The broken, tangled mess of limbs and cables formerly known as Lauren tried to speak through a mouth full of blood and oil. Unsurprisingly I couldn't understand a word she was trying to say, nor did I want to understand her. As far as I was concerned she hadn't been Lauren for years - just another stack of forgotten warehouse crud that had taken over her body when she'd died/been killed.
I hope she died of natural causes but that never seemed to happen any more.
She looked exactly the same as she did when we went to school together which damn near broke my heart to think that a child had been consumed and puppeted by semi-sentient trash yet here we were. It hurt to kill her but it hurt more to think of her wandering the world, never ageing and probably being killed in a far more brutal way by someone who never knew what her laughter sounded like.
Her hands moved in the same way they did when she was about to pass me a note in class. I found myself offering her a pencil and the scraped-together collection of paper I used as a notepad. Honestly I didn't think she could write like she was, thought it was some dying reflex but she managed to write two words before the server melded to her spinal cord finally gave out.
YellOw sKittleS
It was a code our school taught us to warn each other that there was danger nearby, usually a car slowing down beside us or somebody following us. I barely ducked in time, narrowly missing the swinging augmented arm that had tried to decapitate me.
The only good thing about the techs is how heavy and slow the can be - our only saving grace in this time. And without my dying childhood friend's warning, I'd be as good as dead. Inside's soon to be scooped out and merged with whatever had taken Lauren mixed with whatever had killed me.
Even though she'd been dead for years, even though I killed her - she still saved me.
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