The First Meeting
You would think that after literal aliens tried to take over New York City nothing could possibly be stranger or more outlandish, well you would be wrong. So very, very wrong.
Here I am (all 5’2 of me) lugging a god damned cyborg up the backstairs of my apartment complex. Not just any fucking cyborg, no that would be too easy, this one has to be 6’ something and weighs at least 220 lbs. (not including the metal armor themultitude of weapons I could actually see). Broken, bleeding, soaking wet, and most importantly of all unconscious.
How did I end up here you ask? Well, that is a very good question and the answer is simple, I am a complete and utter dumbass with little self-preservation apparently.
He was just lying next to the dumpster, like some poor kicked puppy. I couldn’t leave him there. I mean, I could but I don’t think I would ever shake the guilt that came with that decision. Thankfully it is only one flight of stairs to climb, I have always been happy to have a second-floor apartment but never as much as right now.
It must truly be an odd sight, the two of us. My twig like arms locked around his broad chest with is head dipped forward, inching step by step backwards, sweat dripping down my back, face red, and breathing like I ran a fucking marathon. God am I out of shape, I really need to exercise more. Hopefully its late enough that none of the neighbors will be up to see it.
Alright two more steps and we will be homeward bound! I can do it! Come on girl, keep going!
“hmmm... wha… what?” he muttered, his head lifting slightly before snapping to attention quicker than I could blink.
Before I knew it my new cyborg buddy ripped himself from my grasp, which really isn’t that much of a feat, but still done in such a manner that it was quite overdramatic, especially considering it ended with me thrown to the floor with him pressing a combat knife to my throat but I digress.
He is breathing heavy, his body is tensed, his eyes are piercing, and he is not saying a god damned thing. Why isn’t he saying anything? Should I say something? Probably, but he is the one with a knife so logically he should be the one asking questions, right?
Right?
Fuck it.
“So… umm... that’s a…a sharp knife you got there. Care to… umm…put it away…maybe?” I ask.
“No” he replied. His blue eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching.
That’s progress, I guess.
“Alright, so now what? Do we just stay on the floor forever or …” I start ask but I don’t get to finish.
His hand slipped and he sagged forward, the knife catching on one of the buttons of my flannel shirt and not slitting my neck open (thank God for small miracles and all that). His head lands on my shoulder. His brow is furrowed, his eyes are closed, his breathing is still heavy but now a bit wheezier. I can’t tell if the sheen of moisture on his skin is from sweat or just water from whatever swamp he swam out of, but either way his body is starting to shake and he really needs to get out of that damp gear he is in.
Alright, time to get up.
“My name’s Jude by the way, nice to meet you Mr. Cyborg. Oh… what’s that you say, thank you for helping me out, oh it was no problem!” I say rolling my green eyes. I take a deep breath and push.
“God you are fucking heavy.”