She checks her reflection in the blade of the knife.
Fixing her lipstick, adjusting her left eye by two degrees.
It’s the little things that will get you caught.
They walk people through detectors at the checkpoints. Patrols check IDs.
But down here in Strip Row, there’s just face-scanners and heat sensors, and a good Series Eight can pass as human.
And pretty much any Series Nine.
She checks her reflection again, and when the music starts, she walks out to the stage.
Reckless is what the other cyborgs call her.
Hiding in plain sight is what she calls it.