by Jon Athan
The world stopped moving.
The autohound lunged through the flimsy door, breaking through the barrier with ease. The splintered wood exploded every which way, pricking at the deviants' prosthetic skin. Robert tumbled to the floor, startled by the unexpected entry. He frantically pulled the trigger and blindly fired into the ceiling.
Seth stood his ground and shot at the invading hound. The rounds spewing from the rifle's barrel were not enough to stop the autohound. The robotic dog leaped over the bar and pounced on Seth. The hound chomped into the deviant's neck, then it shook its head. Blue blood gushed from the wound, spurting like water from a sprinkler. The hound's mouth was painted blue by the liquid. The deviant tried to fight back, but he was quickly enfeebled by the attack.
As he staggered across the room, Robert said, “Seth... Seth... Please, don't leave me. We need you, brother. We can't stop now.” He leaned over the counter and fired eight rounds into the autohound's back, but to no avail. Despite his lack of ammunition, he continued to pull the trigger as he shouted, “Run, Doris, run!”
In the hallway, Nicholas whispered, “Doris? The third deviant?”
Nicholas shook his head, shrugging off the thought. Seizing the opportunity, he spun into the apartment. His duster fluttered with the evasive movement. With a steady arm, he fired one round into the back of Robert's head. The powerful projectile caused the deviant's entire head to explode. The chunks were spattered across the room.
As the droid fell to the floor, Nicholas crouched and leaned towards his right. He aimed at the autohound and the other deviant. Seth, barely clinging to life, was reaching for a cupboard under the sink. The police android couldn't take the risk. He fired a projectile through the spine of the autohound and into the deviant's chest.
Nicholas turned towards the final target in the apartment. He aimed his hand cannon down the hall, but he could not pull the trigger. He couldn't utter a word, he could not move a limb. His systems were locked, his mind was overwhelmed.
A petite female android stood in the doorway leading into the bedroom. The raven-haired droid wore a white tank top, baggy blue pants, and black steel toe boots. Her hair was tousled, her skin was sooty and rubbery, and her clothing was tattered. By the superficial definition, she was not beautiful. Yet, she shined with a heavenly glow.
The deviant android held the infant in her right arm, holding the baby close to her bosom. Fortunately, the infant was not harmed during the confrontation. She whimpered under the pink blanket, but she was not in any physical pain. The deviant and the police android stared at each other like deer caught in the headlights.
As he slowly lowered his weapon, Nicholas said, “You must be Doris. Please, don't make me do this. Don't make me–”
Before he could finish, the deviant droid lifted her left arm. She held a small remote in her hand. The remote had a large red button at the top. Red was the color of love, passion, violence, war, and human sacrifice. During terrorist attacks, red was never a good sign.
Nicholas said, “Wait. Don't–”
The deviant pressed the button. A makeshift bomb exploded in the bedroom. The floor trembled due to the destructive power of the bomb. A cloud of dust, a rain of fire, and a storm of shrapnel swallowed the room. The billowing dust burst through the shattering windows. Glass rained onto the sidewalk, pouring onto the police.
As the dust settled, Nicholas found himself resting on the floor face-first, like a drunk who didn't make it to bed after a night of heavy drinking. He glanced over his shoulder and peered down the hall. Through the lingering smoke, he could see the deviant had escaped with the infant. She vanished during the explosion, whisked away with the dust and flames.
The police android lurched down the hall. His legs wobbled as his systems slowly rebooted. He stopped at the doorway leading into the bedroom, awed. The bed was set aflame with a man and a woman on top of the mattress. The couple were fortunately murdered before the fire – they didn't have to suffer.
The droid was more concerned with the parallel wall, though. The entire wall was destroyed by the blast. Through the flames and smoke, he could see into the neighboring apartment. The deviant droid and the infant were nowhere in sight, but he had a decent idea of their escape route.
Still disoriented by the explosion, Nicholas whispered, “It was... It was all planned. There... There were more of them.”
Nicholas returned to the front door. The hallway was swallowed by the smoke. He narrowed his eyes as he stared down the corridor. Although he wasn't absolutely certain, he could see a silhouette in the distance. He couldn't give chase, though. The SWAT officer was knocked unconscious by the explosion.
Nicholas knelt down in front of the officer. He vacantly stared at the staircase and said, “Lieutenant Rodriguez, this is Nicholas. We have a downed officer. Two deviants are down in the apartment. A female deviant has escaped with the infant. She was... She was traveling east towards the other end of the building. Be warned, she may be armed and there may be other deviants in the area. I repeat: she may be armed and she may be accompanied by other deviants. Proceed with caution.”
Over his walkie-talkie, Oscar responded, “Damn it, Nicholas! Why the hell–”
Oscar's inevitable rant became muddled nonsense – a garble of indecipherable noise. The police android stared down the corridor. To his dismay, the silhouette vanished. He clenched his jaw as he turned his attention to the unconscious officer. His failure to act led to the destruction. His failure could lead to a human death. The burden rested on his shoulders.
Nicholas whispered, “I will catch them. I'll catch and terminate every single one of them. You have my word...”
