I Like Your Skin, Can I Wear It?

By Sara Fathima

"Please identify yourself."

"Hi, good afternoon. I'm Motao-XIII from province 3. I have an appointment set for 13:00. I'm here to try on new skins?"

"Robot identified. Please step away from the gate for security check-up."

Beep. Beep.

"All clear. Motao-XIII, please follow mandatory protocol while in the mall. Please, remember that you are under surveillance and lastly, enjoy."

Phew. I don't know why we still have this intensive security system. No human would ever dare to cross us after what happened, but what do I know, those little fleshy creeps never learn their lessons.

It's been so long since I got to try new skins, and I heard they launched a new collection last month! I hope they're worth the wait.

Navigating the biggest mall in all of Central City, I reach my destination. I admire the displays of different coloured skins, all smooth and hairless, all glistening in the mall lights, polished to perfection. This SKINS store is for the upper-classbots. The ones for the middle and lower class are in the lesser desirable area of the city. I wouldn't call them actual stores, they're more like butcher shops. Sloppy work, bloody, fly and maggot infested skins hanging off of hooks in front of the shops, not a good look when you're trying to climb up the social ladder. And I once heard that the humans are skinned right there out front for everyone to see. The watchers bidding on who'd scream the loudest or who'd fight the most. Overall not a good place to hangout. Or so I thought.

My friend, Palo, dragged me to this 'Halloween Charity Experience' in the Black Street Stadium last week and oh my, it was a sight for sore eyes. The stadium was packed with upper-classbots. Skin shining in the evening sun. Rows and rows of clean polished skins adhered tightly and precisely to metal. Childbots munching on copper wires and mercury juice made my mouth water. And right in the middle, on a bloody, elevated stage were a dozen butchers, wearing sloppy skin and holding sharp, glistening knives. Before them stood a metal table with blood splatters and tissue remnants. Behind them in a cage made of blackened bones were hundred naked humans of different coloured skins ranging from the whitest white to the darkest black, numbers ranging from 1-100 marked on their stomachs, adults and children alike, huddled together in one corner, flies swarming the piles of faeces and urine opposite them. A large screen focused on the stage was looming over the cage, so that even the last rows could have a clear view.

The show lasted for 5 hours. A random upperclassbot ( though if you ask me, it was not random at all, all the ones chosen were residents of the government sector, the lower-classbots were trying to get on their good side so they wouldn't be neglected ) was chosen and escorted to the stage, a servicebot brought a small box made of rows and rows of white carefully glued human teeth. Five humans (1-5) were dragged out of the cage, their cries mere whispers carried by the wind. The upperclassbot was instructed to pull out a small sheet of flesh from the box. The bot unfurled it and showed it to the camera, the number '2' engraved into it. A slender framed child with number 2 on his stomach was pushed forward landing hard on his knees. He was shaking, but the butcher that hauled him up onto the metal table showed no concern. He was laid flat and his feet and hands were fastened to the table with thick iron handcuffs. A sensitive microphone was placed near his mouth so everyone could hear his sweet little screams of agony and attain pleasure from them. And then, it began.

The air was thick with anticipation and excitement. Everyone was silent, even the childbots munching on wires and adultbots gossiping were now unmoving, frozen. Waiting.

Shrrrrrr.

The sound of skin tearing and howls of pain filled the air, followed by cheers and claps from the audience. The human child thrashed against the table,

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

The bidding for the skins began. The bidding wasn't for wearing them. The upperclassbots wouldn't be caught dead wearing skins of unkempt awful smelling humans. These skins were to be used as decorations in their lavish, city homes. They were to be used as exotic rugs or wall hangings, material for writing of important documents or popular books or painting canvas for renown artistbots. The nails and teeth and bones were to be made into toys for the childbots. They were, of course, thoroughly cleaned before use. The money would be donated to the less fortunate sectors.

“100,000 Botons!” an olive skinned bot yelled.

“200,000 Botons”, another bid.

“200,000 Botons 1…

200,000 Botons 2 …

200,000 Botons 3... and sold to Luna- IX of the Central City!” A service bot declared.

Soon his skull came into view, the other humans screamed in horror. His white bones shimmered like jewels. Childbots giggled in delight. His eyes stabbed, his nose slashed, his lips torn. Blood, red and sticky oozed out of the slashes and dripped down the sides of the table, the sound like heavy rain. He never stopped screaming, never stopped trashing. The knife moved smoothly along his torso, never once hitting the ribcage or any organs which would disrupt the bewitching sound of ripping skin. These were some of the best butchers of the sector. The sound of knives on skin and flesh was so serene, it gave me tranquillity. I closed my eyes and just listened.

Soon he was dead. His skin, forced off of his flesh. The human structure was wondrous. It made you think of the possibilities, of the unknown. The fleshy, skinless body was taken away. It would soon be transported to the factory with other bodies, where the flesh would be neatly cut and packed for various uses. The organs would be thrown to the animals. And oh, don't you worry about running out of humans, the government collects and stores gallons of gametes every year in the safe house. The babies are made outside of the body. Dear lord, we would never force them into having intercourse! What do you take us for? Monsters? We're not monsters, we'd never coerce them into doing things!

The remaining 4 humans met with the same fate. Then another upperclassbot was chosen to pick another number from a different box and this continued on until the table was thick with sticky and congested blood and bits of fat, and the stage surrounding it, a sea of red.

I came out of the stadium wide eyed and smiling. I thanked Palo and went home. But I couldn't stop thinking about the screams of the little human. I downloaded the audio of his skinning from the Charity's official app but it still wasn't enough.

So when I saw the new childskin collection launched by SKINS, I knew I had to buy as many as I possibly could, not because I needed the skin, no, but because I needed to hear their little screams as they were skinned, I had to bribe the store manager to get into the skinning room, I had to sneak in my recording device to document his screams, frozen behind glass forever, but it was all worth it. When they brought out the first child, I was grinning. I knelt in front of the kid and asked him a question,

"I like your skin, can I wear it?"

By Sara Fathima