Yasukichi liked to watch the memories of dead people. This strange habit bothered his boss considerably, but Yashukichi was a good worker, and this was a government job, so he let it slide.

 

Today, Yasukichi held the brain of someone named Winter. No last name, at least not on the form the officer filled out. It was cold, and Yasukichi left a set of fingerprints on the shell’s cerebellum as he examined it in the harsh halogen lighting.

 

They were never told the cause of death, just the name. And they really didn’t even need that. Yasukichi suspected it had something to do with ensuring nothing went missing between the cremation and the recycling plant. An understandable concern.

 

A thin layer of ash lingered on Yasukichi’s fingers. He wiped it off and plugged the cyberbrain into a special neural link at the back of his neck, a custom job for his hobby.

 

Winter, how did you die?

 

She was walking. Yasukichi, no, Winter, put another foot forward, digging into the frost-covered earth.

 

Dirt? Not a common sight in Rayne City.

 

Tall piles of garbage rose around them. Another foot forward. It was more difficult this time. Yasukichi felt her exhaustion in the second step. She looked down, and Yasukichi’s eyes followed. He didn't have a choice.

 

Jagged, unnatural forms poked from beneath the loose-fitting clothes. An exoskeleton. There weren’t many of those anymore. Most people elected for newer integrated cybernetics. There was certainly no reason to pick a cumbersome exoskeleton unless it was all you could afford.

 

It whirred as they took another step forward.

 

The weight was torture. Was it a lack of strength? Maybe the skeleton’s batteries were failing. Whatever the reason, mechanical or biological, they fell forward onto a rusted-out car.

 

Winter flipped onto her back and stared up at the sky. Yasukichi was glad not to be walking anymore. It was getting difficult.

The sky was a light grey, characteristic of December. Yasukichi studied the clouds until his vision began to blur.

 

Winter was crying.

 

A feeling of regret washed over them. Yasukichi wished he could know what Winter was thinking, not just feeling. It was the one thing he didn’t like about watching.

 

He only noticed the quiet hum of the exoskeleton once it finally powered down. They were left in silence. Trapped. The corrugated husk of a car at their back leeched the heat from beneath their clothes. Fear cropped up in their minds. Yasukichi wanted out, to move, to leave, to be free. But she continued to stare up at the sky. Neither of them could will her body forward.

 

Winter sobbed and sobbed, but no amount of tears could bring the gears back to life.

 

Snow began to fall. It capped the pointed peaks of trash mountains and melted on Winter’s face. Whether she had run out of tears or simply accepted her fate, she had stopped crying.

 

Lonely. That was how she, how they felt. Winter held onto the feeling and kept it close. Yasukichi could do nothing to ignore it. He didn’t need thoughts to understand. It was the same feeling that lingered when he sat in his room at night, or when he stared out the window on the monorail, or even sitting at his desk, working through the metal remains of people.

 

He felt sorry for Winter. She had died alone. At least Yasukichi got to die with her, accompanied by the fading warmth of another human being. He expected to feel a little better with the realization, but there was no comfort in the company because this had already happened, because these feelings weren’t his, because as much as he wished he was, he wasn’t there.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

The sun broke through the dark clouds, casting brilliant rays along the snowy mountain peaks. Snow muted everything around her until all she could hear, all Yasukichi could hear, was shallow and labored breathing.

 

Their eyes moved to the snowy heights, where the light gleamed on the white surface. Those trash piles started to look more like stony cliffs. And for the first time in either of their lives, they realized the world was silent. Not just quiet, but silent. No more cars, no more bustle of the city streets.

Winter wondered, with tears freezing to her face, why she only got to experience something so beautiful just as she was about to die.

 

It was beautiful. And Winter was dead.

 

The world refocused. Grey sky turned to steel, snow to dust, and the sun to a single harsh halogen light.

 

Yasukichi unplugged the cyberbrain from his neural port and set it on the table.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

He turned around. It was his boss. “Sorry, what?”

 

“Your face,” he pointed up.

 

Yasukichi wiped his eyes, and to his surprise, they were wet with tears. “Yeah, sorry. I’m alright.” He turned away, a little ashamed.

 

His boss seemed to hesitate at the door, but soon his footsteps could be heard, walking down the carpeted hallway back to his office.

 

Yasukichi picked the shell back up, placed it into a small plastic bag, and labeled it for recycling, just like all the others.

 

He sat back down, and as his arms pressed into the cold metal chair, he began to feel very alone.