Ahndrian Archives

After running away from an abusive home, marrying a wealthy robotics engineer, and raising something akin to a celebrity family, I stare into a wall of vegetables in a subpar supermarket, wondering at what went wrong.

Though rehashing old arguments with my husband drowns out my immediate surroundings by some degree, the local supermarket is no place to get lost in daydreams. Since I am, however, the townspeople of little Glascal Rowe are busy staring into my ass when they think I’m not looking. Eyes are the most popular body part to replace with machinery, after all. Better image quality than anything God could cook up with little to no chance of them going bad before your hundred and fortieth birthday.

Unfortunately, my time is more often spent here trying to recall a memory without interruption—even in public places. Not that more time wallowing would help our situation, but I like to think it’ll help me achieve some sense of control.

No. I find myself here, surrounded by the shifting faces of a new town and glaring at a bag of bok choy, because of an assailant that has set eyes on our family.

Supposedly.

My husband tells us to steer clear of cops. Keep as many eyes off me as possible, and don’t trust anyone, because we don’t know where the attack is coming from or when. For a little over two months, our 12-year-old son, Jeno, and I have been here living different lives. It’s Koushik’s idea, the thoughtful man that he is, that if he implants our son and I elsewhere, he avoids a greater loss than he could handle. Apparently, as both his favorite wife and the mother of his only child, I alone have that right to secure a peace of mind.

I can admit not being attached to all of them, either. Grace is a rambunctious over spender, Ruby is a stone-faced princess, and Lakshmi is half a doormat, but we all have our faults. According to everyone but Lakshmi, I’m spiteful with a chronic case of superwoman syndrome. None of us should be placed above the others.

Despite his words striking my ears as wrong, his concern for us, for me, is still one of my favorite memories. Years of marital hardship just melting away, only for the bastard to break contact after our first week here.

I catch myself between wanting to laugh and wanting to scream. Instead, I’m left with bloodlust in my eyes and an ugly grin beneath my face mask.

 “Naive, Jacinda. Naive.” I snatch a bag of bok choy and the container of diced onions beside it and toss them into my shopping cart. Off to my right stands a startled, thin-faced, teenager in a blue, Rowe-Mart apron, and off to his right is my pride and joy, Jeno, assaulting the boy’s ears with talk of the latest River Doctor episode on television.

“Didn’t mean to stare, sorry. I was told to check and see if you needed help with anything,” the Rowe-Mart employee says, standing awkwardly between another nosey shopper’s cart and her produce.

Jeno turns to me, concerned, but not surprised. “Yea, mom! Are you ok? Nobody has watched River Doctor around here so I can’t avoid spoilers!”

“You shouldn’t be talking to strangers anyway, Jeno, but I’m fine. Though, I’m sure the dry exhales and case of resting bitch-face shows otherwise,” I say, looking to the aversive teen employee with his eyes on the poorly mopped linoleum floor. I take notice of a subtle glow in each orb and point a wary finger his way. “Who asked you to come over if you don’t mind my asking? I only saw you and the service bots manning your registers.”

He clears his throat, and after a couple seconds of trying to look in my general direction, he looks me in the chin. “Well, yea. It’s just that you seemed like you were having moment and were on the verge of assaulting our produce section!” He chuckles. “The, uh, ‘Customer Service Alarm’ sensed high stress levels and so I--”

“Came over with sweat staining the pits of your shirt?”

“Mom, be nice!” Jeno says, swatting my hand with fresh asparagus, then turning to the teen.

“I just mean to say that with his nerves, that alarm should have sensed him faster than it would me.”

Jeno groans and walks up to the young man. “Don’t mind her. I’ve already got everything in her cart scanned and paid as she picked stuff up.” He lifts his cellphone to the teen’s face, displaying our digital receipt on the supermarket’s app. The moment the light of Jeno’s phone reflects in the teen’s eyes, I become certain that this employee has some very particular eyes and a very particular interest in me.

“Oh! Nice! Ok, um, you guys have a nice day then,” he says, backing away with an awkward wave towards Jeno, but continuing to avoid eye contact with me.

I can hear Koushik’s voice in my ear, warning me against standing out. Normally, this would be where I leave and mind my business, but I’m in the right mood to confront that type of behavior with those types of eyes.

