Safety of the Mind
“Oh, are you heading out already?”
“Yeah. I got in contact with a guy who needs a demon taken out of his garage, without anyone knowing it was there. Or hurting it.”
Mem’s eye rotated and sunk further into her plastic head. She had just completed her examination of his body, making sure that he was not injured, that he was fit to leave, that he had made sure to write the most pertinent set of instructions on his arm, and that of course he had brought his customized pistol.
“I understand that I would not be much help in this situation. However, please consider taking more lethal ammunition with you as well!”
The nameless cyborg turned his head to look around the room. They had just moved into this apartment, and the living room was more for storage than for relaxation -- they made do, using it for both, but he had to look between cardboard boxes on the floor and smaller pallets on the newly-built shelves to find what he was looking for: full metal jackets, made to match the exacting specifications of his gun.
“Are you sure about that?” the cyborg asked, already putting the bullets away into one of his coat pockets.
“It is important, especially when I am not with you, for you to consider all emergent possibilities of your task. Another demon, with more killing intent, may appear on the way to or during your mercenary work.”
The nameless cyborg nodded. “I guess you have a point. I just don’t want to mix up the two types of ammo…”
Mem nodded in response, nearly perfectly mimicking the gesture but for the limitations of her robotic movement. “That is why I have labelled them with coloured circles! Your previous training has created associations with these colours, so that you will use the stunning rounds, in blue, first.”
The nameless cyborg looked to his left, out of the balcony window. Light snow had begun to fall, creating a thin coating on the sidewalks and roads that was sure to grow before one of the city’s three or four snow plows came out. The evening clouds had begun to fog over the horizon, leaving it difficult, but not impossible, to see Moss Bay’s largest set of towers in the distance.
“...You’re right,” the cyborg muttered, “that did happen. Either you noticed it before me, or…”
“You’ve noticed it several times, as a matter of fact!” Mem chirped. “Would you like me to remind you of it each time a reset occurs?”
The nameless cyborg turned back to her, a small smile on his face. “That’d be good. I don’t want to start second-guessing myself anymore than I already do.”
He then turned his back to her, and faced the apartment door.
“Alright, I’m heading out. Call me if you need anything, or if I need anything.”
“Yes, of course! I will call you every hour until you say otherwise!”
As he stepped out of his apartment, the nameless cyborg realized something. He’d created a collection of ideas, plans and memories, even if they were hazy, in that apartment building. On his way out, he’d passed a calendar: one with all kinds of important dates. Things like when Mem’s friends were going to visit, or when his last reset was. Important things he’d never have been able to track before.
The calendar’s border was red.
Maybe, he thought as he pushed aside a steel fire door and made his way down the chilly steps of the stairwell beyond it, it was better for Mem to stay back there anyways. A mission going wrong, he could survive; a burglar getting in and out of his apartment alive… at this point, he thought, that’d probably hurt more.