We Are Bulletproof

Oh, he wanted to run, he wanted to hide. He wanted to pretend none of this ever happened. Shame warmed his face and paralyzed his tongue. The door closed and the robot was gone. Somebody else found him. Somebody... else... It made sense, though. Wen had created a beautiful fantasy for himself and he allowed Seb's optimism to lift those fantasies. For some reason, he really thought it would work out differently. Positively. That one look at his creator would spark those deleted memories. But they had been effective erased. Over-written by somebody else.

Was he aware? That other man? Was he aware of what he had? Had he found every imprint of Wen left behind and wiped them all clean? Meticulous and deft, he could have gently worn away what was left of Wen. Even worse, he could have placed himself in Wen's place.

Despite himself, Wen's hands balled into fists and he felt an old, almost unfamiliar welling of emotion deep inside. It had been so, so long since he felt that--the salty heat inside, that swirled into a chaotic ball of emotion inside his chest and stung the back of his eyes. He lowered his gaze and let his hair fall into his face as he made his way back to Seb's car. Swallowing hard, he reached out for the door handle and pulled but didn't immediately slip inside.

He turned his gaze back over his shoulder, wondering... wondering... wondering meant nothing. He lowered his gaze again and finally slid into the vehicle, closing the door behind him and wrapping his arms around himself. Wen daren't look at Seb right now, nor did he speak. He closed his eyes, trying to remember to just breathe, to push back the emotions. All he wished for in that moment was to be a robot himself, with no emotions built in, with no ability to hurt.

"No."

Wen barely even gave the other man a glance. He didn't matter; he wasn't the reason that Wen was here. His focus was solely on the man before him. No, the robot. How did he not know? Did he believe he was human? If he had been taken care of, the one called Caleb must know. Or whomever had found him first. What was his life like after Wen dumped him? There wasn't even the slightest spark of recognition in his gaze when he looked at Wen. It was as if he had really erased him.

No. No! That's not how data works. Whatever was there could still be found. As long as it hadn't yet been overwritten, it was there, like the ghost of the data, waiting to be overwritten. It gave the false impression that data was deleted when one looked at it--when laymen looked at it. But a skilled hacker or computer technician would know where to look to resurrect those old files. Wen could do it.

Did he want to?

He couldn't tell. There was an ugly ache in his chest. He could step back, let them close the door in his face, and he would be nothing but a curious oddity of the night. It would be an odd memory to tell friends about and then it would fade away. Wasn't this for the best? It was for the best. Why did he let Seb talk him into this?

Wen did step back then.

"Wrong house," he mumbled before turning around. Wrong time, wrong people, wrong place. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

What Wen neglected to mention to his new friend was that his robots, despite everything Wen claimed, were not just robots. There was something special about his robots. Although he created the body for them, there were spirits anchored within the whirring gears and silicone. Somehow, it seemed like the spirit of this particular creation had strengthened in its time away from Wen. Nobody could tell at a glance that he was a machine. It almost made Wen question himself as he stared at him in abject silence.

After a moment, he reached out and took hold of the man's wrist, turning it over to see that the number he'd inked on his inner wrist was still there. 009.H it read. No doubt about it. Wen felt a strange surge of emotion upon seeing him before him, with the same serial number and the same face. And that perplexed expression. Of course. His memory had been wiped. Perhaps a part of Wen had hoped that some of the old memories remained, having not been overwritten yet. That was how computer memory worked, after all. It wasn't truly gone until it was overwritten.

"I'm not here to see Caleb."

"A rhythm guide?" Wen asked, actually curious. Was this about dancing or was he referencing painting? No, no. Wen frowned slightly and brushed fingertips over his chin. The way Seb said it, that look in his eyes... it made it sound like perhaps there was more to it than that. What else required rhythm? Wen didn't give it much more thought; it must have been his imagination that it meant anything more. Or it could have been the way Seb said it like it meant something else. Some kind of innuendo. A man like Seb was exhausting for somebody like Wen. They were on such different wavelengths.

As the car came to a stop, Wen suddenly found that his inner calm was giving way to nerves. This was it. The tracker said he was there, in this neighborhood. He was in one of those houses. Near. Did he know he was here? Of course he didn't. He couldn't. Could he? Wen felt like he was trying to breathe underwater and for a moment, he had to lower his head, one hand on the door handle, as if he were preparing to run from... whatever was locked up inside of him.

"Right," he said to Seb, much softer than intended. He didn't even argue about the safe word (or whatever that spatchcock business was). Not something he wanted to be caught shouting aloud for all to hear. Good lord. His hands were itchy. Sweating. His mouth was dry.

