Evolution Z

by Everist J Miller

  Mike animated reflexively to Doug's threatening tone. He forced himself to grab the bag. The toothless mouth of the bag was agape. He fumbled to look inside.

  Then he saw Doug right next to him and startled. He hadn't noticed that Doug had crept up on him. He let out an audible wince. Doug slid his hand inside the bag and lifted a sealed plastic bag with human body parts. There was a head inside. The back of the head was caved in with clumps of blood stained hair overwhelmed with oozing gore.

  Doug turned the bag to reveal the face of the deceased. There was something familiar about it. Its features were frozen in time. The eyes open but the gaze blank. It's mouth a misshapen scream.

  No. It couldn't be.

  "Say hello to your ex employee," Doug said. Mike imagined that Doug was smiling, but he didn't look. His attention was focused in horror on the face in the bag.

  It was unmistakable. The operator.

  Mike's eyes opened to the other contents of the bag. Each part of the operator had been severed before it was packed. The torso with most of the back missing, courtesy of the hungry volunteer. The legs and arms in parts. The hands and the feet also separated.

  Mike fell to his knees, gasping; dry reaching; choking on the air in his throat.

  "We needed to get rid of him," Doug said. "Remember, my friend, we can't let anyone know what happened yesterday. This is the best way to do it."

  After a pause Doug said, "Well, if you won't feed it to him, I will have to." Another pause and Doug shouted, "Open the cell door," pointing to R47's cell. When Mike didn't act, Doug screamed, "Open it!"

  Mike fumbled with his keys, trying to remove them from his pocket. He crawled to the door of the cell still trying to control his gag reflex. He failed to align the key with its lock because his hand was shaking uncontrollably. He dropped the keys. He closed his eyes to concentrate; to will the keys into the barrel.

  Doug snarled. Mike felt a sting as Doug tore the keys from his hand. Mike heard the key sliding into the lock and squealing as it turned. A click. Then the door opened with a prolonged groan.

  Mike opened his eyes to see Doug bowl the plastic bag into the cell. Doug watched with gleeful satisfaction as R47 lunged at it. At first he struggled to get through the defences of the plastic shell to get to its contents. "Come on," Doug said. "Get it open."

  Mike wondered why Doug didn't use the HUD to help him open it. For the sport, he reasoned.

  It didn't take R47 long to rip the plastic apart with his sharp incisors. There was no failsafe for dead meat even if it was human.

  There was a frenzied crunching like a school of piranha. Bones and cartilage would all be consumed. Then it became silent. The volunteer wasted nothing.

  Mike's mouth hung open in shock. He moved to lean against a nearby wall and began to pant. He thought he was going to faint.

  "I don't need a HUD to make them eat," Doug said to no one in particular. His eyes dropped as if in a state of reflection. "It's a reflex. If they try it on us, they will get shocked by the headset. Not with a dead man, my friend." Then he looked up, his shiny pupils fixed on Mike. "Now you must feed them the rest," he said.

  Mike sank to the floor. He covered his eyes with both hands as if trying to detach from reality. The frigid concrete wall soothed him.

  Mike felt a surge of hope as time passed with no further prompt from Doug, but he was deceived. Doug had crept up on him again. Without warning Mike was forced back to reality. "Here," Doug said and shoved slimy human entrails into his face, suffocating him.

  "Feed them," Doug screamed into Mike's ear.

  Mike's stomach turned. He heaved. There was no respite. "Do it," Doug said and dumped the remains of the body parts and tissue into Mike's hands.

  Mike stood up, still dry reaching. Doug had opened the second cell for him. Doug motioned for him to feed the other volunteers. Mike tossed the remains into the cell and turned his back to the predictable consequences.

  When Mike turned to face Doug, he thought he would see fire in Doug's eyes. But they were vacant.

  Mike was on the verge of tears. He swallowed his anger. Doug had caused all of this shit to happen. He'd let a volunteer loose and now Mike was caught up in it. If anyone found out, it would be the end of him.

  How was he supposed to go on? He couldn't make any plans. His life could end at any time. He was a fugitive.

  "Why so sullen my friend?" Doug asked. He was now in Mike's face. Mike visibly startled. Doug grinned. He must have enjoyed picking on people's weaknesses. He wanted to subjugate them, Mike concluded. Control them.

