by Nathan Allen
He had expected the worst when he wasn’t able to find Alice. He had tried calling her APhID to warn her about Bourke, but she wasn’t answering. He hurried around to her place and knocked on her door, but received the same response. There was no sign of forced entry, so that gave him hope.
He jumped in his car and drove around the city to look for her. He didn’t know where to start, but he felt he had to do something.
Two hours into his search, he received a frantic call from Alice. She was alive, but in a highly distressed and agitated state.
He found her twenty minutes later. She was huddled out the front of a gas station, covered in blood and god knows what else. She looked like someone who had just escaped from a slaughterhouse.
Morgan glanced at his watch. Alice had been in the bathroom for over half an hour now. He thought about checking in on her, but hesitated. He didn’t want to come across as overbearing. He’d give her another ten or fifteen minutes before making sure she was alright.
He sunk into the couch and closed his eyes. Something about this didn’t seem right. Something big had happened, but Alice wasn’t letting on. He prodded her for details on the way over, but he was unable to coax a word out of her. He figured she’d tell him in her own time. Maybe her trauma was too overwhelming for her to talk about it just yet.
Or maybe she had something to hide.
Morgan opened his eyes. A second brown envelope had materialized, over on the floor near the front door.
Further messages of death.
He sprung up off the couch and hurried across. He tore the envelope open and pulled out the card.
He saw Bourke Nation’s face with the word “ELIMINATED” stamped across it, and a tremendous feeling of relief washed over him.
Bourke had finally been eliminated. He was dead. After five months of obsessively tracking his every move, waiting for him to slip up so he could catch him in the act, he was no more. The biggest problem in Morgan’s life at that point in time had just been solved.
The whole time Morgan had been following him, in the back of his mind he assumed that Bourke would still find some way to win. Because that’s just the way it goes – guys like Bourke always won in the end.
But not this time. The world was changing, and the likes of Bourke were slipping further down the food chain.
Morgan was struck by a wave of emotion that he wasn’t quite prepared for. He knew this was a significant moment in his life. It was a moment that would live on in his memory for a long, long time.
But his elation was short-lived when he noticed the envelope contained a second card. There had been another fatality. Two deaths at the same time. Four in the one day.
And thanks to a process of elimination, he didn’t need to see the photograph to know who it belonged to.
But he felt compelled to pull it out anyway, just to confirm that Christopher Gibson was also out of the lottery.
Morgan’s stomach contracted as the news hit. He went weak at the knees. A sensation akin to vertigo. A lump the size of his fist formed in his throat.
What was going on here? Alice was covered in blood when he found her, and now two more contestants have shown up dead – in addition to Harrison Ester and Melissa Siebel from earlier.
Maybe there was a reasonable explanation behind all of this. He was fairly certain that Alice wasn’t a killer. But he couldn’t be one hundred percent certain. Money could do strange things to normal people. It could do even stranger things to strange people.
His mind gyrated in circles. Should he stay? Leave? The shower was still running. Maybe he should get out of there while he still had the chance.
He was halfway out the door when a sudden realization stopped him in his tracks.
There were six contestants remaining in the lottery at the beginning of the day.
Four had been eliminated in the past fifteen hours.
Now, there were only two left.
CHRISTOPHER GIBSON (2025-2067) Pronounced dead at 11:07 p.m. on 5 October. Massive blood loss was recorded as the official cause of death.
Approximately forty minutes earlier, an ambulance had been called after a morbidly obese man fitted with two robotic legs was found unconscious by the side of a busy road. Onlookers said the man appeared to have lost an arm in an accident, and had collapsed on the sidewalk after attempting to walk to the nearest hospital.
The man was still alive when paramedics arrived on the scene a short time later. They believed he may have survived, were it not for the fact that he was too heavy to fit into the regular-sized ambulance. A supersized bariatric ambulance arrived seventeen minutes later, but by then precious time had been lost.
The Remaining Contestants
MORGAN COMPSTON (2036-)
ALICE KATO (2040-)
PAYOUT FOR CRAFT DEATH
The Daily Ink
5 October, 2067
Surveillance company ASE Industries has agreed to a twenty million dollar out of court settlement after a woman was killed by one of its crafts.
Naomi Duke, 34, died in September last year after being struck on the head by a dislodged component from a faulty surveillance craft operated by ASE Industries.
Following a lengthy legal dispute, in which ASE counter-sued the family of Ms. Duke for what they described as “a malicious and defamatory smear campaign”, ASE finally admitted responsibility and agreed to the terms of the payout.
The company also faced heavy criticism following revelations they had deleted potentially incriminating footage from the defective craft shortly after the incident had occurred.
“We wish to extend our deepest sympathies to Ms. Duke and her family, and apologize for the trauma they may have suffered,” ASE CEO Nelson Hyslop said in a statement yesterday. “ASE is committed to upholding world-class safety standards in the assembling and operation of its surveillance crafts. Our existing procedures are scheduled to undergo a thorough review to ensure a tragedy like this never occurs again.”
