Though I couldn’t actually eat the food, I enjoyed spending my evenings at The Friar. The elegant Tuscan- themed restaurant was always jam-packed, especially on warm evenings like this. With its crystal glassware and opulent décor, it was often a hit with the wealthier citizens of the city. I, of course, fit the description of ‘wealthy’, in a sense, and blended in almost seamlessly with the extravagance. It was often places like this, filled with higher-ups and their bodyguards, where it was safest for me to hide. I toyed with my fork, pushing the food around on the plate and cutting the steak into tiny pieces. The fresh garden veggies and the rare steak looked so damn delicious that a part of me desperately wished I could eat it. Times like this, when I tortured myself by pretending I was still human, made me envy those that surrounded me. How easy it was for them to sit in a restaurant and enjoy the food while all I could do was order the same meal time after time and not eat a single bite. I’m sure the chef has noticed by now that though I come here every week, I always return a full plate. I doubt he’d be willing to comment on it though; I was always sure to leave a tip that almost tripled the cost of the meal itself. My body wasn’t able to take normal food as it had before. Since the procedure I had to rely on blander, more boring liquid supplements for nutrition. Anyway, it’s not like I paid to leave here full; I paid for the experience, for the chance to fold myself into my surroundings and pretend for just a second that I was just like everyone else. I was busy staring at the couple across from me, trying and failing to decipher if they were in a romantic relationship or were simply a father and his daughter, when loud arguing caught my attention. I glanced up to see the host at the front of the restaurant engaged in a rather heated conversation with a scruffy looking man in a black trench coat and a pair of dirt-smeared jeans. I zeroed in on them, focusing my attention so that I could pick up on what they were saying. “….look, I know he’s here, just let me speak to him”, the man in the black trench coat said. The host, a nervous looking boy in a white dress shirt already stained with sweat, cleared his throat. “Sir, we can’t allow you in here without a reservation. You are causing a bit of a commotion at the moment, so I ask that you please step to the side and-“ “No!”, the man shouted, slamming his fist on the counter separating him from the host. The boy flinched and a few customers looked over to the two in interest. Everyone here loved a good scandal to gossip about later. I could almost hear what they would whisper to each other tomorrow: “Oh my god did you hear about what happened at The Friar last night? A homeless man tried to attack the host!”. The man lifted his gaze and scanned the restaurant. When his gaze finally landed on me, he widened his eyes in surprise and grinned. “Ah, there he is. It’ll just be a quick chat. One second, really”, he said, before sidestepping the host and slipping into the dining area. The host tried to stop him but failed. I watched as the host reached for his walkie-talkie, presumably to call security. The man approached my table quickly and pulled out the empty chair across from me. Up close he looked even scruffier, with dark hair peppered with grey and a shadow of hair on his face that suggested he had forgotten to shave for weeks. His clothes were creased, and he smelled vaguely of a gas station. I wrinkled my nose as he made himself comfortable in the chair and rested his clasped hands on the table. Who was this person and what did he want? A pang of panic squeezed in my chest as I considered the possibility that he was one of the agents sent to retrieve me. It has been twelve years, they couldn’t have caught up to me yet, could they? “Who are you?”, I asked, looking at the man in disdain. “Can I have that? It doesn’t look like you’re eating it”, he asked, gesturing to my plate. The food was cut up into little pieces and scattered around the plate, but I guess to someone like him it still looked appetizing. I ignored his request and asked again, “who are you?”. “If I tell you something that might save your life, would you give me the food? It’s not like you can eat that stuff anyway”, he said, pulling his coat off and draping it over the chair. I glanced behind the man to see that the host had disappeared from the front, perhaps in search of someone to escort the stranger out. I shook my head and glared at the man. This idiot was ruining my evening. “Look, are you homeless or something? If so, there should be a soup kitchen or something nearby. I can’t deal with you bothering-“ But the man cut me off with a wave of the hand. “Not homeless, just starving. Now are you giving me the food or are you just going to send it back to the kitchen again and waste a perfectly good meal?