AkuTaga’s. From the outside, the no longer abandoned bunker from an ancient war that occurred in the 1940s, looks like nothing more than an unintentional cave molded into the rockface alcove by one of the island’s volcanos hundreds of years ago. Inside, the once clean-concrete walls have long since turned black and are now lined with glass display cases. Each enclosure is lit with every color of the rainbow…and some colors in-between; the glowing liquid that fills each case both illuminating and healing the items up for sale as they hang from wires as if puppets on strings.

  A line of men processes through the underground startup shop Emi’s capturers have turned into a well-respected brand in Okago. No more than a mile from the agricultural epicenter of Hachijo Prison, AkuTaga’s slogan is known by all too stubborn or scared to do anything other than stick around long enough to own land of their own: We reap, so you can harvest.

  When the line of farmers stop at Emi’s tank, the glowing pink liquid she sinks within—only the wires attached to her skull give the impression she is floating—highlights her best attributes. They’re also listed on the glass: Ocular Implant x2 [T10] | BCI [T100] | RibPort [T3] | Respiratory Module [T1] | Voice Module [T1] | Synthetic Skin [T1] | Wiring [T3] | GPS Implant [T100].

  Standing no higher than hip height to the shortest customer in the room, Aku presses the selling points like any hard-charging salesman compensating for their perceived lack of physical presence. “State of the art BCI implant to help assist you with all your needs—agricultural or otherwise. Maxed out GPS implant to insure your purchase can be located at all times.”

  A prospective buyer—one of several with a cucumber sticking from the chest pocket of his best overalls—asks, “T100 GPS? What is she in for?”

  “And I thought you said she was cyborg; she must be chrome with all these parts,” adds another field-hardened man, this one having already eaten his complimentary cucumber and now reaching for another slice from Taga’s outstretched silver platter.

  Aku recites, “She maintains some internal organs and human flesh. Full-body scan documentation will of course be included in any purchase documentation. As to the manner of her imprisonment, I am sure she is innocent.”

  The line of men laughs.

  The man concerned with her character is apparently content with this answer, so he proceeds to his next most pressing question, “What’s her age?”

  Taga let’s Aku continue to talk while he carries the tray of chopped cucumber overhead amongst the customers. “Born: 4/13/2060. Date of sentencing: 1/8/2070.”

  The line of men takes turns commentating:

  “Only ten when she was sentenced…”

  “Not much training then…”

  “She was innocent…”

  “That makes her a bit over twenty. She was aging in the slaughterhouse for a full decade?”

  “And she still escaped?”

  "Must be from one of the warrior classes."

  A straggler moves beside the group gathered, apparently unimpressed by the offerings in the other tanks...and the conversation. His left eye has been replaced by a protruding monocular that is halfway inside his skull and half outside it. “How much?”

  “Her current balance is: -￥100,917,836.”

  The customers grumble and start to move on to the next display, the consensus being that stopping to look at her was almost a waste of their time.

  Except the man with the monocular for one eye. When he speaks, it is obvious by the delay the customer is not actually present, only watching through the eye and using the inmate at hand as his puppet. “I see she is still in the Hachijo Prison Outfit… What repairs does she need then?” He asks the question as his test; his monocular eye having already performed an x-ray that revealed every broken bone and malfunctioning organ in her body.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Taga, the technician of the shop, speaks at last, “She has several big-ticket items. The most pressing are the fractures—one in her neck, the hyoid bone, will heal well enough on its own. Her right leg, however, is totally shattered. Replacement will be far cheaper than repairs. Our members receive a 0.1% discount on all product maintenance...the discount not valid on the price of parts.” Taga hands him a pamphlet detailing the intentionally confusing value proposition of the auto-renewing membership.

  The potential buyer steps forward, or his puppet does anyway, staring at her floating form and ignoring the attempt at upselling him for the time being. He studies the wires connecting her to the screens that display her vitals.

  [HEART RATE: 177BPM]

  “Why is her heartrate spiking?” The customer inquires.

  “Her original heart is one of the organs she retains; we have some spares around if you prefer we replace it for you.”