“Those are interesting peepers you have there, spryte.”

Jeno rolls his eyes and tugs me in the door’s direction, but my words hit their mark. The young employee stops in place and turns about, his face blemished by anxious thoughts.

I grit my teeth upon closer inspection of his face. In each of his eye sockets rests a Watchtower, a popular, illegal brand of high-end, cybernetic eyes that closely mimic the likeness of our human ones. There are better brands, even legal ones, to replace your eyeballs with. Many with better, built-in ID scanners, but Watchtowers sell by the boatload because of their ability to steal private information at a glance. The microchips that keep our little, technological marvels performing at optimal efficiency are part of the problem, but no one wants to deal with issues like unresponsive cybernetics. The only reason I’m not running out of the building is because I wear an equally rare and illegal device for protection.

A Loki Mask.

Thankfully, they’re much more subtle than their name suggests, being built to parade around as a cheap necklace or pair of earrings. Jeno and I have almost total anonymity by transmitting falsehoods to the damn things.

“Look, please. I-I have done nothing.”

I cross my arms in response to his meek posture. “Answer a few of my questions and I won’t report you, spryte. I don’t even need to know how you got them. What I need to know is what you saw.”

“W-what I saw?”

“You’re trying my patience, boy.”

He glances around for any lingering customers and whispers, “Just your basic profile, and I may have gotten a peek at medical records, but I didn’t dig too deep, I swear! You’re Nola Grant, 45 years old, born with blue eyes instead of the gray ones you have now, which, great choice. Your eyes are gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

 “All I really picked up was that you have seasonal asthma, and that you lost your legs during some incident with a dog? That sucks. Hate them—dogs, I mean. I’ve always been more of a reptile person. I know nothing important like where you live, were born, or anything.”

Well, that’s at least a good sign that the Loki Mask is working. All that beautiful misinformation would even bring a smile to my face, if not for the strange, black droid peering through the large, store windows at us with its single, beaming, red eye. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s trying to identify us, but as I search around, studying the extraneous shoppers moving in and out of view, the aisles, and the store, it becomes apparent that they don’t notice it.

Suddenly, Koushik is at my back again with that lordly, belittling tone in his voice. I look back at the employee and step closer. “Why did you pick me to scan? Who told you to approach me?”

“No one. I swear! I-I saw the high stress levels and didn’t want another customer to freak out in here over the pricing. Just figured if got a good look at you first, I could confirm my suspicious and just contact the sheriff’s department to deploy an Enforcer ahead of time.”

My inhale is sharp, and I hope the anger in my eyes is sharper. A fucking Enforcer of all things. He’s so willing to avoid an argument that he’d risk one of those bruisers shorting a shopper!

“I could see that!” My volume rises. “A single woman with metal legs and grocery shopping with her child strikes me as dangerous. Sounds right up the police’s alley.” I wave off his stuttering attempt to reply while reeling in my anger. “If you have been acting on your own, would you mind explaining the Marcher outside?”

The junior employee spins around to see that red glare of the droid’s ocular lens resting on us, but his reaction is stiff and slow. He pulls a cellphone free from his apron and gives it a long stare before looking me in the eye. “I don’t know how to explain that.”

“They’re owned by the city, right?” I ask, sensing a clear drop in his energy.

“Yes, ma’am, but I’ve never seen them approach the store like that.” He takes a slow, steady breath to calm his nerves and gently buries his face in his palms. “It is, uh, close to curfew. I’m sure the Marcher’s been sent to make sure everyone leaves the store with no trouble.”

The twinge of dread in my chest tells me otherwise, but I can’t imagine how the world is exploding in this teen’s head. I reach out for Jeno as I walk towards the store exit, only to realize he’s outside, standing by the curb. I can’t blame him for losing patience with me, but this is a bad time to be fed up. One look at the machine tells me I’m the person of interest here. It’s darkly painted, steel body has yet to move an itch, but that disk-shaped head follows every step I take.

Eyeing the back of Jeno’s River Doctor hoodie, I try to compose myself before stepping outside. The Marcher is probably malfunctioning a little, or maybe its handler got a tip about that store associate’s eyes and sent the droid this way. The Loki Masks will keep us from trouble, but if the worst has come to life, my defenses don’t matter. Our assailant will be real and will already have reason to suspect me.