I felt like posting an old story, my first foray into Fanfiction, I wanted to repost, after reading a Blavity.com article here: https://blavity.com/7-times-science-inspired-black-art
Science can spur art, which spurs dorks like me to write about that art.
The fastest way to describe the concept is that it centers around Cindi Mayweather, the android who fell in love with a human, Anthony Greendown, and as such is sentenced to disassembly. Anyway, I was listening to the album Metropolis (first in the concept series) and one of the interludes begins a chase scene, I felt like writing about it.
Neon Valley Blue
Faster. I tumble through Neon Valley Street with my wires in wild disarray. Faster. How many now? Eight? Nine? I am a product of the man, I’m built of numbers and born of steel, but when they’re all nipping away at you in the dark with electro daggers and chainsaws you lose count of how many bounty hunters are on your tail. Faster. You’ve got to go, out the window Anthony told me, less than twelve minutes ago before they burst through the apartment door on the fourth floor.
“Come on ‘droid fiiiive seven eight two one! Let’s have some fun!” One of them cat calls from the black behind me, bringing me back to the moment. I had a name, Cindi Mayweather. They’d given me a name, The Electric Lady. I run faster. From Anthony’s arms and toward arrogant cyber boys and girls. It wasn’t fair, they picked the pieces of us they thought exotic, but just enough to keep them as the one and not the other.
I cut through an alley before my run is stopped. The whurrr of chainsaw is cascaded in the laughter of a bounty hunter who crashes in front of me. If phasers were warranted I’d have been disassembled by now, but they aren’t. They wanted a show. The other bounty hunters had to be close, but the whole chainsaw-weilding-borg-boy-standing-in-front-of-me thing took precedent over their approach. He lunges at me. As much of us as the cyborgs have they still move like humans, and while I’m no Soldroid, I still have the upper hand. My optical processors read through the paltry of potential disassembly methods. I bear my steel weight on my knee coils and leap over before he can cause any damage. I was off. Slightly, but I was off, and the bow tie at my neck is grazed just enough to fall to shreds.
When you’re bold enough to reach for love be mindful of those who profit in fear, in keeping the labels lively and want you to sell your circuits to the system. When you’re bold enough to reach for love, no matter what form it takes, you have to stay faster than the rest of them, the ones who chase, not the ones that follow.
Neon Valley Street, they say it’s where the Arachnoid angel with the Dandridge stare first glitched. Running through these dramatic streets I wonder if they’re right, if all I am now is a product of some misplaced wire or fried motherboard. Faster. I think of Anthony, and ev-ev-ev-everything gets muddled, but it’s OK, because it reminds me they’re all wrong. So they want an Arachnoid? I’ll give them one, I’ll give them an apocalypse to dance to and everything they love. So I keep running, with a shock-filled smile because I know what they’ll learn; a chainsaw can break a bot, but not before my voice shatters their world.