Not with him

Shaking off these thoughts, I made my way down the corridor, exchanging brief greetings with familiar faces. Reaching the hall, I noticed Uncle Chen's stall was closed. A tinge of disappointment washed over me, but I understood. He deserved some rest.

I had once offered to implant him with StoicPlus cyberware that would reduce his need for sleep and aid regeneration, much like I had done for myself. He had politely declined, preferring to stick to his natural rhythms. I respected that; not everyone embraced the cybernetic enhancements as readily as I did.

My stomach rumbled, pulling me back to the present. I scanned the other stalls and finally decided to grab something from the vending machines near the elevators. As I approached, I pondered over the menu, selecting a healthy yet satisfying option, but honestly there wasn't anything like that.

The machine whirred to life, dispensing my food, my mind wandered back to the offer from TriColor Corp. The idea of giving up my rights to the tech was disheartening, yet the opportunities they offered were hard to ignore. A chance to break free from the constraints of Megablock 4, to dive into the world of high-tech innovation. But at what cost?

The elevator descended to the 13th floor, the numbers ticking down felt like a countdown to a different world, one where I could lose myself in the intricacies of cyberware and weaponry. The doors slid open, and there stood Castor, leaning casually against the frame.

"About time you showed up," Castor greeted with a mock scowl, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" I retorted, stepping out of the elevator. Our greeting was an intricate handshake we'd concocted over time, a series of taps and clicks that mimicked the loading of a gun. It was our little ritual.

"Heads up, Marlene. You slacked, so I handled most of it. But there's still plenty left for you," Castor said, leading the way to his workshop.

I followed, slipping my glove off and tucking it into my jacket pocket. The weight of the decision regarding TriColor Corp weighed on my mind, but for now, I was ready to immerse myself in the familiar world of tech and guns.

"Bring it on," I replied with a determined grin, stepping into the workshop. The room was a little haven of technology, with shelves lined with parts and tools, each meticulously organized.

I started my work with a cyberarm, its sleek design hiding a multitude of complex mechanisms. My fingers moved with practiced ease as I dismantled it, checking each component for wear and tear. I cleaned out dust and grime, ensuring that every part was in optimal condition. Day gone by, I turned my attention to a series of handguns. Disassembling them piece by piece, I inspected each for damage. My tools moved in a fluid dance, guided by years of experience. I scanned for viruses and malware, using my custom software to cleanse any digital corruption.

As I worked, my mind entered a state of focus. The outside world, with its chaos and uncertainties, faded away. Here, in this space of wires, chips, and metal, I was in my element. The subtle hum of machinery and the scent of lubricant and metal were strangely comforting.

The hours slipped by as I moved from one piece of equipment to the next, my hands sure and steady. Castor worked alongside me, occasionally throwing a joke or a teasing remark my way. There were occasional brushes of hands, incidental yet charged with tension. Castor, usually so focused, seemed more aware of my presence today. His hand brushed against mine once, an accidental touch that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"Thinking of moving out of the block if things go well with TriColor?" Castor's voice broke the silence, his tone casual but tinged with an undercurrent of something deeper.

I paused, considering his words. "I might... after three months or so." My response was hesitant, laced with the bittersweet realization of change.

I caught a fleeting look of sadness in Castor's eyes, quickly masked by a smile. "That's good for you, Marlene. Really good." His words were encouraging, but they echoed with a hint of something unspoken, a shared understanding of what my departure would mean.

We continued our work, the hum of machinery a comforting constant. The workshop with walls lined with tools and cybernetic parts, each telling a story of past repairs and modifications.

In a fleeting moment, Castor's hand slipped, grazing my hip. The contact was accidental, but it froze me in place. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, a silent question hanging in the air. I could feel the warmth of his body close to mine, the faint sound of his breath.

As his hand ventured further down, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. There was an undeniable thrill in his touch, a longing for connection, yet it was accompanied by a rising tide of uncertainty. His fingers traced a path under my pants, he moved closer to my ear. I felt how his hand is moving down my legs, trying to find the right spot. I could only shiver under his touch with joy.

In that charged moment, I felt a turmoil of desire and doubt. The workshop around us faded into a blur, the only reality being the closeness of our bodies and the unspoken words in his touch.

But then, something within me pulled back. As much as part of me yearned for the continuation of that touch, another part resisted because I didn't want it to be him. It was as if a voice inside me was urging caution, reminding me of the boundaries I had set for myself.

With a sudden clarity, I gently pushed Castor away, breathing heavy. Our eyes met, a mix of confusion and understanding passing between us. Without a word, I turned and hurried towards the elevator, my heart pounding in my chest.

Behind me, I heard Castor calling out, his voice tinged with concern, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. The elevator doors closed just as he reached them, and I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart.

As the elevator ascended, I was left with a swirl of emotions. The excitement of his touch still lingered, but so did a feeling of relief. Some lines were not meant to be crossed, no matter the temptation.