  “That explains what…I want to know why.”

  Aku is flustered, fearing he just botched what was already an improbable sale—women aren’t worth what they once were, even with the shortage. “Ah, yes, why…This bunker housed the terminal experience for this area of the prison prior to our leasing the space for our store. We are required to continue to provide access to the terminal experience to our products as a part of the terms of our lease.”

  The man in the overalls is starting to feel left out. “I take it her shirikodama remains in place?”

  Aku snaps, as if insulted by the question he takes as an accusation. “We guarantee the purity of all our products up to the point of asset transfer.”

  The monocular man asks, “Does asset transfer occur at the time of delivery or payment?”

  “For this product, due to its delicate nature, we will throw in delivery free of charge.”

  This time, it is an accusation when the man in overalls starts to ask, “What about purchase order—”

  “I thought we’d agreed that unfortunate mishap had been more than made up for and erased from public record, had we not, Mr. Oliver?”

  Trying to make quick amends to maintain his good standing with the cheapest and most versatile supplier of machinery and parts in the region, Mr. Oliver makes an obviously overcompensating offer. “I’ll give you a 20% stake.” By this he means 20% of all income the product produces for him will be deposited directly into AkuTaga’s business account.

  Everyone but the man with the monocular laughs, the price so high they think it’s a joke, even for a model as rare and multi-functional as this. Instead, he ups the offer in bored seriousness, as if knowing the other interested party will be folding no matter how big or small his raise is: “50%.”

  Aku starts rubbing his hands. Taga sticks his tray higher in front of the man. “Mr. Oliver, do you care to counter? If you recall, the last time we had a woman in stock was 213 days ago. It would be a crime for you to miss out yet again?”

  Oliver holds up his hands, stammering as he backpedals, indicating he wants nothing to do with an offer he suspects of being far from lucrative despite the numerous uses of the product.

  Aku giggles, takes a handful of cucumbers and stuffs them in his mouth as if it’s the only way he can stifle his excitement. He doesn’t wait to finish chewing: “Should we go ahead and sign you up for a membership as well?”

  The man nods. “What is another percentage point?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Aku mumbles while Mr. Olive mutters, “51% is what it is…the man’s a fool.”

  Aku nods at Taga, who processes without a moment’s hesitation. Which is to say he takes his metal tray in both hands and molds it into a bowl-like shape using the dome of Mr. Oliver’s head.

  Cucumber slices rain down as Aku corrects the man. “We will not tolerate non-members insulting our members…”

  Oliver rubs his head, checking the seams of his sewed-on hair for tears. “But I am a member—have been for over five seasons!”

  “Not anymore. Consider your membership revoked, Mr. Oliver.” He turns back to his newest member, “So sorry about that—you have my word it will not happen again. Taga should have that paperwork over to you shortly, Mr…”

  His response is delayed several seconds, the storms causing slight interference in the true buyer’s signal. “Jashi. Customer name is Jashi.”

  “I see…Taga, what’s the delay on that paperwork?” Aku asks in a rush. “We don’t make our members wait—”

  “Transfer complete,” Taga says calmly as if unconcerned due to it having taken him no more than several seconds to complete the mountain of sales documentation and get it to the customer.

  Jashi twists his left eye like he’s adjusting the scope of a rifle. “Signatures complete. Transferring with requested service terms.”

  Aku responds after Taga offers a thumbs up, “Very good, thanks for your continued service, Mr. Jashi. We’ll get started on these improvements and have the product boxed up and ready for you within the hour. In the meantime, might we continue browsing—”

  Jashi turns his back on the group and starts the long climb up the ladder that leads up-and-out of the shop.

  Aku calls after him, “Where should we deliver—”

  Jashi yells down, “You’ll know my boat when you see it.”

  As Taga moves to the exposed top of Emi’s tank to begin repairs, Aku moves the line to the next product on display, the one he thinks to be second most unlikely to be sold. “You might recognize this item from your previous visits…he is now on clearance if you would like to start the bidding.” He reminds the whole group but gives a pointed look at Oliver as he says, “As always, members bid first.”