Upgrade: A Horror Short Story

This story was written for a Horror Short Story Contest where the submissions were inspired by punk/metal bands. I did not win the contest, but had the most fun writing this. The song that inspired this is "ANYTHING > HUMAN" by Bad Omens featuring Erra.

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“You don’t have to do this,” Betty said for the ninth time that morning. She turned the one egg breakfast over in the skillet. The tiny yellow lump would have to be enough until tonight.

“I’m doing this for us.” Owen kissed her cheek. “After the upgrade, we can eat a dozen eggs every morning. Sausage too.” He sighed, imagining their future. “We can get juice. Real juice and we won’t even have to water it down.”

“We could have all of that now with the money you saved.” Betty escaped her husband’s grasp and plated their breakfast. She ripped a piece of bread in half and added it to their plates. They’d eaten the bare minimum for months, splurging once on her birthday.

Owen would make it up to her. They could celebrate every night once he upgraded.

“Then it would be gone.” The discussion was two years’ worth of echoes. Betty had never liked the idea of upgrades. Owen loved how powerful they made people. How easy they made people’s lives. How just one cybernetic bio-enhancement would change his and Betty’s life forever. “I’ll make so much more money with an upgrade. Lanson already said he’ll pay me what three men make if I can do three times the work. I’ll be a superhuman.”

Owen knew just the upgrade he wanted. Two top-of-the-line Auto Extremities to replace his mortal arms. After all the strain he’d put his body under between extra shifts in the quarry and taking side gigs, he could hear his shoulders crying in relief at the coming upgrades. 

“Mrs. Tybel says people who get upgrades don’t come home.”

Owen rolled his eyes. This was always his wife’s last strike. He’d heard his fair share of missing persons reports, but people in the junkyard went missing all the time. Better they leave for Aurum City before something claimed them. “People leave once they’re able to afford it. Who wants to stay in a place like this?”

Seeming to take Owen’s side, the lights in their tiny apartment flickered as a tram ran over the roof. Dust drifted from the ceiling.

“Just promise you’ll still be you,” Betty frowned, conceding as the lights stabilized. “You don’t have to be anything more than human.”

He kissed her again. “I’m getting us out of here. Just you wait. This time next year, we’ll be living in one of those condos overlooking the river.”

Owen skipped, actually skipped, to the only upgrade lounge on this side of the Dawnish River. Most junkers couldn’t afford an upgrade, and those already living the life he craved would never be seen this far south to need to need one. Aurum City shimmered against the dark sky on the horizon in a neon masterpiece of colors. The roaring waters of the river created a serpent separating the haves and haves not, or in Owen’s case, the soon to haves.

Upgrading became popular at the turn of the century when celebrities could install color-changing optical sensors to match their outfits. Before too long, sports were changing to accommodate cybernetic-enhanced athletes, lawmakers were installing metal exoskeletons for protection, and newscasters opted for cyber vocal cords. Everyone on the rich side of the Dawnish obtained some kind of cyberware. If someone had enough cash, they could change anything about themself. Owen wanted to change his whole life.

Streetlights illuminated the upgrade lounge. It was the brightest thing in the junkyard. Owen’s stomach fluttered with moths. Like the insect, he was drawn to the light. He pushed open the lounge doors and proudly stepped to the counter. The lobby was lit by harsh overhead lights, glinting off the receptionist’s glasses. It made Owen squint.

“Welcome to Dr. Carvince’s Upgrade Lounge,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to upgrade.” Owen blushed at his answer. Of course, he was here to upgrade. What else would he be here for? He swallowed his embarrassment; he was about to accomplish something very few in the junkyard could.

She smiled, the light reflecting off her perfectly white teeth. “Excellent. What kind of upgrade are you looking to get?” She typed into the computer in front of her.

“A pair of Dual Brachium Auto Extremities.”

“To replace those strong arms?”

Owen blushed again. “I’m a quarry digger. Need to have strong arms to do well.”

She nodded, handing Owen a stack of paperwork stapled together on a clipboard. “Which is why you want the Dual Brachium Auto Extremities. Take a seat over there and sign these. I’ll call you when the doctor is ready. You’re in luck. He has an opening later this morning.”

Owen did feel lucky. Not only was getting his brand-new arms, but he’d soon be able to get the life he and Betty deserved. She worked just as hard as him, and he finally had a way to repay her. He couldn’t think of a better way to show her how much he loved her than providing an easy life. He settled in the seat nearest the door leading further into the lounge.

After finishing his intake form, he flipped through a catalog advertising the newest models of upgrades. Gone were the harsh metal edges and red underlights. Apparently, the newest fashion was human skin tone. The models inside the magazine looked more human than machine. Betty would like that. Owen admired the page displaying his Auto Extremities. Without the cybernetic exteriors, he felt like he was buying someone’s real arms and not a machine.