A lawyer for Ms. Duke said the family welcomed the settlement and were pleased to finally have the matter resolved, but made no further comment.
Legal experts have speculated that ASE may still face obstruction of justice charges in relation to the tampering of evidence.
[Subscribe now to view the full story]
Chapter 33
Alice felt a lot better once she’d washed away the blood and viscera and thrown on some clean clothes. But she didn’t look all that refreshed when she finally emerged from the bathroom. Dark rings encircled her eyes, and her face was again coated in a thin perspiration sheen. It was as if the Xylox was trying to escape her body via her pores.
She hoped it wasn’t too obvious what she was doing in there, although she assumed by now Morgan had caught on to the fact that she was a borderline xombie. She had become pretty skilled at hiding her addiction from the people around her, but after a while it became kind of apparent. Denial and heavy makeup only went so far.
At least she could allow herself to relax now. Bourke Nation, the contestant she was most afraid of, had been eliminated from the lottery. Christopher Gibson, the contestant she should have been most afraid of, was also out of the picture. Her hope was that, at long last, she could live her life without having to worry about people trying to kill her.
And on that thought, the barrel of a gun pressed up against the back of her head.
Alice felt her blood turn to ice. Her tiny lounge room suddenly felt as expansive as an empty cathedral.
“Morgan?” she said.
In the back of her mind she hoped this was some kind of joke.
“What ... what are you doing?”
“Spare me the innocent act,” Morgan replied. His voice was different. Angrier, harsher. Loaded with venom. “You know exactly what’s going on here.”
“What are you talking–”
“You and I are both thinking the same thing. I’m just getting in first.”
She heard a click, as the gun’s hammer cocked ba
ck.
It didn’t take long for Alice to visualize the sequence of events in her head.
The envelope announcing Bourke and Christopher’s elimination must have been delivered while she was cleaning herself up – in addition to Harrison’s and Melissa’s from earlier in the day. Morgan would have realized that he and Alice were the only two contestants remaining in the lottery.
He would have deduced that four people had been eliminated in the one day – at the same time that Alice was literally washing blood from her hands.
He allowed his imagination to fill in the blanks.
Alice had to concede that this all looked a bit suspicious. She couldn’t blame Morgan for thinking what he was probably thinking.
“It’s not what it looks like,” was the best she could offer.
“Oh yeah? So what does it look like?”
“Well ... ” Alice wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. She figured the honest truth was better than trying to concoct a plausible cover story on the fly. “It might look like I killed four people today.”
She paused, before adding, “And that I brought you here to kill you, too.”
“And that’s not your intention?”
Morgan pushed the gun harder into the back of Alice’s skull.
“No, I swear–”
“You’re telling me you didn’t kill any of them?”
“No! Christopher shot Bourke first, and then he lost his arm when–”
“Ha! You expect me to believe that legless tub of lard is capable of killing anyone?”
Alice was relieved that Morgan had cut her off when he did. Had he allowed her to complete the remainder of that sentence – the part about Christopher’s secret identity, his robotic legs, the exploding xombie, the detached arm, and the OBL-IV – her story would have come across as even more absurd than it already was.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but you have to believe me.”
Morgan shook his head. “To be honest, it doesn’t really matter whether you’re telling the truth or not. That’s all in the past. The only thing that matters now is that you and I are the only two left.”
Alice knew exactly what was running through Morgan’s mind at that moment.
Deep down, Morgan knew Alice wasn’t a killer. She could barely keep herself alive, let alone wipe out four people in the one day. He only wanted to believe she might be to justify what he was about to do next.
In the short time he’d had to think about it, Morgan had succumbed to wild fantasies of what one hundred million dollars could do for him.
All that money. How it would change his life. The incredibly decadent lifestyle he would have access to. He could do anything he wanted. He could be anyone he wanted.
The idea had burrowed itself deep inside Morgan’s psyche like an aggressive parasite. As with the most stubborn parasites, once it was in there it was impossible to remove. And as with the most insidious of parasites, it had begun to modify the host.
Morgan knew he didn’t have the capacity to murder twenty-six people for a hundred million dollars. But just one person? That was a different story. That was as simple as pointing a gun and pulling the trigger.
In the past year, Morgan had discarded his former self and constructed and entirely new persona from the ground up. It was something like a metamorphosis, or an animal shedding its skin. He didn’t really know or understand what was happening at the time, or what it all meant. But now everything made sense. It had all been leading up to this one moment.
He had risen to the challenge, and this was his reward.
One second of cold-blooded insanity, and everything he could ever dream of would be his.
“Morgan, please,” Alice begged, her voice wavering. “You really don’t want to do this.”