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow. I frowned at his words, my feet already buzzing with the need to get out of here. Something about this guy was starting to put me on edge. “How did you know I’ve sent my food back to the kitchen before?”, I asked, alarms searing in my head. What I was feeling wasn’t nervousness or fear, per se. I wasn’t programmed to feel such emotions. The sensations I was feeling were closer to warning bells alerting me that something wasn’t right. The man leaned closer and spoke in a low voice, “because I’ve been following you for some time now, Von. In fact, it hasn’t just been me. Others have been following you too”. I pushed the chair back, preparing to bolt from the restaurant. There’s no way this guy wasn’t one of the agents sent to find me. I had to get out of here. Fast. The stranger snatched my wrist before I could leave my seat. “Wait. I’m not one of them, I’m not from the lab. I’m on your side, Von”, he said quickly. His eyes, which I initially thought were blue but now appeared more grey, pleaded with me to stay seated. I paused my escape and waited for him to continue, though my body still hummed with the desire to flee. “They’ve already found you- the agents from the lab. They’ve been tracking you for weeks now. I’ve been trying to deter them when I can, but it’s getting harder to protect you from a distance”, he said lowly, eyes darting around the room. The feeling of alarm in my body intensified as memories from the lab filtered through my mind. I couldn’t go back there. It’s been twelve years since I left and if they were still hunting me down, it meant they hadn’t been able to replicate the experiment on anyone else. It also meant that I was still their most valuable creation. “Who. Are. You?”, I said slowly, enunciating each word. I shook his hand from my wrist and pinned him with a look that I hoped would intimidate him. He didn’t look scared in the slightest. “Ulrich Müller. I’m a scientist-“ Before he could finish his sentence, I pushed away again. But once more his hand clamped on my wrist. “Just wait. Let me finish. I’m a scientist who use to work at CreoTech 12 years ago. I left shortly after you escaped”, he said quickly. He looked genuinely worried that I would leave before he got to say what he wanted. I relaxed only slightly at his words. CreoTech never let their scientists leave alive which meant that if this man really had left CreoTech, they were probably hunting him down too. Any scientist who held information about CreoTech research was dangerous; the type of stuff they did there was highly illegal and unethical- something I would know all about. After all, they had experimented on me without my consent, harvesting my half-damaged body from that car accident and using it as a framework for their newest research. After 2 years of painful and highly prohibited procedures, I was their first fully functioning half human, half android. Apparently, all their other cyborgs and AI’s had failed to mirror human mannerisms and functioning the same way that I did. Though 86% of my brain was manufactured in a lab, my very human flesh, and my very human DNA, made me their most advanced creation yet. Straddling that line between being a human and a machine made me the perfect weapon and because I was still technically CreoTech property, they could pawn me off to the highest bidder. “Why do you want to help me?”, I asked, finally giving in. To be honest, I had been feeling off lately, suspecting on several occasions that I was being followed. But I guess in the twelve years that I had been on the run I had lost my edge. A part of me hoped I could fall back into normalcy and actually live the life I wanted. I guess that wasn’t really possible for someone- something- like me. “Von, I want to help you. What they did to you wasn’t right, they made you into a weapon” “And?”, I pressed, knowing there was clearly more to the story that he wasn’t saying. From the corner of my eye, I saw a security guard approaching the table. I lifted a hand and waved him away. He frowned and paused, but after I mouthed a quick ‘it’s fine’ he nodded and turned. Ulrich’s gaze swept the room and he cleared his throat. For the first time during our entire 2-minute conversation he actually looked nervous. He opened his mouth then closed it, hesitating for a moment. Then he sighed and spoke softly. “I created you. Your brain, that was my work- all of it”. He paused and leaned in closer. “I hid something in there. A code. I’m sure you’ve found it by now”, he whispered. I swallowed the growing tension in my throat and narrowed my eyes at his words. I found the code days after I had escaped. I instantly tucked it away in the deepest recesses of my mind, afraid that prodding it would alert them about my whereabouts. There’s no way they could’ve left something that valuable in my head on purpose. “When I left, I destroyed all my work, but they somehow realized that I backed it up on your hard drive. That code holds all my research. It’s basically a blueprint on how to create more hybrids like you. That type of information in the wrong hands could be….it could be disastrous”, Ulrich said, his eyes becoming distant and stormy. “So do you want it back or something?”, I asked. He shook his head. “I want to destroy it before they find it, and I think I know how to do it without hurting you”. “How?”, I questioned. If destroying the code meant CreoTech would be off my back, I was willing to take the chance. “May I?”, Ulrich asked, gesturing to the food. This again? When was the last time he had eaten? I guess leaving the lab meant he was now poor or something. I pushed the plate towards him, and he pulled it closer, smiling at me gratefully. I waited until he tasted his first bite before speaking. “Now elaborate”