“Relax. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Good.” She turned and made for the exit.
“See you tomorrow night,” said Gatz to her back as she parted the curtains and left.
Being a mutant’s bodyguard wasn’t something Ida wanted on her resume. She would try for the job at the TV station instead.
Trust your instincts. Avoid hybrids, she reminded herself.
After being forced to deal with two in one day, could she avoid them?
Seven
“No, no, NO,” said Vance Drem between clenched teeth. “What was your name again?”
The WXSC TV station production manager blushed and stammered. “Nancy. Nancy Brown.”
Vance was losing patience with the station’s incompetence. So far, their ideas had been horrible, and they were slow. He needed to get his commercial out fast now that two more ex-soldiers had gone crazy and shot people in the same week. Finally, public opinion was shifting in his favor, and he needed to back it up with a strong, compelling message to reinforce the selling points of his android police force.
But not this garbage they had offered. Someone would pay for this shoddy work. Vance felt his temperature rising. Nancy had shown creative promise during their first meeting, but he was surprised at the direction the production team had taken.
The station owner probably didn’t compensate her well. Then again, most jobs didn’t pay well. Vance struck deals to ensure wages stayed low. Scarcity meant people didn’t have the luxury of asking many questions.
Large windows flanked the station’s executive conference room. Below, a street brimmed with people on their way to factories, apartment buildings, and market stalls selling protein packs and clean water.
Near the door stood Vance’s entourage—two bodyguards dressed in dark suits, packing guns under their jackets.
Vance paced the length of the room as three small camera drones hovered around him, filming every gesture. He stopped abruptly and smiled directly into one of the cameras. “I need a moment,” he said.
On cue, one of his bodyguards stepped forward and issued a command. “Disengage.” The drones landed softly on the floor and folded themselves into compact packages, before he scooped them up and dropped them into a sleek, chrome briefcase.
In the center of the room, Nancy watched, her body tense and trembling.
With cameras off, Vance approached her. “I don’t want clever, bitch.” His mouth, inches from hers, sprayed spittle.
She cowered but remained in place.
“Are you picking up my vibe?” He said.
“Y-y-yes.”
“What were you thinking?” Vance lit an e-cigarette and resumed pacing. “Vegas showgirls, really?” After a dramatic puff, he halted and faced her again. “Well? Explain yourself.”
Nancy stared at the ground. “We thought the dancers and the theme of a Vegas show would be funny, that people would like it.”
Vance snorted. “You think this is funny?” He inhaled his e-cig again. “People are dying on the streets of this city. Crazed soldiers are killing our own civilians by the hundreds, and you want funny?”
She shivered.
“I want realness. I want a message that matters. Something to make people believe I’ll save them from this horrendous violence.” Vance turned his attention to the center window. From four stories above, he watched as people crossed the streets in patterns, while others gathered in small crowds, waiting for streetlights to change. They’re like ants, he thought. Blind and needing a leader.
Against the daylight, his silhouette was striking. Dressed impeccably in a tailored three-piece suit, his slicked-back blonde hair was shaved closely on the sides, revealing his finely detailed neck tattoo—a picture of the Statue of Liberty that wound around his neck and just below his ear. A handsome bachelor with unchecked power, he had thousands of female admirers.
Shaking, Nancy managed a few words. “Wha-what would you like to change, Mayor Drem?”
“Would you look at these people?” asked Vance as he continued to gaze at the streets below. “All the prosperity I have brought these people, and yet I continue to be challenged at every move.”
Just then, station owner Aaron Winston entered the room and approached Vance, hand outstretched in greeting. “I trust everything’s going well,” he said to the room in general. He glanced at Vance, then Nancy, who was still glued to her spot.
Vance placed his e-cigarette on a large mahogany conference table. “I’ve done you a favor, and all you do is produce this trash.” He gestured dismissively in Nancy’s direction. “Vegas showgirls, a song and dance number. Mister Winston, this isn’t what I had in mind when I hired your station.” He strolled toward the windows, arms crossed, his back to the room.
Winston approached Vance. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Mayor. We’ll certainly make it up to you. What do you have in mind?”
“I want to show power,” Vance said. “Spark City needs me now more than ever.”
“Of course. We need you as our mayor,” said Winston, wiping sweat from his brow.
“My time is coming. Spark City is poised for greatness unlike anything we’ve known. My android force will change the world.” Vance cocked his head, examining Winston. “I want to show my real power.”
“We’ll make it happen, Mr. Mayor. I can assure you.”
“Do you know what real power is, Winston?” Vance started circling the station manager.
Winston tried but couldn’t hold Vance’s gaze. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands clasped behind him. Swallowing several times, all he could manage was a nervous chuckle.
Vance’s gaze darkened. He tensed his muscles, cracked his knuckles loudly.
Nearby, Nancy slowly inched toward the door, but Vance’s men blocked her path.
“Oh, dear Nancy, where are you going?” Vance didn’t even turn her way as he stared down Aaron Winston, who had grown pale.
“Am I making you nervous, guy?” Vance clenched his jaw and gripped Winston’s shoulder.