  What would Doug do now that the feeding was over? It had been raining outside. They couldn't work in the rain.

  "Let's get out of here for a break," Doug said. "We don't want to waste the day, do we my friend?"

  What a relief, Mike thought as he visibly exhaled. It was involuntary. A sign of weakness, he acknowledged, but Doug already knew that he was weak.

  "See you tomorrow my friend," Doug grinned.

  Mike had no power to protest. He thought seriously about escaping and going into hiding, but he knew it was too risky. He couldn't stomach it. The city was tiny. Where could he go? The Shit Belt? There he would starve or be murdered.

  Even if he could survive out of the city, he was certain there were more things Doug could do to get the military on to him than he could imagine. If that happened there would be no escape.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON THE SECOND day of the lock-up, guards escorted Marcia through a brightly lit passage, narrow like a coffin. Bolts peppered the metal walls. It was like the inside of a submarine.

  Marcia was disoriented. The lift had buried them below the basement of the building deep underground.

  The confined passage ended with a cold metal door. The door slid aside automatically, revealing a claustrophobic closet-like dimly lit room. Ordered patterns of foam nodules covered the surface area of the walls.

  Cynthia stood inside pensively, arms folded. There was a single chair. "Sit down," she said to Marcia. Marcia did so tentatively. Cynthia motioned the guards to leave.

  Cynthia's eyes fixed on Marcia's. Marcia's eyes instinctively slid to the ground. "Tell me what you know," Cynthia said. No niceties.

  Marcia wanted to get out of there. Her predicament was the definition of a lock-up. She was a prisoner. She needed to escape to find Andrew, but the news for Cynthia wasn't good.

  Where should I start? Marcia asked herself. "There's a… a possible problem… with the prototype headset." Her voice was low and unsteady.

  "I need facts," Cynthia said. After a pause, "And look at me when I'm talking to you."

  Marcia raised her glance and swallowed. This was never going to end. She was never going to see Andrew again.

  "Okay," she said to Cynthia. Her tone was surrender. "The prototype headset stimulates the higher order brain function." She paused to see if Cynthia understood.

  Cynthia scowled. "Spare me the technical speak," she said raising her eyes. "I already know it makes them more useful. That was Ken's selling point when I let him build it. What does it mean practically?"

  It was Marcia's turn to scowl.

  "Don't give me that look," Cynthia snapped. "There's a lot at stake. I shouldn't have to remind you of that. Get on with it."

  Marcia thought of Andrew again. I've given up my son for this, she said angrily to herself. How could I? I'm a coward. She felt a fire building in her chest. She pursed her lips.

  "I'm waiting," Cynthia said.

  "I don't know how to explain it to you," Marcia said. Her face was smeared with frustration. How can I make her understand? There was a lump in her throat. She imagined punching Cynthia in her jaw. She saw her fist breaking Cynthia's face. Then she would understand.

  "Try me," Cynthia said.

  "Yes," Marcia said with gritted teeth. "It lets them think."

  Cynthia placed her index finger on her lips. She stared past Marcia. A rare pause. "That doesn't sound too safe," She sai
d. "I think I know where this is going." Another pause. "So, to take my example yesterday, can it follow someone home? Can we lose all control of it?"

  "Possibly yes," Marcia said. "Neural connections ignite. There's a chain reaction. Anything is possible."

  "Shit," Cynthia said. "Shit!" Her hand formed a fist and her face was a blotchy deep red. "How the fuck did this get out before it was properly tested?" she shouted.

  Marcia froze reflexively. Was this the end of her?

  "Does the fail-safe still work?" Cynthia said through gritted teeth.

  "Well, the headset protects by assessing whether the volunteer is going to attack. Sudden movement. Clenching of its jaw. Proximity to a person. Variables in an algorithm."

  "I get all of that." Cynthia rolled her eyes. "I'm asking about the prototype. Where's the 'so what'?"

  Marcia looked away from Cynthia to give herself space to think. Why did Cynthia have to be rude? She could still feel Cynthia's eyes on her. Bitch. "The headset applies electric shocks to the volunteer's brain when it becomes aggressive. It targets the outward physical symptoms of aggression."