He closed the catalog.

After an hour, the receptionist escorted Owen to an elevator and down several floors. Owen’s stomach dropped as the elevator did, and his skin chilled as they stepped out of it. The receptionist led Owen down a hall lined with numbered doors and into an empty exam room. Some kind of lemon cleaner overpowered the room, but Owen tasted something metallic in the air. He scuffed his work boot against a floor drain.

“Hold out your arm,” the receptionist instructed. “I need some measurements before the doctor comes to fit you.”

“Sure.” Owen did as directed, lifting his arms and letting the receptionist maneuver them as she needed.

“These are fine specimens,” she commented with a nod. From a cabinet on the wall, she produced a folded gown. “Put this on and have a seat. The doctor will be right in.”

She exited the room, and the door shut with a heavy clunk. Owen huddled into a corner of the room and stripped down to his underwear. He glanced at the door’s observation window and the receptionist’s glasses glinted through the glass. Owen dressed quickly and sat on the examination table. White gas suddenly fell from a ceiling vent and Owen choked. The acid mist burned the back of his throat. He staggered for the door. It was locked. He banged his fine specimen of arms against the tiny glass window. On the other side, the receptionist watched him collapse to the floor. No one heard him cry for help.

Coldness woke Owen. The icy metal of the exam table seeped through his thin hospital gown and gripped his skin. He tried reaching for some kind of blanket, but his arm didn’t move. His eyes shot open. Owen screamed. His right arm was missing. Cut off at the elbow. The stump wrapped in gauze stained red with his blood. His other was hooked into an IV machine slowly dripping clear liquid into his forearm.

He was still in the room the receptionist left him in. The floor drain was slick with water and… Owen gulped. He staggered to his feet, his right leg buckling as soon as he put weight on it. He hissed and used the examination table to help him stand. All of him ached, his side burned, his mind pulsed. Owen peeled his gown up and immediately dropped it. Thick black staples decorated his left side, running across his stomach. More staples linked two flaps of skin on his right calf together, but it didn’t hide the depression the missing tendons left.

He limped to the utility sink in the corner of the room. Blood droplets splattered against it and the mirror above it. He ran his fingers over the glass, slicing them against the jagged crack, then touched the side of his face where he was missing an ear. Bright blue marker lines indicated his eyes were next.

Owen shrieked. He tightened his bloody hand into his hair and fell to the ground. A flashing red light ricocheted off the room and he feared the same white gas would knock him out.

The doctor entered the room instead.

His cane echoed through the room as it tapped-tapped-tapped across the concrete floor. He carried a silver tray and set it on the edge of the table before he acknowledged Owen. Sharp scalpels, a pair of scissors, and a blade looking like it belonged at a butcher’s shop gleamed in the light.

Owen shriveled into a corner. The doctor, with his dark eyes and hard mouth, studied him with strange approval. The doctor swatted the table with his cane. Owen flinched.

“Sit up here, boy.”

Owen didn’t. “What’s happening? Where are my upgrades?”

The question tasted rotten in his mouth. Owen tried holding onto hope. Tried thinking this was an anesthesia-induced nightmare. Maybe there had been complications with his procedure. Maybe he wasn’t missing pieces of himself. Maybe the doctor was here to finish the installation.

“Upgrades?” asked the doctor, and then he laughed. The sound was as cold as the concrete floor. “Oh yes. You won’t be getting those.”

“But my arm?” Owen waved his stump in case the doctor didn’t notice he was missing half a limb. The movement made him wince. “And why is my leg stapled shut?”

“I told Diane she needed more gas for someone your size.” The doctor rubbed his forehead, sighing in annoyance. “New hires. Listen, you’ll be doing us both a favor if you sit up here before you’re put under again.”

“Again?” Owen echoed. “No. I want to leave.”

“That won’t happen. The best I’ll do is make sure you don’t hit your head on the way down. Now please, sit.” He whacked his cane against the table again. “I have plans for the rest of you.”

Owen looked for somehow to escape, for something he could use as a weapon. The room was sparse, leaving him with few options, and the doctor stood between him and the door. He pulled himself up and limped toward the table. The doctor grinned at his compliance. Owen gripped the thin side of the table, gently rolling it back and forth. The wheels were, thankfully, unlocked. He eased his damaged leg to the floor and bit his tongue. Jagged pain raced up the remaining muscle.

Desperate for a minute to ready himself, he asked the doctor, “Why did you take my arm if you weren’t going to upgrade me?”

The doctor stared for a moment but gave in to Owen’s request. “Cybernetics are outdated. No one across the river wants to look like a cyborg anymore. Human skin is all the rage.” He smiled, prideful and sickening. “Your right arm is being attached to a banker as we speak. Paid extra for one a little hairy. You have good skin for a junker. You should be proud.”

