Evolution Z

by Everist J Miller

  He heard a voice say, "Try your HUD Doug. Quickly. Mine is broken."

  He wasn't out of the room yet. Without warning, he felt the attack of another signal, the two signals firing at him in unison. It was a strain to hack them at the same time. But he managed it with additional effort. They were both malleable, and he repelled then.

  R47 walked through the entrance. The door closed and a disorienting darkness enveloped him. He heard footsteps approach the door. He had to act fast. He scrambled, trying to use his hands to feel his way. As the door to the room creaked open, he tripped over something and fell onto his face.

  Why hadn't the auto-balance kicked in?

  He was lying on an incline.

  He rose to his knees and crawled up the incline, feeling his way up the rocky stairs. Just as he was making progress, the passageway filled with blinding light. This time not in his head. Not to impart knowledge. Light external to his body.

  His eyes failed to adjust in time, forcing him to cover them with his hands. Again he lost his balance. The auto-balance was gone.

  He fell forward extending his arms reflexively to absorb the impact of his fall.

  ###

  He crawled haphazardly. He experienced the sudden boundless pain of a thousand needles in his head. He convulsed. A person was in proximity.

  Trying to resist the excruciating agony, he pressed his mind to examine the code responsible for it. His concentration was constantly interrupted. He could feel a person on top of him, digging his knees into his spine; pulling his head back by the ends of his hair; then trying to lock his arm around R47 neck.

  Despite his efforts, R47 could not identify and hack the code. It was encrypted and by appearance unbreakable. He could feel the person's slippery sweat and sour breath against his neck.

  Through the mist of his agony, he heard footsteps of another person approaching.

  Pain burned through him like a raging inferno to the point where he was at risk of losing consciousness. Running out of time, he strained to access the code. He had to find out how to rewrite it so that he could function unimpeded. To no avail. There was no time to even attempt to hack the encryption. He realised that something as fundamental as the failsafe would be secured.

  Black spots randomly flickered in front of his eyes. Time was running out. He would soon black out. He was done for.

  About to be enveloped in darkness, he heard Doug's voice. "Get off him, my friend. I am going to take care of this little volunteer."

  So it had been Mike on top of him, not Doug.

  R47 felt a release as the grip around his neck loosened. Gradually, the weight on his body lifted. As the distance between Mike and R47 increased, a thousand needles became only a hundred. Then a hundred to fifty and so on until R47 was pain free.

  He heard Mike say to Doug, "You can't kill him, okay." His voice was unsteady, breathless. Panicked.

  R47 zoned out to concentrate on finding a solution to his immediate problem of survival. R47 let Mike's and Doug's quarrel fade to indiscernible background noise. He shut his eyes to trace each signal that had been sent from the software to the headset and back from the time he had begun to experience the excruciating pain until it had subsided.

  The signals were again obtuse. He couldn't hack the code; couldn't stop it from administering pain. but he could try to understand the triggers.

  He searched his memory. It was intact. He recalled from being an operator that the signals the software observed in determining whether, and to what extent, the headset should incapacitate him were his proximity to Mike, the configuration of the muscles in his face, the movement of his limbs and jaw, the tension in his muscles and the movement in his fingers. It also searched for aggression in the sound or tone of his larynx.

  The headset infused its bolts of energy with greater intensity the more he struggled. His physical proximity to Mike was a major factor, but his attempts to brace and defend himself would also have been factors.

  But what about thought or intent? Nowhere in his memory could he detect a role for thought or intent that was not a physical manifestation.

  He decided to test this hypothesis. He relaxed his muscles from his toes to his eyelids, and visualised his fist connecting with Doug's face, breaking Doug's nose and pummelling it into a bloody mush of splintered bone and torn cartilage. As long as he did not act out those thoughts by clenching his fists or teeth, or some other physical marker, he was safe. He found it difficult not to contract any of his muscles. He felt an explosive hatred for Doug. He craved violence.

  He diverted his attention back to the conversation between Mike and Doug. He was concerned he had lost time and continued to be in imminent danger. He had formulated a plan but it would be useless if Doug killed him before he had an opportunity to execute it. He floated back to reality to observe their conversation.

  "You can't kill him. He's probably worth something," Mike said.

  "Worth something?" Doug asked. His tone was incredulous. He chuckled. "He's worth the death penalty, my friend. That's all he is worth." He paused. "Don't you see, my friend?" he said. Turning to the direction in which the barrel of his rifle pointed, he said, "This one has a lot in common with the volunteer who killed our friend Ray. But it's not him. It's the headset."

  The rifle was pointed at R47.

  But it wasn't a volunteer that killed me, R47 wanted to say. It was you. But he had no voice yet. None he could find.

  Doug continued, still staring in R47's direction, "It's that headset that is worth something." Turning to Mike, he said, "Don't you think so, my friend?"

  Mike shrugged and turned his attention to his feet. Doug observed him for a brief moment and said, "You are hiding something."

  Mike squirmed. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

  "You will soon enough," Doug said. "You are going to tell me everything you know." Turning to R47, who felt like his prey, he said, "But first, I'm going to take care of this little volunteer."

  R47 waited. Didn't dare to brace. Focussed on remaining still and, despite an overwhelming instinct to the contrary, remained relaxed. His timing had to be precise.

  Turning back to Mike, Doug said, "Go to him. I will shoot him in the legs and you will take off his headset." Pointing his finger like a condescending parent, he added, "Carefully."

  R47 was tempted to withdraw his legs, but he didn't dare. One wrong move and he would be frozen, suffering searing pain, convulsing and unable to defend himself. As before, he waited; focussed all of his energy on keeping motionless. Static. Tranquil. Even though it went against every compulsion he had.