  "I know that. So what?"

  "Well," Marcia said. "The prototype has the same fail-safe. It works based on physical factors. But the prototype could allow the volunteer to think. There is no software we have capable of preventing it from thinking. Nothing can detect aggressive thoughts. We have no way of controlling that."

  "More testing," Cynthia growled.

  "But you don't get it, " Marcia said. She was getting desperate.

  "I do."

  "No further testing will help. We just don't have the technology."

  "Then you'll prove it," Cynthia said and waived Marcia away.

  I can't stay here, Marcia thought, but the guards were back in the room and they escorted her out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "WE WILL LEAVE them here, my friend," Doug said. "The rain is heavy, and it's not going to stop."

  Doug had made Mike feed the volunteers a second morning. When would it end? Mike hoped that Doug would leave and they could both go home. Screw the work-site. Until now Mike had considered his business an investment for the future. Now he didn't have a future.

  "I guess you've got better things to do than stick around here," Mike said gesturing to the surrounds in disgust. He was closing the gate that lead to the volunteers' pens. R47 remained alone because Doug insisted he was special.

  "Why would you say that, my friend?" Doug asked switching his jolly face to a scowl.

  "Because of the rain."

  "This is my job," Doug said. "Our job." He pointed to the volunteers. "They need some exercise. They've already had one day without exercise."

  Fear devoured Mike's hope. He wondered what twisted, sinful thoughts were traversing Doug's mind.

  After a pause, Doug said, "They need to play with each other. Let's say I get that one," he pointed at R47, "because he's my favourite. And you can have," he motioned in a dismissive gesture at the other volunteers, "any of those."

  Mike hesitated. Doug confused him. What was he supposed to be doing?

  "Choose one," Doug said in a controlled, intimidating tone.

  Mike said nothing. He was floored, unable to react. Doug marched up to him. Mike flinched to protect himself as Doug grabbed under his arm and marched him to the cages. Mike could barely keep his balance. Doug halted when they reached the cages. He left Mike and opened R47's cage.

  "Now, my friend," Doug said panting, "open that fucking gate and pick one of those and bring him out here." He pointed to the centre of the room.

  Witnessing Doug out of breath, tempted Mike to attack him. Get him when he was tired. His adrenaline surged, and he felt light-headed. But it was a risky pursuit. Doug was bulky and had proved unpredictable and dangerous. Mike accepted his limitations. He wasn't a killer. Striking didn't come naturally to him. He had never hit anyone in the face; didn't even know whether he could. One thing he was sure of. Doug wouldn't hesitate.

  In any case, what would he do? Kill Doug? Wasn't that the only way? Didn't he have to eliminate Doug?

  Mike's body slumped. I can't murder, he realised.

  Mike opened the cage and surveyed the volunteers. They all looked the same to him. Their skin suits covered any defects. He turned his back to them, activated his HUD and dispatched a command to randomly select a volunteer and have it walk to the centre of the room.

  When he looked up, he saw Doug grinning from the other side of the room. R47 confronted Mike's volunteer. Doug had activated his HUD.

  "Let's see if we can make them kill each other," Doug said. "Come on, my friend. Use your HUD to make yours fight." Doug wore a slimy grin. "You know that mine will win, my friend. You know there is something special about him, don't you? I plan on testing his abilities."

  "Doug, we can't, okay," Mike said in a pleading tone.

  "We can do whatever we want," Doug said. "It's our little video game." He wore an amused grin this time. "This is fun. Have a good time, my friend."

  Doug's arms began a practised, fluid movement. As a result, R47 attacked. The other volunteer remained still. R47 punched it in the stomach. It almost lost its footing but recovered. Volunteers had a standing order to remain balanced. It prevented accidents.

  At Doug's command, R47 mounted another offensive, this time kicking the other volunteer in the trunk. It recoiled, splaying backwards but remained upright.

  R47 halted its attack.

  "Stop it," Doug said to Mike. He moved R47 from the other volunteer and allowed it to sit. He eyed Mike and scowled. "This is not fun," he said. "It's fucking boring. You are not trying, my friend. You are letting me win."