Winston managed a strained smile and chuckled. Vance laughed along. He laughed even as he slammed Winston’s skull into the window pane.
Winston screamed and fell to his knees; Nancy rushed forward, but Vance’s bodyguards grabbed her and held her back.
Vance’s maniacal cackle resonated throughout the room as he rammed Winston’s head against the window over and over.
The heavy industrial glass cracked and became smeared with blood. Winston stopped struggling. Still restrained, tears streamed down Nancy’s face and she whimpered.
Between slams, Vance spoke through clenched teeth, “I could make a better commercial. And I will.” After a final, vicious crack against the glass, he left the slumped body of Aaron Winston heaped on the floor.
Vance turned slowly to face the room, directing his gaze at Nancy. “And you’ll help me.”
Nancy struggled against the men, gasping for air between sobs.
Vance relaxed his shoulders and adjusted his shirt collar. He ran his left hand—a cybernetic metal prosthetic—through his hair to straighten it, then removed a syringe from his jacket pocket.
As he grinned and stared at Nancy, he injected a blue liquid into his own neck.
His men released her, and she fell to her knees and began to pray for her life.
Eight
Thirty minutes later, Ida was about to ring the intercom buzzer at the street-side entrance of the WXSC TV building when her instincts told her to pull back. Just then, a young man slammed his body against the door in a rush to get out, holding one end of an ambulance stretcher. Ida shrank against a brick wall to let the medics pass by.
She caught a glimpse of the man in need of medical care. A blanket covered his body, and they’d secured his head with a cushioning device to hold it in place. Ida had seen enough traumatic brain injuries in her military days to know this one looked serious—lots of blood loss, and he was unconscious.
>
The medics made their way quickly to a waiting ambulance followed by a few people from inside the office. One man, in his mid-twenties, slim, with a small beard and long brown hair peeking out from under a baseball cap, tried to climb into the ambulance, but was turned away. The ambulance doors shut and the driver sped away. In the middle of the street, he scratched his forehead beneath his cap, watching the red and blue lights fade into the distance.
What bad luck. Ida had picked the absolute worst time to come ask for a job. She rested on the street curb.
Others from the station milled outside, talking. A woman cried as she was comforted by another colleague.
Light rain began to fall. The shocked people didn’t seem to care. Ida realized it would be a wet ride home on her bike.
She held up her biocuff, about to ask the A.I. for alternate, drier routes home, when the young man in the baseball cap came over.
“Hi. Do you work here at the station?”
She glanced up from her seat on the curb. “No, I had stopped by to see about jobs.” Ida paused, looking over at the other employees. “Seems like you all have plenty more important things going on.”
The man pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He stumbled over his words. “Yeah. This day was, well…unbelievable.”
“Who was the man on the stretcher? What the hell happened to him?”
“You mean who the hell happened,” he said, and perched on the curb next to her. “I’m not even sure I can talk about it.” He suddenly turned to study her, eyes wide. “Who are you? Are you police or government?”
“Just looking for work. New to the city.”
He relaxed his shoulders. “Well, that was the station boss on the stretcher. Our producer is also gone. I’ve no idea where, and I’m next in charge, I guess.”
“Did your station get robbed?”
“It was an unhappy client. A very unhappy client. You’re not police, right?” he said.
“Not a chance.”
“What are you then?” He smiled. “You seem kind of badass.”
“Former military.”
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”
He led her into the station, up four floors by elevator. The office was in chaos. Workers shuffled around desks, grabbing their belongings and throwing them into boxes. The room smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. Crumpled paper, various electronic devices, and office supplies littered the floor. Ida and baseball cap guy, who told her his name was Milt, stepped cautiously.
She followed him into a large open room of cubicles. In a corner, another young guy, this one overweight, peered at a digital screen, intent on watching a video.
“Howard.” Milt tapped him gently on the left shoulder, but the man jumped out of his chair.
“Jesus, Milt!” He slowly lowered himself and swiveled his chair to face them. “You practically gave me a heart attack.” He looked Ida up and down. “Who’s she?”
“This is Ida. She’s here for a job, but I’m giving her a new job. In fact, I just created it. She’s going to help us with the problem.”
Ida wasn’t sure what mess she’d gotten herself into now. She could leave, but her gut told her to stay and see this through. What the hell happened here?
“Show her the video,” said Milt.
Howard crossed his arms over his chest. “Dude, this could get us in a lot of trouble.”
“I know. But what options do we have? Winston’s gone. Nancy’s been abducted by that monster. What else can we do?”
Howard chewed on his bottom lip. “Who is she? What’s her story?”
“She’s a soldier just returned and looking for work,” said Milt. “She hasn’t been in Spark City long. Good thing, so nobody knows her.”
“What can a former soldier do other than go ballistic and shoot everyone?” said Howard.
“Hey. That’s bullshit.” Ida stepped toward him, fists clenched.
Milt put an arm in front of her. “Easy,” he said. “We can’t go to the police with this. They all work for him. They’re all robots now anyway, and they’ll probably kill us or throw us in jail.”
“Who is he?” asked Ida.
Howard laughed. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with here, lady.” He glared at Milt. “She doesn’t even know the city. How’s she supposed to help us? You’re playing with fire here.”