Owen gulped, his hand almost slipping. “You’re harvesting people.”

“Just the ones who won’t be missed. The slums are an outlet mall of parts.” The doctor dragged his eyes down Owen as if he were a slab of beef hanging on a hook. A hungry look grew on his face. “You listed an emergency contact on your intake form. Who is she?”

Owen’s heart sputtered. He had written Betty’s name down without thinking. It made him smile like she always did. His mouth dried. His throat tightened.

“Doesn’t matter,” the doctor shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll come looking for you and when she does…”

Owen shoved the table, pinning the doctor against the wall. The silver tray of tools clattered to the floor. Spinning his cane, the doctor smacked Owen across the head and bashed it against his hand. Owen yelled as his fingers broke and his knuckles twisted. He shoved the table again, the extra force knocking the doctor’s head against the wall with a loud thud. Owen’s leg gave out without the support, and he crashed to the floor.

He knew he didn’t have long. The doctor was already pushing the table away from himself. Owen crawled away from the doctor as he righted himself. A long, serrated knife sneered at him on the floor. It was probably the same tool that took his arm.

Now he would use it to escape.

Owen gritted his teeth, forced his broken hand to grab it and jammed the long handle into his stub. Stars exploded across his vision. The remaining nerves of his arm burned at the intrusion of the knife. Owen thought he was going to die.

But not until he killed the monster in the room. Not until he could keep Betty safe.

The doctor towered over him, cane raised high and ready to bash in his skull. Owen kicked out the doctor’s knee with his good leg and he tumbled to the ground. Owen sunk his blade arm into the doctor’s eye. The doctor howled, but Owen didn’t stop. He sank the bone knife into the doctor’s face, abdomen, chest, stabbing until the doctor lay in a puddle of blood. The hot liquid dripped down Owen’s face, soaking into his hospital gown. The coldness was a comfort now. Owen wanted to lie down until his body stopped pulsing, but his adrenalin kept his heart in overdrive. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he stayed. Using his teeth, he ripped a strip of cloth off the doctor’s coat and tied the cane to his broken hand. His IV dangled from his arm, the tube ripped apart in the attack.

He rose to his feet, a beast of a man, broken and held together by staples and knives, and exited into the hallway.

Red emergency lights dotted the floor leading to the elevator. Owen staggered, using the wall and the cane to keep himself upright. He pressed his burning head against the cool glass of an observation window. He knew he needed to move, but he knew if he pushed himself, he wouldn’t make it. His vision kept blurring, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the blood dripping down his forehead or the pain lacing his nerves.

He rubbed his eyes clear on his shoulder and saw inside the window.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

Three humans hung from the ceiling; their limbs suspended by chains. Tubes trickled different colored liquids into them from various ports on their chests and arms. Two of their heads lolled to the side. One was missing their bottom jaw; the other’s stomach was slit open. Their serpentine insides splatting onto the floor. The last person stared at Owen. Both her legs were gone, her femur bones jutting past her graying skin. Half her face was missing, wet muscles glistening under the overhead lights, but her green eyes never left Owen’s. 

He watched her ask her for help. Owen reached for the doorknob, but without hands, his blade bashed against it uselessly. Blood dripped out of the holes from her missing legs.

She wouldn’t survive even if he could save her. The woman was on borrowed time. And Owen was using up the rest of his. There was one woman he needed to save. Betty would come looking for him if he didn’t make it home.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the glass and continued down the hallway.

Thick globs of blood followed Owen. From his ripped apart side or his stump, it was hard to tell. There was more blood outside of his body than inside. Sound rushed inside his head. A painful whirring noise that blossomed into an excruciating vibration that ripped into his spine.

Owen screamed. It wasn’t just a noise inside his head.

An electric saw blade eviscerated his back. He crumbled to the floor. His chin crashed onto the floor, slicing his tongue between his jaw. It plopped from his mouth and skittered away from him.

A black-heeled shoe clicked around him.

“I’ve got him!” The receptionist shouted; she powered the saw in a quick burst as a warning in case Owen thought about getting up.  

He knew he couldn’t, but that didn’t stop him. Owen flailed his knife arm to the side, catching the receptionist’s ankles and sending her to his level. He moved on pure adrenalin, jamming his blade through her throat. She choked on her blood.

Owen tried ignoring the pain. Tears washed away the blood clinging on his face. He used what was left of his arms to pull himself across the floor. He missed his arms. His perfect human arms. Betty was right. She had always been right.

He smiled, thinking of her.

His distorted reflection in the elevator’s silver doors watched him. He was an empty husk now, the remains of his human self smeared across the ground. He tapped the end of the cane above him until it clicked the call button.

He blacked out as the elevator closed around him.