Chapter Five
A Response
“What the hell are you still doing here?! Huh? We have two mortally wounded officers, dead parents, a missing infant, and several fugitives on the loose! Get out there and do your goddamn jobs!” Oscar barked at the beat officers writing their reports in the patrol area as he returned to the station.
The police officers were partially aware of the incident, but the group did not understand the severity of the situation. The methodical officers needed to complete their paperwork before they could return to their patrols. Many of them figured a unit closer to the border would be handling the imminent manhunt.
Oscar stopped near his office door with his hands on his hips and a frown plastered on his face. He resembled a disappointed parent, trying his best to stop himself from striking someone – anyone.
He sternly said, “I want all of you to get out of here. I want you to swarm those streets like never before. I want you to coordinate with Clark's SWAT teams in the district. One-by-one, you raid every building in the border and beyond until you find that baby and those damn deviants. And, when you find those bastards, terminate them. Go.” As the officers scurried out of the building like ants at a picnic, Oscar glanced at Nicholas and said, “Get in my office. We have something important to discuss.”
If Oscar was the disappointed parent, Nicholas was the troublesome child. The police android despondently stared down at his dress shoes as he followed his boss' directions. He entered the office and stood in front of the desk like a misbehaving student meeting the principal.
Oscar removed his tie and unfastened the buttons on his shirt. He was flustered by the difficult situation, struggling to think clearly. Although several officers were incapacitated, the lieutenant was more concerned with the media and their handling of the event.
Nicholas said, “I'm sorry about my failure, sir. I tried to terminate all of them, but I... I didn't think I could shoot the female deviant without harming the infant. I hesitated. It's my fault. Please, forgive me.”
Ignoring Nicholas' heartfelt apologies, Oscar grabbed the television remote and paced in front of his desk. The sleek black remote did not have any physical buttons. All of the commands were displayed on a touchscreen. He tapped the power prompt.
Thin bright beams of every color shot out
of the lens on the projector installed on the ceiling. The projector displayed a holographic television in front of the window next to the door. He flipped through the channels until he found the local news.
Oscar scowled and muttered, “Damn it... I knew those bastards would do this. It's always the same with them. Damn it... Damn it!”
The holographic television displayed a local news television program – America's Tomorrow. The newscasts showed two reporters in a split-screen frame. In the large frame, a dapper man with slick black hair, glowing white teeth, and chiseled jawline and a spiffy suit sat behind his desk. In the smaller frame, a young blonde woman in a white sheath dress nodded as she listened to her babbling co-host. She bit her bottom lip and occasionally grunted, eagerly waiting for her turn to speak.
Anchors loved to hear the sound of their own voices after all.
America's Tomorrow was already covering the incident at the border. The attack occurred less than an hour prior to the newscast and the reporters were already sensationalizing the issue. The hosts proudly added fuel to the fire in order to receive more viewers. Like a contagious disease, mass hysteria was simple to spread among the masses. In their news report, which covered a protest outside of the town hall, the hosts asked several 'provocative' questions.
Why haven't the police quelled the violence at the border? Will the violence pour into the north side of the city? How can they stop deviant androids from crossing into the north and pillaging their homes?
They did not ask about the well-being of the poor, they did not seek to find a remedy to the deviants' issues, and they did not question Kelypso Incorporated's responsibility in the matter. The hosts wouldn't allow Kelypso to be mentioned, as a matter of fact. Most of the media was owned by powerful corporations and corrupt politicians.
As he watched the report, Nicholas whispered, “Are we really responsible for this?”
Glowering at the hologram, Oscar shook his head and said, “They don't care about us. They never cared about us. These reporters only care about their damn ratings. When something goes south, the police are always to blame in this damn country. We're going to get thrown under the bus. I know it. It's always the same crap.”
“I'm sorry, sir. I tried to–”
“Stop apologizing, Nicholas. It's not helping anyone. An apology won't stop these parasites from attacking us. An apology won't make the people any less angry than they are now. Stop it, okay? Just stop.”
“Okay, okay.”
Oscar changed the channel to a different station – FN: Fact News. Upon spotting the interviewee, he whispered, “Crap... It was only a matter of time before Allen got his hands on this.”
Arthur Allen was a freshman senator with aspirations of presidency. The middle-aged man was not charismatic or handsome, but he was a master of manipulation. He understood the human psyche. He used the anger of the people to create a platform for himself. He promised to be the voice for the unheard and the frightened.
So, Allen was quick to politicize the issue.
The obviously excessive gel in his sticky black hair did not matter. The double-chin obscuring most of his neck was insignificant. His shrill voice and his lack of manners during a conversation were actually praised. During times of anger, the people solely wanted a voice – they wanted to be heard. The message was negotiable.
Allen said, “The President of the United States is directly responsible for the attack on the American people. His policies, which have failed, have allowed deviants to find refuge in sanctuary parts of the city. His policies allow these killers to run rampant across our country. But, we're not allowed to say anything or 'we'd hurt someone's feelings.' We can't have that, can we? No, but, thanks to our president, we can allow the death of innocent American people. Answer this for me, Joe: why won't this 'almighty' man call this mess what it really is? Why won't he say it? It's 'cause he's scared. Well, I'm not scared. This is android terrorism. And, I promise, when I'm elected president come–”
“Shut the hell up already,” Oscar said as he turned off the projector.
