As Jimmy watched, frozen with disbelief, Crake let Oryx fall backwards, over his left arm. He looked at Jimmy, a direct look, unsmiling. “I’m counting on you,” he said. Then he slit her throat. Jimmy shot him. Jimmy was frozen, he couldn’t move his body. Had he really just shot his bestfriend Crake? Without thinking, Jimmy steps closer to Crake and Oryx and slowly reaches towards Crake’s neck. No pulse, of course, he’s dead, Jimmy thinks. Crouched next to Crake’s body, Jimmy slowly looks over at Oryx, her body leaning to the side. Jimmy begins to reach over to her when something strange starts happening to her skin. Looking closer, he realizes her skin is disintegrating little by little. Terrified that Oryx’s body might turn to bone, Jimmy leaps up and backs away from her. Suddenly, Oryx’s body completely disappears, as if she were just pixels. What the fuck. . . thinks Jimmy. He steps to where her body just was, nothing, she is completely gone. Before Jimmy can further assess the scene, he hears voices and runs back into the airlock and punches in the code to lock it. There are so many thoughts running through his brain. Why the hell did Oryx’s body disappear into oblivion, Was that the real Oryx, Where is the real Oryx, Did he really just shoot Crake in the head??? Jimmy starts to become anxious. He wants more than nothing to run out of the airlock and search for Oryx. She must be alive, so now he has to find her. Of course, this is a stupid idea, thinks Jimmy. He cannot run out into the madness, even though Oryx is probably right in the middle of it. Jimmy sits down in front of the monitor, he contemplates turning it on, but decides against it. Looking around the room, Jimmy begins to laugh. He reaches over and grasps the whiskey bottle in his hand. He tips the bottle up to his mouth and takes a shot.
He couldn’ tmove. Had he really just shot his bestfriend? As if to prove his gruesome thoughts, the blood from the two lifeless figures on the floor inched closer to his brown feet. Without thinking, Jimmy stepped forward, ignoring the warmth of the blood, towards the lifeless forms of his best friend and the woman he loved.
He gingerly reached out to touch Crake’s neck. “’Course he’s dead,” Jimmy thought, “Fucking Superman couldn’t survive a direct hit to the aorta. Not even his damned Crakers.” From his crouch, Jimmy moved slowly towards the other body, afraid of what he might see. Her body had folded over on itself, her eyes closed. Her expression was peaceful, almost a smile on her ghostly pink lips. He began to remember what he was told at the funerals he’d forgotten about. A dead person always looks like they’re sleeping. Oryx was the same, her golden brown skin still as smooth as toffee, with just a touch of color to her cheeks. His fingers had barely grazed her cheek, when he drew back his hand, as if he’d been shocked. Wait…the tip of his finger was turning red. He HAD been shocked. But by what? He looked closer, and noticed what appeared to be a tiny seam where he jaw met her neck. There was little blood, just a straight tear, the mark of the blade Crake had used to slit her throat. But there was no blood from Oryx’s body. His stomach lurched, and for a moment he was fearful that he would throw up.
“Nothing says respect for the dead like throwing up on the corpse,” he thought, attempting to make light of the situation, and failing.
He reached for the torn skin under her neck, shut his eyes, and pulled hard. In moments, he was holding a thick, soft material, not unlike the silicone from the sex shops of old. In front of him, where Oryx had been, was a tangled network of metallic fibers and colored connectivity wires of all colors. Okay, now he really was going to be sick. He stood up as quickly as he could, took one last glance at Crake’s lifeless form, and ran. What even was real anymore? He knew he had to keep moving, his feet dragging. He found his way back to the airlock, his thoughts a black fog.
He ducks inside, and slams his shoulder against the door as he enters. His brain just isn’t functioning. How the fuck could Oryx be a…cyborg? “No,” he thinks, correcting himself, “an android. There was nothing …human about her.” He smiles slightly. “Come to think of it, I really should’ve seen this coming. People like her just don’t…exist.”
He grit his teeth, and reached under the computer console for the nearly empty bottle of whisky. He took a long, steady drink, which emptied the bottle. Without warning, he let out a scream, and tossed the glass whisky bottle at the monitor within the air lock. He covered his eyes quickly, dazzled by the shards of glass that clattered noisily to the floor. He could feel the bitter tears stinging his eyes. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered, uncertain whether he was talking to himself, or some shadow of Oryx and Crake. He had just picked up the largest shard of glass, when the door to the airlock slipped open, light footsteps entered, and stood just behind him. In the glass, her reflection.