“I know this sounds crazy,” said Milt. “But my brother was one of the soldiers who came back from the wars. Yeah, he went kinda nuts, but he was still my same brother. And he knew things. Things like how to fight, how to use weapons. Nobody else…normal people don’t know these things.” Milt took a seat on an adjacent desk. “Show her the video.”
Howard swiveled to his machine and pressed play.
Ida left the station as evening descended. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. Not a great night to own a motorcycle, but she’d been through worse. At least the rain would keep people off the streets. She needed a fast ride to think and consider the offer she’d been given.
The events at the station were serious. The owner was near dead or possibly in a coma, and a producer named Nancy Brown was presumed missing.
Ida remembered the video and the shocking events that had unfolded. Vance’s men had covered their tracks well. They’d located and destroyed the surveillance camera footage within the station offices.
What they hadn’t counted on was someone down below capturing them on camera. Howard had decided to eat his lunch outside on that unseasonably mild winter day. When Aaron Winston’s head slammed against the glass the first time, he thought it must be a stunt—part of the ad campaign.
The second time he witnessed Spark City’s mayor, Vance Drem, crack Winston against the window, he wondered if an elaborate prank was happening. He had pulled out his phone and started the video by the third hit when the glass finally cracked from the pressure of Winston’s skull.
Now Milt and Howard faced a serious dilemma. They knew they couldn’t go to the police about the mayor assaulting and kidnapping Nancy. After all, Vance manufactured the police force.
Milt had sensed an opportunity when Ida passed through their doors. He promised her a cash reward and programmer job at triple pay if she could find Nancy and bring her home safely.
But she had no idea what she was facing with the mayor. She knew Vance Drem was formidable; she’d seen the video of his android police. He ruled the city, and according to Howard, was filthy rich through all his shady dealings with politicians and mobsters.
Still, the reward money and the programmer gig were enticing. What other job was she going to find? Her only offer so far was being a bodyguard for a hybrid wolf-man.
How would she even go about finding the missing woman? What had Gatz said about the mayor? She couldn’t recall exactly, but he’d said the city had been brainwashed against returning soldiers. Something about Vance Drem being involved.
Another matter weighed on her mind. The clock was ticking down, and she had yet to decide whether she would show up at Gatz’s bar the next night.
Nine
On the edge of the half-frozen pond, Lucy perched in her favorite spot—a large, smooth rock face that jutted vertically from the ground, not far from the old conservatory where Ida now lived, just down a small hill from the front entrance.
Should Ida venture outside her home, she might even miss Lucy’s presence entirely. She wasn’t exactly hiding, but Lucy hadn’t decided whether she would reveal herself. Anyway, it would give her another opportunity to see her new neighbor, which would help with the sketch she’d started.
For the time being, Lucy focused her charcoal pencil on capturing the pond and the Spark City towers rising in the distance. She felt somehow powerful, like she could take down the decaying skyscrapers and rebuild the city, correct all the wrongs that had been done.
Lucy’s former schoolteachers had chided her for daydreaming. Especially Mr. Lennox, her math instructor. He’d carry
a golf club while he paced in the front of the class, lecturing the students. Once or twice a class, without fail, he’d knock his club on her desk, yelling, “Wake up!” She always blushed, embarrassed at the attention.
She couldn’t stop though. Daydreaming and art helped her escape. She could create worlds where she wanted to live. Places away from Spark City—a better place for her mother, where she would be clean. Absolutely no drugs in Lucy’s universe.
The late morning sunlight had begun to fade, and the cloudy sky threatened rain. In the grass nearby, two squirrels chased each other around a tree. Birds chirped as they foraged in the trees for a meal.
Lucy had spent nearly all morning here in the hopes of seeing Ida again, but there’d been no sign of her. Maybe she was sleeping in today.
Just when she’d resolved to head home, she heard the front door open. Lucy leaned forward, carefully closed her sketchbook, and placed it in her shoulder bag.
From her rock perch, Lucy watched as Ida came outside to check on her motorcycle, securing a small bag into a hidden seat compartment. Lucy admired her style—short black leather jacket, black pants, and combat boots. That’s how she would dress if she had any money.
Just as she was wondering whether to reveal herself, Ida called out, “Are you going to sit over there like a creeper, or are you going to say hello?”
Lucy froze in place. How had she been seen? Without even a glance in her direction, Ida entered her home, leaving the front door ajar.
She’d been curious about Ida’s place, and this seemed like an invitation. She nearly made it through the front door before Ida appeared and blocked her way.
Smirking, Ida said, “Well, look who decided to show her face. If it isn’t Lucy-Lu from the neighborhood.”
“Hi,” was all Lucy could manage.
“What’s up, kid?”
Lucy noted dark circles under Ida’s eyes. This was her chance, maybe her only one, to get help from her mysterious new neighbor. She steadied herself and breathed in deeply. “I came by to ask whether you need help. You know, helping to unpack. Maybe you need odd jobs done.” Lingering in the entryway, she turned her gaze toward the lifeless dirt that constituted Ida’s front yard. “Or, you know, like landscaping.”
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