Nicholas watched as the remote bounced across the table. He glanced at his boss, analyzing his mood through his face and motions. He could read every twitch on his face and every shudder of his limbs. The man was clearly flustered by the situation. He didn't care for the angry politicians or the careless media. He only cared about completing his duty.
The android negotiator could not comfort his boss. He did not know how to heal the emotional pain of a human. He could offer a sincere apology, but he was directed to stop apologizing. The words required to apologize were wiped from his vocabulary for the time being. He could only stand and wait for his next directive.
Oscar sighed, then he said, “They're going to want a response.”
Nicholas asked, “Should I write-up an official statement, sir?”
“No. That's not what they want. Words can't stop them from protesting. They want a real response. They want action. Action will stop Allen from running his mouth, action will stop the media from fanning the flames and burning the house down. We have to respond.”
“I understand, sir. What is the plan?”
“The way I see it, we only have one option: find the baby and terminate the deviants responsible. We have to find the infant before it's too late. I'm going to meet with all of our district's units and we'll begin sweeping all of the buildings in the border. You... Well, you will be in charge of the formal investigation, Nicholas. While we conduct our raids, I want you to track the group responsible for this. That means I want you to enter the south. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
His right hand to his brow, Nicholas saluted his boss like a respectful soldier. Oscar nodded and waved, casually shrugging off the salute. He turned his attention to a tablet computer on his desk. He tapped and swiped, gliding his eyes over terabytes and terabytes of valuable information. He bit his bottom lip as he spotted his desired information – success.
Oscar said, “I want you to access our database and find the file on an 'Alex Jensen.' Date of birth is November 8, 2147. He's a criminal from the Colonia Borough. He should be around 25 years old now, but don't let his age fool you. He has a criminal record longer than most deviants.”
Nicholas nodded as he accessed the files in his mind. He said, “I've downloaded the files. What do you want me to do with him?”
“I want you to pay him a visit. If you downloaded his files, then you know he has connections with several deviant terrorist groups. If anyone down there knows where those deviants are hiding, it's him.”
With a pinch of uncertainty in his voice, Nicholas asked, “You... You think a terrorist group is behind all of this?”
“I know a terrorist group was responsible. They were prepared and they were heavily-armed. Even you couldn't stop them, Nicholas. You'll be ready this time, though. Pay this man a visit and find the deviants responsible.”
Nicholas stared at Oscar with worrisome eyes. He wanted to speak, but he was choked by the frog in his throat. He could only muster a croak of a word. He was uncertain about the mission. He was a hostage negotiator with exemplary termination skills. He wasn't a trained terrorist hunter, though.
Oscar continued to flick his finger across the screen on his table. He said, “Before you go down there, go pay Kelypso a visit. I would explain the situation to them myself, but these raids require my full attention. Besides, they seem to like you over there.”
Nicholas nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity to redeem myself.”
“Don't mention it, champ. Go out there and make us proud.”
Nicholas shambled out of the office, perplexed. He walked through the empty patrol area, lost in his muddled thoughts. On top of the death and deviance, Kelypso Incorporated burdened his mind. He thought about the tall tower with the spire at the center of the city – a palace for a corrupt leader, a hideout for a wicked villain.
Chapter Six
A Mee
ting With Kelypso
Nicholas stood in the private elevator, his back to the sliding doors. He stared out the glass walls, astonished by the dazzling view. He could see people scurrying between cubicles in the neighboring business buildings. He could see the haughty drivers and their passengers in the hovercars floating on the transparent roads. The ground was no longer visible.
Hypnotized by the view, Nicholas said, “The views of the rich and famous... Bright. Colorful. Remarkable. It's not as beautiful as the moon and the stars, though. No, it can't replace the beauty of nature. Perhaps someday, the people will notice the true beauty of life. Maybe–”
Ding – the elevator's shrill bell echoed through the small room, disrupting his contemplation and announcing his arrival. The elevator brought him to the 225th floor of Kelypso Tower. The top floor of the building only harbored a lobby and a single office. Of course, the office belonged to the big boss – Kelypso Karras.
The police android cautiously took his first step off the elevator. He didn't want to stain the pristine Crema Marfil marble flooring with his dress shoes. He strolled towards the reception area to his left. A blonde woman stood behind a sturdy desk. From the blue light on her forehead, he could see she was a droid.
Nicholas glanced at the embroidered name tag clinging to the android's black dress. He said, “Hello, Sonya. I'm here for an urgent meeting with Madam Karras.”
Sonya smiled and said, “You must be Nicholas, Model PD101, version 1.1. It's nice to meet you. Madam Karras is currently busy. Please, have a seat. She'll be with you as soon as possible.”
“Sure, sure...”
As soon as possible – Nicholas was not reassured by the simple message. In cases of abduction and murder, time was a vital resource. A second could lead to a successful rescue or an unfortunate death. He didn't have time to spare for a meeting. At the same time, he could not rebel against Kelypso or Oscar's directives.