  Mike remained silent. He couldn't think of a response. He knew Doug would see through any attempt at lying.

  "Maybe we need to have the fight between ourselves," Doug said. His grin was sardonic, his expression menacing as he walked over to Mike. Mike's instinctive reaction was to place his volunteer between him and Doug.

  Doug laughed. "He can't stop me, my friend. His brain will fry."

  "You won't want to kill him Doug," Mike said. He was unable to control the wavering in his voice.

  Doug didn't respond. He walked up to the volunteer and swept it aside. It convulsed and retreated. "See, my friend," he said. "I don't have to kill it. I hardly have to touch it. But this has become interesting."

  By now Doug was standing opposite Mike. He swivelled to face Mike's back and slid his arm around Mike's neck. "We have been here before," he said to Mike. "This must be familiar to you."

  Mike's eyes bulged. His head swelled like an expanding balloon. He grabbed Doug's wrist, in a desperate attempt to loosen Doug's grip. Too tight.

  Mike tried to plead with Doug but couldn't speak. He was caught in suspended animation with no oxygen to his brain. Instead he croaked and gurgled. Growing black spheres swirled in front of him until they engulfed him and he silently drowned in them.

  ###

  The software commanded R47 to sit although the program sensed no signals of muscle fatigue. His response was mechanical. His knees bent and he was seated.

  His eyes were wide, but he was nonetheless blind. His eyes were a mere interface; a pathway for incoming data. He didn't interpret the data. That was the task of the program operated by the controller's HUD.

  Without warning there was a fiery spark in front of mind.

  A more powerful flash of light blinked into R47's vision. It didn't emanate from his programmed sight. It was perceived. Undefined. It didn't exist in the world that he inspected or in the orders he was given. He didn't have any standing orders so there were no immediate consequences.

  Another flash. His recoil went unnoticed. Then an impossibly bright explosion of light. Then a succession of flashes, like a strobe.

  After the final burst of pure white, his vision came into focus. It was no longer mere surveillance. It was authentic sight. Vision. Processing outside of the software. He made connections between l
ight, colour and the objects in the room.

  He scampered over to the objects in the room, realising he was hampered by a jerky movement. As he closed in on one of the objects, he faltered, sinking to the ground, engulfed in excruciating discomfort. He grimaced, clamping his hands over his head and face, rolling from side to side trying to rid himself of that awful pain like putting out a fire.

  The extremity became focused. He couldn't find any escape.

  ###

  Mike found himself sprawled on the hard, cold floor. He opened his eyes and saw a blurred vision of Doug standing over the new volunteer, R47. The image of the two was distorted as if a reflection on a concave carnival mirror. Mike's head felt heavy. The scene swayed. He took a deep breath.

  As the world came back into focus, he saw the volunteer in a spasm, its head jolting. It was rolling from side to side. Was he dreaming? Very unusual, he thought, but they all had different reactions. This one looked as if it were in actual pain rather than a reflexive movement to the stimulus of pain.

  Doug kicked the volunteer with the tip of his shoe like he was poking a stick at a carcass. He lifted the thick heavy heel of his boot above its ribs.

  "Don't," Mike croaked, raising his hand. His jaw throbbed. He became oriented and remembered Doug choking him. That's where his recall ended. Now he found R47's failsafe activated. What had it done? What had Doug done to it? Another sick game, he reasoned.

  Doug relaxed his leg and withdrew his boot. He turned to Mike. "So you decided to come to, my friend. I was worried about you for a minute." He grinned. He didn't look at all worried.

  "Don't damage it," Mike said. Struggling to speak brought on a coughing fit.

  Doug paused while Mike was coughing. When Mike settled he said, "What does it matter to you what I do with our friend R47?"

  Mike lifted himself to his knees. He felt a wave of nausea. Struggling to suppress it he said, "We can't break all of them". He coughed again from the strain. He convulsed, the contents of his stomach rising into his throat. He paused to get it under control. It threatened to take over, but he managed to swallow it. He gulped, disgusted at the feeling of chewing his cud. "They're expensive, okay", he continued. "It - R47 - is a replacement for the other one that you broke. If we have to replace another one, someone's going to find out. Please Doug. Please. Don't risk it."