Kyle adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped out of the small apartment he shared with his mother. The mid-afternoon sunlight filtered softly through the thick branches of the maple tree outside, casting dappled shadows on the cracked concrete sidewalk. His black hair, tousled from sleep, shimmered faintly under the sun. Those deep blue eyes, usually calm and introspective, scanned the quiet neighborhood with a habitual vigilance. His jaw, strong and well-defined, tightened as he prepared for the quick errand ahead.
His mother had asked him to pick up groceries — a simple task, really, but Kyle treated it like a mission. Living with a single parent meant responsibility came early, and he was used to carrying that weight silently.
The grocery store was only a few blocks away, an unassuming place with flickering fluorescent lights and linoleum floors worn thin from years of foot traffic. Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of fresh bread and canned tomatoes. Kyle moved briskly down the aisles, his fingers grazing over the familiar labels as he grabbed the essentials: milk, eggs, a loaf of rye bread, some canned beans, and a small bunch of ripe bananas.
His thoughts wandered briefly to his mother—how she worked late shifts and how he sometimes wished he could protect her from the harshness of the world. But today, the world would show its darker side much sooner than he expected.
Kyle rounded the corner to the checkout counter. The store was nearly empty, save for a few elderly women chatting quietly near the entrance and the cashier, a burly man with a grizzled beard who greeted Kyle with a nod.
"Hey, Kyle," the man said, his voice gravelly but warm. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, just the usual stuff," Kyle replied, unloading his items onto the conveyor belt.
He was somewhat familiar with the store owner, although he was sure the man would soon forget his name. Maybe it was his blue eyes that made him stand out. It always did.
Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. A man approached the counter, blending in perfectly with the mundane surroundings — average height, casual clothes, nothing unusual about his appearance. But then Kyle noticed something strange: the man's arms twitched unnaturally.
Before Kyle could process what he was seeing, the man's arms transformed, metallic and robotic in seconds, sleek chrome replacing skin, gears clicking audibly beneath synthetic plating. The man's eyes gleamed with cold, mechanical light.
A shudder ran down Kyle's spine.
The robotic arms shot forward in a brutal attack, smashing into the cashier's face and chest. The cashier reacted with practiced reflexes, grabbing a shotgun from beneath the counter. He fired a warning blast, the sound echoing sharply against the store walls. The attacker snarled, revealing teeth that gleamed unnaturally — the face shifting subtly, skin blending with metal, until it was a perfect fusion of man and machine: a cyborg.
Kyle's heart hammered against his ribs. Time slowed. He ducked behind the refrigerated shelves, the cold air biting at his skin. His mind raced for a safe spot.
Hiding in Plain Sight
Kyle crouched low, chest heaving, as the cyborg scanned the area. The mechanical eyes glinted with precision, whirring softly as they searched. The metallic fingers tapped methodically on the counter as the man-machine hybrid prowled for its target.
Kyle's breath was shallow, every sound amplified in his ears. He remembered the emergency exit — just a few steps away — but the cyborg's gaze swept near it. He stayed put, frozen in place, willing his heart to slow.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The cyborg paused, its head tilting as if calculating odds, before making a split-second decision. With a burst of speed, it vanished out the back door into the alley.
The police arrived moments later, flashing lights flooding the store in harsh blues and reds.
The Police Report
Kyle stepped out from his hiding place, hands raised slightly as officers quickly surrounded him.
"Are you alright, son?" one officer asked, a broad man with a firm jaw and kind eyes.
Kyle nodded, his voice steady but cautious. "Yeah, I'm fine."
The officer looked him over briefly before pulling out a notebook. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Kyle glanced at the chaos around—the shaken cashier tending to his face, the shattered glass from the counter, the curious bystanders murmuring. He swallowed.
"It was a robbery," he said finally. "A man came in, tried to take money from the register. The cashier resisted, and the guy attacked him. That's all I saw."
The officer nodded, scribbling down the details. "Did you get a good look at the man?"
"Yeah, normal guy. Nothing special."
Kyle kept his eyes down, trying to seem believable. The truth—that the man had been a cyborg, part machine—was too unbelievable, even to him. Who would believe that?
The Mysterious Woman
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted again. A woman stepped forward from the police line, and Kyle's breath caught.
She was breathtaking. Dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, high cheekbones, flawless skin that glowed even under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Her eyes—cold, sharp, almost otherworldly—locked onto Kyle's face with unsettling intensity.
She wasn't in uniform, but the way the officers stepped back and lowered their voices spoke volumes. There was a reverence, even fear, in the way they looked at her.
"I'm Agent Maris," she said smoothly, her voice calm but commanding. "I'll be taking over the investigation."
The original officer gave a slight nod and stepped aside.
Agent Maris's gaze pinned Kyle in place as she spoke. "You say the attacker was just a robber?"
"That's right," Kyle replied carefully. "I didn't see anything strange. It was quick — a robbery gone wrong."
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Did you notice anything unusual? Anything at all that might help us identify the suspect?"
Kyle hesitated. Her eyes seemed to bore into his very soul, searching for cracks in his story.
"No," he said firmly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "He was just a man."
Agent Maris frowned almost imperceptibly.
"Are you sure?" she pressed, her tone gentler but no less intense. "Sometimes people see things they don't realize at first."
Kyle swallowed hard. He could feel the weight of her suspicion pressing down on him.
"I'm positive," he said. "I want to help. But I don't want to make things worse."
There was a silence, heavy and charged.
For a moment, the faintest flicker of something—doubt? Suspicion?—crossed Agent Maris's eyes. She glanced at the security footage being reviewed on a handheld device.
Kyle tried to appear calm, but his heart thudded like a drum.
Finally, she spoke, voice low and controlled.
"Thank you, Kyle. That will be all for now."
The officers began to disperse, but she lingered a moment longer, her gaze dangling on him like a question.