"Right," he repeated, licking his lips and finally opening the car door so he could slide out. This was the sole reason he'd come out on this little road trip. He couldn't back down and head home now. For a moment, he looked back at Seb, as if he could help him but this was really all up to Wen and he knew it. Taking in another breath, he closed the door with a gentle click and then he started up the street, following the tracker to an innocent looking enough brick house with ivy crawling up a trellis and two cars parked out front. Up the driveway, there was a small wooden gate. When Wen opened it, it creaked and from inside the house, he could hear the telltale sound of a dog barking.

Oh, he wanted so badly to leave but he refused to look over at Seb and he refused to stare at the ground. He squared his shoulders back and came up to the front door. Another deep breath. And then he knocked.

"I tended to listen to traditional Chinese music when I was working," he said as he slipped into his seat in the vehicle. But he placed a hand over his mouth and looked downward as he contemplated sharing the rest. All of this was rather new to the robotics enthusiast. One might even compare him to his creations. Or even say that he was more robotic than those that he created. Perhaps that was part of the reason he so readily ended up falling for one. Slowly, his other hand slid over the pocket that held the tracker, a warm machine under his palm. He was really doing this. He closed his eyes briefly.

"I also listened to..." Wen opened his eyes and looked over at Seb, forcing himself to pull his hand down and away from his mouth even though he half felt like smiling. A rare moment for Wen! But he felt strangely... euphoric in the moment, sharing a guilty pleasure with somebody--anybody. Even a virtual stranger. "Pop music. And... EDM."

He pulled out the tracker to check their progress. His heart started to beat faster.

"We're almost there."

Wen raised a brow. All right. So they weren't going to discuss the charming thing. Wen was silent before he nodded and watched Seb go pay the bill. He should have insisted on paying something--at least for his own food--but if he was to be believed, Seb hardly needed the help. Letting out a sigh and pulling his hair back from his face, Wen stared down at the table.

Think about it? About what? The robot's preferences? Did that make him more human in Seb's eyes? Wen supposed that developing such things as preferences did indicate that something had changed within the robot. Perhaps... a ghost in the machine? A real ghost? Wen hadn't purposely anchored a soul into the robotic body but he might have done it on accident. He settled his chin in his hand, perturbed by the thought.

So maybe Seb was right. He slid his gaze up to him. Maybe it wasn't just property retrieval. He flicked his gaze back downward.

"He liked music," he said slowly as he got up. "Not the kind you'd find in that machine," he said with a nod toward the jukebox. "But the music I played in my studio when it was... when it was just the two of us."

"...you're not charming when you...?" Wen furrowed his brow slightly. What... what did that even mean? That he didn't charm people into... having sex with him? That he wasn't traditionally charming because he was... having sex? Nobody in their right mind would think a man having sex in front of them was "charming." The wording threw Wen off. Magic? Not magic? Charisma? Something more? Should he be worried?

No. No. He'd know if he was being charmed. Besides, he had a feeling it wouldn't quite work on him. Wen's level of emotions were not the same as the typical man's. Hence... the robot lover. Hence... not feeling a sense of belonging in the world or the people around. Hence... being alone.

But even those who didn't want people around needed something. Some kind of company. Some kind of... companionship.

Taken aback by the question presented, Wen fell silent, idly moving a fork in circles. Of course, his companion had a mouth. A very realistic mouth. A soft mouth. A warm mouth. Wen's eyes half closed at the memory. To build an efficient machine, he had made it so that food was not technically required by the android but it could still eat and expel as if it were human, in cases where it was necessary. In cases where somebody might suspect. Wen did not do things in halves.

"He didn't like sweets," he said in that far off tone that indicated he was lost in a memory. "At first, he had no real preferences at all. Then it was for texture rather than taste. The crunch of a bagel chip. The gumminess of dried fruit..." Wen looked up, at the counter, the pies. Then back at their table. A rueful smile. "Nothing we'll find here."

A... conversation piece? He supposed that's what a jukebox would do in a rich person's home. Wen wondered silently if they ever even tried to use it. Seb claimed that he wasn't allowed to touch it and that it was used for decoration. A conversation piece--again, what a strange thing to have for such a thing. Wen thought of such things as having a use and a jukebox had a very specific use. Not to be touched... What a shame. It wasn't even be used for its purpose.

It was probably even stranger that Wen felt sympathy for an inanimate object. Then again, he'd dated one, hadn't he? To most people, a robot boyfriend was nothing but a fancy toaster.

Wen raised his brows but didn't argue--stopping in a little greasy spoon like this was a part of the road trip experience. He still couldn't believe he was even on a road trip. Wen was more accustomed to spending all of his time alone in his hidden forest home, where he could work in peace and quiet.

"I suppose it's a matter of perspective, yes." One man's complexity was another man's simplicity. Wen sighed and looked down at his food. Getting philosophical hadn't been part of the plan. Really, Wen spent far too much time debating things like this in his head and he wasn't sure if having somebody to argue with was a good thing or a bad thing. It flexed the brain, it was true. But it also disquieted him.

