The sickly blue-green, a ghostly shade, radiated from the screen on the wall. It was the only source of light, but it didn’t matter in the seemingly quiet house. Its only occupant had gone to bed, gears broken down, dreaming of electric sheep. The classic case of overheating.

A man dressed prim and proper in a suit and tie spoke on the screen. Holding sheets of paper, posing motionless at a desk, staring straight with a peculiar click in his facial features. He faintly spasmed, a tiny twitch that cannot be caught by the human eye. Waves of colour bars and time codes cut across for a second before pixels shift. The headline flashed yellow, interrupting the unnatural blue-green. Oh, would you look at that! Here on Channel 76, a special report has come in. His voice was a low rumble, each syllable pronounced precisely. 

Today is a special day, mark it on your calendars, folks. A brilliant discovery today, April 1st, 3010. The screen flickered, switching scenes to a woman, her movements mechanical to no fault. crinkled, pulling tight corners up on both sides. She spoke, similar to the man. Uncanny to the tee. 

Reporting live from the General Institute, we’re breaking news that you’ve all longed to hear. Those tight corners stretched and stretched, revealing perfect teeth. 

Finding your soulmate in this world hasn’t been easy and many of you have given up. I know needless tears have been shed on drunken nights, crying yourselves to sleep. But you no longer have to worry about a lonely future without your destined significant other. Thanks to the team here at the General Institute, you can build your own soulmate. That’s right. You heard it, androids are the future in your love horizon!

The static returned, progressively blaring louder, tarnishing the woman’s polished grin for the camera and a final buzz cut the screen to black. 

On the opposite wall, there hung an auto-calendar. A steel frame, glowing neon green digital letters and numbers. The marvel of technology ceased its constant tick for the bright 7 to fade into an 8. The tock resumed, displaying the new date. April 28, 3014. 

Then the rain fell for hours, through the early morning. Its pattering was white noise, refusing to disturb those asleep. Like it was programmed from a weather station far behind the hills where the white coats scurry to and fro. The rain carried on as the figure on the grungy couch slumbered fitfully. 

In the living room, nothing sang when Miyeon awoke, no get up, loser! The morning house didn’t lay empty, but the droplets pelting against the roof made it seem so hollow. A repetition that didn’t cease, didn’t comfort, accentuating the vacancy.

Seven o’clock! Seven o’clock! once rang through the hallway, courtesy of the voice-clock, reminding her, forcing her awake. She twisted around, trying to throw the blanket off. Too hot, too fiery for her skin, she wanted it gone. The gears in her left arm whirred to life, a warm humming within then a clack. She groaned, heaving her right arm over, smacking her left until she felt the gears slot into place. 

Flexing the muscles in her back, she sat up, swinging her legs, pushing aside the blanket, revealing smooth seamless joints. A metallic sheen, the product of naive days a few years back. Her left hand was her dominant and at first, it took a while adjusting to the feeling of machinery inside her limb. Now it was second-nature, minus the occasional seized bolt.         

She hobbled to the window, eyes sweeping over the picturesque scene of suburbia, the white picket fences, freshly-cut grass, impeccable gardens, greenhouses. All on the other side of the street.  

Turning to the nearby lever, she pulled on it. Iron curtains coming in, locking together and the room darkened. She could still find her way around.  

Her stomach rumbled, but the kitchen wasn’t on her mind. Her hands found the closet instead, opening it to broken parts, a lawn-mower snapped in two. Mismatched machinery, a voice-clock at the bottom of the pile. She picked it up and blew away the dust. Holding it close to herself.  

Miyeon grabbed the batteries and the voice-drives lying about. She returned to where she left off last night. Without thinking twice, she clambered onto her workbench. Androids wouldn’t scold her for having dirty feet on the flawless surface, there wasn’t anyone here to yell at her. 

She got to work, screwing bolts, hammering nails. The batteries went in here and she hesitated, looking at the voice-drives. Several of them, labelled with different coloured tape. Bright red, orange, and yellow. Somber grays and blacks. 

The downpour hadn’t stopped yet. She could hear the deafening pattering, relentless. Perhaps a storm had struck their city because the white coats were in a foul mood. 

Gray it was, she decided, plucking the cracked voice-drive. It was in a worse condition than the rest, having visible signs of wear. Having been stomped on and torn apart. She inserted it into the voice-clock, not caring that she had to jam it in harder. Back hunched, horrible posture aside, she resumed whatever she was doing. Hands flew, working harder. Just so she could be on time for eight o’clock.       

After a while, she was satisfied, knowing it was 7:59 even without someone to tell her. 

Miyeon set down the screw driver, ended the tinkering, laid her hands to rest. The voice-clock buzzed to life. A click, some static, a lull. Heavy static returned, accompanied with a gravelly voice. Clinging onto amateur workings and shoddily put-together bolts. Dying, crackling. It’s not quite there.  

Hey loser, don’t forget your umbrella! 

AN: I listened to Lorde’s Buzzcut Season and read Ray Bradbury’s There Will Come Soft Rains. In tiny brain at 2 am fashion, I decided to write this abomination that mashes together every sci-fi trope you’ve probably encountered before. 

Hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Maybe there will be a part two if there’s enough interest in it.