My Sister Replaced Me With a Cyborg

Seven years ago, I swap my heart with Orion Gifford, the cyborg replica of me that my sister, Mildred Gifford, creates. However, my heart frequently gives him chest pains because of organ rejection.

Mildred blames everything on me.

She believes I have hidden a preexisting heart condition and have given away a defective human heart in exchange for a mechanical heart worth millions.

So, she sues me for fraud and sends me a court summons. But on the day of the hearing, I don't show up.

To force me out of hiding, she publicly announces to the media that she is officially taking Orion as her younger brother and leaving all her assets to him.

When I still fail to appear, Mildred loses her patience and goes to the workplace address I leave behind.

She steps into a sketchy factory and grabs a random worker to ask, "Do you know Zachary Gifford?"

My factory supervisor, Greg Mathews, stares at her in shock and says, "Zachary? He died three years ago from sudden cardiac arrest. It was awful! His body got pulled into one of the machines. There was basically nothing left of him."

Mildred Gifford froze for a second, then waved it off impatiently. She scoffed, her eyes full of disbelief.

"If you're going to lie, at least make it convincing," she said. "I designed his mechanical heart myself, and it's built to last for over 100 years if it's regularly charged. How could it have possibly failed?

"Zachary is such a drama queen. It's bad enough that he pretends to work at some sketchy factory to gain sympathy, but now, he's actually hired an actor like you to lie to me."

Greg Mathews awkwardly rubbed his hands together. "You must be joking, ma'am. Zachary is truly dead. If I may ask, how are you related to him? Did the brat owe you money?"

He hesitated, then added in a low voice, "We've had debt collectors come around looking for him and demanding repayment. But now that he's dead, there wasn't much they could do."

At first, Mildred was clearly displeased and frowned when she heard him call me "brat". But when she heard his next words, her temper flared, and her expression immediately darkened.

"What are you implying? Are you saying that he owes money to the loan sharks? I send him over five million dollars every month, so how could he have possibly spent everything and resorted to taking out loans?"

She looked around the factory then shouted, "Zachary! Get out here right now! Did you pick up bad habits? Is that why you're too scared to face me? The son of the Gifford family reduced to being chased down by debt collectors… Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

When no one answered, even after a long time, she grabbed Greg by the collar and fixed him with a withering glare.

"Stop putting on an act. I'm his older sister. Tell him to get his ass out here right now! The heart he gave Orion is defective, and Orion's been suffering from chest pain ever since. Tell Zachary to get out here and face the lawsuit!"

Choking and barely breathing under her grip, Greg's face turned bright red. "Please let go, ma'am. I'm telling the truth. Zachary is long dead!"

She shoved him away and snapped, "Enough! Take me to him, and we'll see how long he thinks he can keep hiding."

Greg had no choice but to lead her deeper into the factory, past the noisy workshop and rows of dilapidated staff dorms.

As Mildred walked, she covered her nose in disgust. "I can't believe you're hiding out in such a dump just to avoid the lawsuit. You've grown some nerve, haven't you, Zachary?"

Exasperated, Greg continued leading her further in until they stopped in front of a pile of garbage. He pointed to a few dusty cardboard boxes in the corner.

"Look. Those are the things Zachary left behind. No one came to collect them after he died, so they've just been sitting there."

The boxes stored a few faded, heavily washed old clothes, a pair of worn-out sneakers with peeling soles, and several rusted lunchboxes.

Mildred looked at my pile of junk with open contempt.

"You're so committed to the act that you even had the props ready." She scoffed. "But do you honestly think I'm stupid? As a son of the Gifford family, our parents had every single strand of hair on his head insured when he was only five years old. How could he possibly use stuff like this?

She walked over and kicked the boxes hard, sending the old clothes scattered over the floor, and a sneaker rolled into a muddy puddle. The lunchboxes clattered across the ground, their lids popping open to reveal a few crawling bugs.

Mildred looked down and frowned.

"Zachary! If you don't show yourself right now, don't ever call me your sister again!" she yelled at her surroundings, but the only response she received was the thrumming of the factory machines.

Just then, a gust of wind drifted by, and she suddenly caught the faint scent of melting candles and smoke.

Following it, she walked farther ahead and stopped in front of a small, dilapidated shack behind the staff dorms.

She pushed the flimsy door open to reveal a room barely 50 square feet wide, with a wooden plank bed and a broken desk.

A black-and-white photograph sat on the desk. The young man in it wore a calm, peaceful smile.

It was my memorial portrait.