"I don't know anything about friendship, either." What a pair. Off on a buddy road trip and they weren't even friends. Or was this supposed to be friendship happening right now? Wen frowned slightly. "And you might want to steer clear of saying things like that."

"Ah... what?" Wen asked, somewhat taken aback by the revelation that Seb once had a jukebox in his home. When one thought of jukeboxes, they thought of dated diners (much like this one) and old shake shacks from the 50s. They certainly didn't think of them as home accessories. What a strange home Seb must have grown up in. Then again, Wen wasn't one to say much. Perhaps he hadn't been raised strange but he had certainly gone onto that bend at some point in his life, to be going on a road trip with a stranger to seek out a robot ex-boyfriend.

He probably won't even remember me. Sometimes he wondered why he shared that information with Seb. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be here now. The real question was, was that preferable? Or did he want to be home alone tinkering on the next machine? Maybe a new boyfriend. Somebody else.

Glancing over at the jukebox, Wen opened his mouth to earnestly tell Seb exactly how it all worked but closed it after Seb decided he would rather stick with the mystery. Wen sighed and shook his head, looking down at his food instead. Seb liked the mystery, he said. But Wen hated it. That was why he dismantled things to get a good look inside and that was exactly why he didn't get along with people. He couldn't take them apart the same way. He couldn't open them up and see what made them tick, what made them say what they said. People were dangerous. More dangerous than any machine.

"I doubt there's anything mechanical I haven't taken a look at," he said after some thought. "Jukeboxes are simple. They were invented a long time ago, you know, so they don't take a lot of complicated parts or programming the way something like a cellphone does these days."

"Hm." He looked away, out the window. Abandonment might be a sore topic for Seb. The mention of his mother was pretty off-handed but Wen couldn't imagine being left by a mother and not feeling something about it. Anger, hurt. Worst of it, Wen could actually commiserate, since he had been abandoned, too. It was different, though--abandoning a robot versus a child. Was it not? Wen programmed the robots. He was the one who created them and gave them their directives. But he supposed in some twisted way, it wasn't all that different.

No. No, it was! It was because Wen could wipe the memories from the robot. They could start over in a new life without the thought of what happened in their past haunting them. The inner monologue alone was exhausting him. Wen passed a hand over his eyes and watched as the car pulled up to a lonely diner. He raised his brows at the choice and looked over at Sea. He seemed pretty amused by it.

They passed a man and took a seat near the back. Wen hesitantly took the menu from the happy-go-lucky woman serving them, though he barely glanced at it. Diner food. Seb talked as if he'd never eaten in a place like this but he knew exactly what they had. Interesting. Maybe it was because he wasn't human. Wen knew these places didn't seem to vary much in the menu department but he was more a bowl of rice with a side of some kind of vegetable or meat type of guy.

"I'll just have what he's having," Wen said. "But I'll take raspberry lemonade instead of coffee."

He handed the menu back. No point in looking. Even Seb knew there wasn't a variety and Wen wasn't interested in the different "house" burgers they sold. Once the menu was taken and the waitress left with their orders, Wen stared at Seb for a moment. Then, rather than ask what was on his mind, he asked, "Have you ever used a jukebox?"

Wen swung his gaze in Seb's direction. How could he be so nonchalant about melting eyeballs? What exactly had he gotten himself into? If Seb got mad at him and decided they weren't friends anymore, would he be capricious enough to just turn on him and do something like that to him? Somehow, it didn't worry Wen that much. Lately, his regard for his own life had been substantially lowered. It could have something to do with his epiphany about that robot boyfriend Seb was interested in. It could. Or. No, it did.

Wen lowered his head and fiddled with the end of his ponytail while Seb called him out.

"But I do abandon them," he said quietly. That had already been established. While there hadn't been a replacement, it didn't mean anything. Maybe Wen just hadn't met the perfect replacement. Heh. As if he would when he created him with his own two hands. That came with its own set of problems, however. They hadn't discussed those problems yet, though. Wen thought Seb would see those for himself when he saw the robot for himself.

He looked up, somewhat surprised at the sudden change of topic. How? How did he know? There was no use asking. He already knew. Seb already told him when they met. Wen looked out at the road ahead and considered if. He wasn't a robot; he required sustenance to keep going and to remain healthy. Besides, Seb was paying... probably with one of those millions of cards he apparently had.

"As long as you don't buy 400 hamburgers, I think we can stop to eat."

No. No, glittery strippers wearing thongs thrusting in his face was hardly his idea of a good time. Wen was a simpler man than that. In some ways he was also more complicated. What couldn't be found in life could be created; he had believed that once upon a time. Now he felt... strangely guilty, as though perhaps it would be best to leave that robot boyfriend where he was and just... turn back. Yet he was here and he was unusually convinced that he could do something.

