "Roger that. See you at the bazaar in a few hours, Ny."
"Laters," she said, and the holo‑call winked out, leaving me alone with the dim light and the half‑fixed mecha‑cat.
For a moment I just listened to my own breathing, the drip of a leaking pipe, the distant club bass. Hive goons sniffing around? Last thing I needed. But I'd worry about that tomorrow. Right now, I had a stubborn little cat to resurrect.
I cracked my knuckles and went back to work. A few adjustments to the power circuit maybe bypass the faulty regulator and voila. This time, when I closed the cat's access panel and flipped the switch, its eyes glowed steady green.
The joints whirred softly as it lifted its head. Metal paws clicked on the bench. Its tail braided copper wires in flexible steel, swished back and forth. Then it let out a sound half‑electronic purr, half‑static buzz: the ugliest, most beautiful sound I'd heard all day.
A broad grin spread across my face. I reached out and ran a hand along its smooth back. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Gizmo," I whispered. The name felt right—simple, quirky.
Gizmo leaned into my touch, sensors calibrating. His purring smoothed as feedback algorithms kicked in. For a machine, he had surprising personality. I liked coding quirkiness into my pets; it made the workshop less lonely.
Fatigue tugged at my eyelids. I patted my thigh, Gizmo's cue. With a nimble leap, he landed beside me. I scooped him up; he was warm from his motors, his purr a soothing vibration against my chest.
"Let's get some rest," I murmured. "Big day tomorrow. We gotta dive into that bazaar trash pile and find you some friends to play with."
Gizmo responded with a soft beep and snuggled into my arm like a real cat. I shook my head in amusement, anyone seeing this would call me crazier than the junkie down the hall. Not that I cared.
I kicked aside an empty oil can and headed for the corner where a lumpy futon lay under mismatched blankets. Carefully, I set Gizmo at its foot. He circled twice, an instinctive behavior I'd coded just because and curled up, eyes dimming to a low green glow, sentinel mode.
I collapsed onto the futon, exhaustion washing over me. Above, the fluorescent sputtered and died, leaving only neon through the window and Gizmo's soft night‑light eyes.
I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift. My last waking thought was the comforting purr at my feet, a small victory over the darkness in a city built on rust and ruin.
Tomorrow would bring fresh hell, no doubt. But tonight, I'd won. And in Ironbound City, that was no small thing.