Title: Because They Don’t Bleed Red: a short story
Genre: Dystopian, Post-Apocalyptic
The world is humanity’s no more.
But some must dare to go above-ground.
It’s a risk, it can get deadly.
Still, it’s there where all things of importance happen.
A gritty dystopian short story about a man on the road.
When it happened, I’d been fighting through the slithery grime-covered main overpass at their speed. The day was dark as the asphalt, the sky overcast. Something half like sleet and half like snow fell from the clouds. If Jackson hadn’t installed extra purchase features on my soles, I would have flung myself out of my path at some curve back there. Sprinting at this speed, faster than the last Olympic Gold Medalist known to humanity, combined with this slipperiness—the whole venture simply wouldn’t have worked without his genius.
I could barely see a thing. The bastards had shattered every street-lamp a long time ago. There were no traffic lights. They didn’t need any and our needs were immaterial.
From every direction, they were coming crashing on me. A curve, a straight path, it didn’t matter. The collision was inevitable. They didn’t slow down. Didn’t need to. The traffic lanes were irrelevant. They hit my head, slammed my torso, cracked the surface of my limbs, just as they did with their likes: intentionally. They didn’t need to do this, this colliding, this crashing into anybody. But they didn’t operate from need. This was their way of checking: only their likes allowed on this overpass.
Occasionally, the impact was so destructive, a whole chunk of the shell that covered me flew off. It was then that from its fine near-surface vessels, the shell automatically released gasoline. Its reek filled the air around us. But we didn’t stop—neither me nor those bastards. And it wasn’t just me who reeked. It was them, all of them who underwent that vigorous confirmation process of Only we, the androids, allowed in this world. The lack of light, the crashing, the high speed—their speed—all that existed for that single purpose of weeding out my likes, the humans.