Alice was right. Morgan didn’t want to do this. He liked Alice. A lot. Despite her faults – and she had plenty – he had grown to like her immensely in these past few weeks.
But he liked the thought of limitless wealth and unfettered opulence even more.
Everyone has their price.
The feelings he had for Alice would eventually fade. Time heals all wounds. Time plus money heals them a hell of a lot faster.
Morgan steeled himself with a deep breath. It was time to collect.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
He squeezed the trigger.
The blast was heard from three blocks away.
Chapter 34
The crime scene photographers snapped their shots, making sure they captured the body from every conceivable angle.
A dozen forensics had converged on the scene, diligently dusting for prints and cataloging evidence. There were more people present than there really needed to be, but that was understandable given the victim had died via a single bullet wound to the head. Offenses involving firearms were treated with the utmost importance. There was also the novelty factor; because this type of death was such a rarity, occurring maybe once every two or three years, they all wanted to see firsthand what one looked like.
“Haven’t we been in this apartment before?” one of the forensics asked a colleague.
This enquiry was met with a non-committal shrug.
“This place looks familiar. I think we were here about a year ago.”
One of the photographers blanched when she zoomed in on the entry wound. The surrounding carpet was soaked a dark shade of crimson. Grain-sized fragments of skull and brain were sprinkled across the walls and furniture. It was hard to believe a single head contained so much matter.
The forensic crouched down next to the victim and shook his head.
“Those stains are gonna be tough to get out,” he said to the photographer. “I don’t envy the clean-up crew for this one.”
The photographer lowered her camera. “Any witnesses?”
“I think they have someone down at the station as we speak,” he replied.
Officer Schultz knocked on the door to the interview room.
Detective Olszewski was irritated by the abrupt interruption, but experienced a quick change of heart once she saw the rookie cop holding a fresh cup of coffee for her. She eagerly waved him in.
“Now,” Olszewski said after enjoying her first sip. “Let’s go over what happened one more time.”
Alice slumped down in her chair and folded her arms. “I’m not saying another word without a lawyer present,” she said.
“Very funny,” Olszewski replied, her lips forming a thin smile.
Alice yawned and rubbed her eyes. “How many more times are we going to keep doing this? I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“I’m aware of that. I just want to hear it again. In your own words. To make sure I haven’t missed anything.”
And so Alice told Detective Olszewski, once more, the sequence of the night’s events as they unfolded from beginning to end.
She told her how the meeting with her source in the car park turned into a terrifying kidnapping ordeal, where she was thrown into the trunk of a car and taken to the headquarters of the now-late crime figure known as Goliath.
She told her about the bloodshed that had erupted there, and how by the grace of god she somehow managed to escape.
She described how her friend Morgan found her in the street and drove her back to her place, and how they went up to her apartment together.
And how he produced an improvised firearm, which he then attempted to use on her.
“All I remember is feeling the gun pressed against the back of my head, then a loud bang. I turned around and saw Morgan on the floor with a hole between his eyes.”
Olszewski scribbled a few more notes, but she kept her eyes focused on Alice the whole time. This produced a somewhat unsettling effect. Alice wondered if this technique was something she practiced in her spare time in the hope of intimidating nervous suspects.
“I guess the gun was faulty,” Alice continued. “Lucky for me, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Detective Olszewski stopped writing, but her gaze remained firmly on Alice. By this point of the night she honestly didn’t know what to think. Alice’s story seemed a little too perfect. She was ready to pounce on the slightest inconsistency in her version of events.
But everything so far had checked out. Morgan was found on the floor of Alice’s living room with a shaved-down bolt lodged deep in his skull. His hand was still wrapped around the gun. Preliminary forensics confirmed that he had been the one to fire the weapon.
And if that wasn’t sufficient enough evidence, Alice had a number of miniature cameras positioned throughout her apartment. The footage obtained from these showed the exact scenario Alice had described – Morgan firing the defective weapon, and the bullet flying out of the chamber backwards.
“Were you aware the deceased owned an illegal firearm?” Detective Olszewski asked.
Alice shook her head. “I had no idea.”
“Do you know where he might have obtained one from?”
“No, I’ve never seen a gun in real life before. I didn’t even know it was possible to get one.”
“Ordinarily, you can’t. But you know how it is – where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Olszewski tossed her pen down on the desk. “Despite our best efforts, some people still manage to get their hands on a gun, one way or another.”
A moment of silence passed as she shuffled some papers around on her desk, then looked back at Alice.
“I think we’re about done for tonight,” she said. “We’ll be in touch if we need to speak with you any further.”
Alice nodded, then slowly rose from her seat.
Olszewski held the door open for her as she left. “Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?”
“I’ll give my brother a call. I’ll probably stay with him for a while.”
Alice wasn’t sure what prompted her to say this. It had been more than a year since she had last seen Lachlan, and she didn’t have the slightest clue where he was. She just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets and hurried out the door.
“Hey Alice.”