Something to bring him back? After the things Wen said and what he did? He lowered his gaze and stared at the tracker as if his life depended on it solely. And then he found himself banging up against the door and then towards Seb as the car shifted gears and a sharp turn was taken. Quickly, Wen put his free hand up against the roof to try and steady his swaying body.

As he finally lowered the hand, Seb took it. "Please don't melt anybody's eyeballs," Wen said. He couldn't imagine needing that power. Why did Seb even use it once--even if on accident?!

"You don't have to take it personally, whether this ends well or not. Really, I could just..." He trailed off and looked down at Seb's hand. "I could make a new robot, if it comes to that."

"What?" Wen looked over at Seb. "Sans strippers?"

Why hire a bus with a stripper pole without strippers? Not that Wen wanted strippers--quite the contrary, actually--but the idea that one would hire a bus with such a tool and then leave it unused baffled him. Why not a normal bus? Or was Seb planning to use the pole himself? Dear gods, Wen hoped he wasn't the one elected to use it because he thought Seb would be quite disappointed in the end result.

This man... He was so easily distracted. One moment he was talking about winging it--no plans--and then he was going on about chicken wings. (Which didn't help because it reminded Wen that he hadn't eaten dinner before unceremoniously deciding to go to bed that night.) Only to wake up and call Seb because it turned out that stirring up those old memories made trying to sleep alone that night pretty much impossible.

Not that he was about to admit any of that to Seb. Instead, he pulled his hair over his shoulder and fiddled with it, eyes turning toward Seb as his head was patted and then his cheek and neck. Wen shrugged the hand away before it decided to grope his chest next.

"I'm not sure this is classified as kidnapping," Wen said, disliking the connotations that went with the term. "He's technically not a person..." Which meant (sadly for said robot) that he had no real rights. What Wen wanted to know was how he moved. He frowned slightly as he turned his attention to the tracker. "I left him off, so I don't know how he ended up in Seattle. Somebody must have activated him or moved him. They might have even reprogrammed him so don't get your hopes up for a happy ending."

Actually, Wen had never been on a road trip, either. Not one he would have defined as a road trip, anyway. There was traveling but most of it was by airline or train or bus. Wen wasn't much of a driver, truth be told. His mind was too easily fragmented and distracted by sudden and fleeting thoughts, ideas that came on so quickly that he had to get them down immediately. Driving wasn't safe for a man like that. So he was quite glad that Seb would be doing the driving, especially since they were going up north to Seattle. Or near it. Wen squinted at the tracker.

"Ah." Yes, he'd forgotten about seatbelts in all the excitement. Wen pulled his seatbelt on just before Seb hit the gas. Gripping the seatbelt like it would save him from that sudden jolt of speed from the car, his gaze darted over to Seb.

"I apologize. I thought he was in Portland. That's where... that's where I left him."

Wen watched Seb toy with the mirror, then looked out the window and slowly released his grip on the seatbelt. "We don't need to knock him out. We could just fry his motherboard. Or put a magnet near his head. That'll scramble his thoughts long enough to-- I'm not sure what we're doing, actually."

Regret was starting to edge in and they hadn't even left Hazleton yet. Maybe it wasn't too late to convince Seb to turn around...

The tracker, the tracker. Where was the tracker? There it was. Setting aside his phone, Wen tied his long black hair back and he began to work on getting the tracker back online. Kind of a mess, living way out here and hiding from the mechanical world... yet he was still surrounded on all sides of the little cabin by parts. The tracker was a bit tricky, as he suspected it would be. It had been a long, long time since he had used it and some part of him thought it might not even work at all.

A little red dot appeared on the screen and it was... a long ways away. Not in Portland, even. Somewhere further north. Up in Seattle. He's in Seattle. What was he doing there? Maybe he'd found a new life there. His heart pounded hard as he touched the red dot, as if he could somehow feel him while he did it. No matter what he did to try and discard him, he remained in his heart. A robot. A creation of his own. It felt somehow wrong. Narcissistic? Perhaps almost incestuous. Loving a being made by his own hands, it most certainly wasn't right.

It wouldn't hurt to see what had happened to him, though. It wouldn't hurt.

HONK!

Wen's hand jerked and the tracker dropped into his lap and nearly toppled to the floor before he managed to catch it. Heart in his throat, he clutched the tracker in one hand as he rushed to the window and pulled back the gauzy curtains to see a familiar face leaning out of the window of his vehicle. Too late to turn around now. Grabbing a cloak from the chair by the front door, Wen draped it over his shoulders before leaning down and pulling on a pair of boots. Then he was out the door, carefully locking the shabby door behind him as he did so.

It felt surreal, walking out into the hazy late night fog and towards Seb. He made his way to the passenger's side and opened the door. Slipping in, he closed the door behind him and then showed Seb the tracker.

"...here it is. The tracker. It says he's somewhere in Seattle."