“Hi mom.

Yeah, I’m bringing the kids in from the playground.

They got really messy today.

Ok. See you soon.

Love you, too.”

Charles watched the stranger shove his phone into a pocket in his thick, downy, overcoat. He was so tall, or Charles was on the ground. Yes, Charles had fallen down, he realized that now. He rolled away from the man, tried to get up, couldn’t find his legs.

There was culvert up ahead. Snow piled deep, cradled in a concrete manger. It looked so comfortable. his left arm curled at the elbow, his fingers scratched impotently at the icy ground. The stranger crouched and put his hand on Charles’s shoulder.

“Just hold still. I got you.”

Charles watched the world roll over. The man was lifting him over a shoulder. Vertigo set in. Charles closed his eyes. When he could open them again he was propped against a wall. Heat flared in his armpits. The man was sticking chemical heating pads to Charles’s inner thighs, as well. The big man leaned Charles forward and draped the fluffy coat around his shoulders; then he sat down, legs crossed.

“They don’t warn you guys about the cold, do they?” Steam clouds rode on every word the stranger spoke.

Charles dropped his head; his pupils contracted briefly then relaxed. The stranger’s shiny orange shirt contrasted too harshly with the blue-white world of concrete and snow around them.

“These things, man.” The stranger gesticulated with Charles’s left arm. “They’re just a big heat sink.”

Charles watched the orange reflections on the hazy metal of his detached limb; in his periphery colors were muted enough to be tolerable. Sharp gestures punctuated the man’s speech. Hoarfrost shook from the arm in tiny billows. Charles blinked; the stranger’s voice faded in and out with the light. His shirt was dissolving, turning the bleakness of winter into a warm summer sunset.  Almost time to sleep. Almost.

A metal finger poked Charles’s cheek. He jerked back to consciousness.

“Anyway, it’s on days like this you understand the advantages of having bones that weren’t turned on a lathe.” The arm hit the pavement. Charles hissed at the sharp clinking sound it made on the ice. He found himself envisioning how satisfying it would be to strangle the life out of this asshole.

A small rectangular box pressed against his chest. The stranger was taping it to his skin. Charles struggled feebly to turn his head away but the big man easily held him and found the data jack behind his ear. “Time to go home.”

He leaned so close Charles could see his reflection in the stranger’s eyes. He saw the reflected apertures of his own pupils spinning and dancing, contracting and relaxing; his hypothermic brain could no longer control the interfaces.

He felt the collar slipping over his mind, a virtual noose threaded through a USB cable. His vision faded and unyielding calm took his pain and anger away. He was warm and happy.

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