Structural Edits

By Victoria Roberts

I’ve been caught.

No, only Meg noticed.

I reach for a new binder of case files. That inconsequential proofreader knows better than to report my errors.

Pen in hand, I skim the first file, spotting the typo underlined in red. Before I can process the information, the tech in my brain corrects any trace of a mistake. My fingers tighten around the pen, teeth grinding as I flip to the next file. Same results. The typos continue disappearing before my eyes.

A sharp crack breaks my concentration as the pen in my hand snaps in two. With a growl, I push away from my desk, throwing the pieces across the room. In the same motion, I shove the files, papers scattering.

It’s no use. The Typo Alliance won’t ignore my unsolved cases anymore. I kick the chair. As it clatters to the floor, I run my hands through my hair. I can almost hear cogs twisting inside my mind, churning out data particles that obliterate my vision.

The sharp ping of a message punctuates my frustration. I lift my wristwatch, eyes widening. Finally, the Enhancer answers. Keep it together, Brody. There’s always a way out.

With a nod, I lean over my computer. I disconnect the Alliance’s server and connect to a private hotspot before opening the message.

Mr. Higgins. How can I be of service?

I wet my lips, flexing my fingers before typing. I need to know how to remove the tech.

A bead of sweat rolls down my face as I wait for a response.

You know our policy. No returns or refunds.

I pound the keyboard. Forget the refund! I just want it undone. It’s changing me. I hit the send button, a tremor pulsing through my veins. I’d only wanted a bit of tech to help me jump the corporate ladder. It was illegal—but effective. I’m the youngest chief editor in the Alliance. Except, now I’ve turned into a robot, the very machines I swore to fight. Another ping.

We’re not in the business of uninstalling tech. Embrace perfection.

Thank you for contacting Tech Market.

The message box goes dark. I stare at the screen. What now? How long before I’m being hunted by the Alliance? My office door swings open and Meg walks in.

“Hey Brody, just need you to…” She pauses, eyes widening behind her yellow glasses as she spots the strewn files. “Whoa. What happened?”

I straighten, tugging at my tie. “Bad day. What do you want?”

Tiptoeing over the files, she makes her way toward me. “A signature for my report about our warehouse operation.” She places a paper on my desk.

I snatch it up and read. True to her word, she glossed over any indication that I missed the obvious typo. With a nod, I reach for my pen, grasping empty air instead.

“Here, use mine,” offers Meg. She moves to the side of the desk, a silver pen in hand. Her gaze flicks to my screen.

I tense. My messages!

Her eyes narrow. “What are you doing talking to Tech Market?”

My fingers tighten around the report. “Just some Alliance work.”

Slowly, she lowers her pen. “Doesn’t look like Alliance work.” Her free hand lifts toward her yellow-rimmed glasses.

I throw the report on the desk. “Meg, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Even as I grab her arm, I see the truth reflected in her lenses. Proofreader mode has been activated. She sees what I’ve become.

“Brody,” she gasps, “what have you done?”

Without thinking, I clap a hand over her mouth. “Why do you keep showing up where you don’t belong?” I mutter and drag her toward the open office door.

She pushes against me, nails digging into my arm.

I slam the door shut with my free hand and secure the lock. I release Meg, warning her not to scream, and jerk the blinds over the window. No more prying eyes.

Something wooshes by my ear and I whirl around. Meg is behind my desk, arms full of files. I duck as she throws a binder at me.

“You’ve been a robot this whole time?” Wielding a hefty volume, she swings it at me. “How could you do this? I thought you believed in The Typo Alliance and saving humanity.”

“I do.” I step forward, grabbing the remaining binders. Meg shrinks back as I toss them aside. “It was never supposed to get this far. I wasn’t supposed to lose myself in the process.”

“That’s what the tech does, Brody. What did you expect when you started playing with it?”

“I don’t know!” I slam my fists on the desk and Meg jumps. Everything’s spinning out of control, yet control was what the tech promised. I throw my fists against my computer, moving next to empty frames and dirty mugs scattered across the desk’s surface. Then, when there’s nothing left to destroy, I drop to my knees. “I didn’t expect this.”

Silence reigns for an eternity between us.

Meg shuffles around the desk, lowering herself beside me. “You’re bleeding.”

I shrug. “That happens when you challenge your workspace to a boxing match.”

Meg places a handkerchief over my knuckles. “Brody, if you’re willing to accept my help, I know of a place where humanity can be restored. The Alliance never has to know.”

Her words reel me in like a lifeline. But I frown when I spot the bruise emerging on her cheek. I did that when I tried to silence her. All I’ve done since installing the tech is hurt others. I don’t deserve to be restored. The Alliance powers down transformed humans. It’s what they should do to me. I shake my head and jerk away. “Forget it, Meg. You can’t save everyone.”

Meg grasps the edges of the handkerchief. “There’s still a chance.”

I wince as the cloth tightens around my raw knuckles, red seeping through.

“Brody, don’t you see? Only humans bleed.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Victoria Roberts has been making up stories in her head for as long as she can remember. She writes uplifting Sonflower Stories that encourage readers to stand for the light. When she’s not penning or devouring a new tale, she spends her time adventuring in the Sunshine State with her husband, spoiling their poodle Beast, or creating book-themed cross stitch patterns.

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