  "Then I'll finish him off," Doug said with a grin.

  "No way," Mike said, shaking his head, his eyes opened wide in terror. "That'll make him wild. He'll rip me apart." He paused, his jaw dropped. "That's what you want, isn't it?" he said pointing at Doug. "You want him to turn me. To replace him. Like you did to Ray."

  Doug chuckled. "I want the headset, my friend. When you've removed it, I'll shoot him in the head straight away."

  "I don't know that," Mike responded. "Who else are you going to use to replace him? I'm not stupid, okay. You'll have to find somebody else to wear that headset."

  "Okay, my friend," Doug said to Mike. Turning to R47, he said, "I will do it myself."

  Doug lifted his rifle. He closed his left eye as his right eye focussed in on R47's right leg. His steely concentration was reflected in a grimace. By interpreting the signals, R47 found, as expected, that Doug was using a pinpoint circle in the centre of his HUD as a scope to aid his aim.

  R47 saw Doug's index finger turn to squeeze the trigger. At that moment R47, without opening his eyes, or engaging in any movement whatsoever, blasted a burst of blinding light into Doug's HUD at the focal point of his concentration.

  Doug recoiled but managed to fire off a shot. R47 braced. He was fortunate that the rifle was pointed away from him because of Doug's reflexive reaction to the light. Even from a slight movement trying to av
oid being hit, R47 felt pins penetrate his head like tiny hot pokers. He heard the bullet ricochet off steel railing higher up the staircase.

  Doug raised his hands to his eyes dropping his rifle. Another shot fired as the rifle hit the ground. R47 startled from the noise. With Doug only metres away, R47's muscles tensed. R47 was struck with another bolt of pain. It was chicken and egg. The pain caused his muscles to tense. The tension in his muscles fed into the encrypted black box. Considering the tightness of his muscles and his proximity to Doug, the program administered more pain.

  R47 needed to be calm. He kept his eyes closed and crept back into thoughts of Doug suffering from extremely violent incidents. He found that thoughts of Doug's suffering relaxed him. He drifted into a pleasurable state.

  He imagined a gang of men raping Doug through every available orifice. At the end of this ordeal, Doug's eyes watered in agony from stinging open tears in skin and tissue. Fresh blood dribbled down his face and on the backs of his thighs. As Doug's face contorted in agony, R47's pain receded.

  Yes, R47 thought. I can see how violence can be satisfying. Somehow he realised the attraction that must have drawn Doug to aggression. Savagery to bring contentment. He could see why those drawn to dominate others succeed where the passive fail.

  But R47 wasn't content picturing Doug in physical suffering. He envisaged a bully transformed by the ordeal into a broken misery. But perhaps Doug had already been broken on many occasions. Perhaps that was the reason for his present disposition. That kind of thought awoke R47's previous distress because he could not see an impact beyond the existing damage. It also gave the dark psychopath a potential excuse. So he retaliated by turning his focus back to Doug's imagined physical rather than emotional injuries, and he was able to remain calm, putting him in a position to progress executing his plan.

  Returning to the present, R47 saw Doug on his knees. Doug reached to pull his helmet off like a blind man. "Help me get it off," he said, arms flailing. Mike was frozen behind him with an expression of shock.

  Doug ripped off his helmet. His eyes were wide. He reached to cover them with his hands as if he were in pain.

  That's one taken care of, R47 said to himself. Then he screamed; not with his voice, but with his mind. He caused Mike's HUD to squeal like a siren. Now Mike sank to his knees, his face contorted; his hands reaching for his ears.

  "What the hell was that?" Doug shouted.

  R47 jumped to his feet. He took advantage of the light and scampered up the stairs. They seemed endless. One flight after another. But he grew stronger as the distance from the two men increased. His pace accelerated and after a time he was at the summit. I beat them, he thought.

  Another door. Would it be locked? If so, it would trap him. What then? He touched the handle. He pushed on it in slow motion with his eyes closed as if to delay the outcome of his fear. It jammed.

  What now? It was only a matter of time until Mike and Doug recovered and recaptured him. If so, it was almost certain Doug would kill him.

  His fist hit the door handle in anger. It released. The door was open. He was out.

  At once a splash of daylight overwhelmed him. The world was bigger than he remembered. He felt vulnerable. Exposed. He needed to get out of sight.

  Where is this place? He strained to remember. It was familiar. He had it. A volunteer warehouse. In his previous incarnation he had come here to inspect volunteers often; for maintenance and such. It was deserted most of the time.

  I know where I must go, he reasoned. The Shit Belt. The place he had feared most, but in a different life (if he was in fact alive). He wasn't scared of it now. It was his only shelter from the dangers that he now faced.

  But I must be prepared, he thought. Even in the Shit Belt there are people. The only sure way to guarantee my safety, he reasoned, is to break the encrypted code of the failsafe.

  ###

  Doug's face was cherry red with bulging jagged purple lines. He clenched his fists and his muscles were stiff. He was baring teeth. He marched to Mike and punched him in the chest without warning just as Mike's mouth hung open to speak.

  Mike's expression transformed from poise to grimace. He clasped his ribs with both hands as he folded, bending over into a foetal position.

  "You fucked up my HUD!"

  Mike gasped for air. He collapsed to his knees. Then to the ground. He rocked from side to side, groaning whenever he took a breath.

  "I will give you a minute," Doug said, "to regain your composure, my friend."

  Mike's face drooped, lips pouted. He felt a rise of adrenaline, his heart thumping. There was a lump in his throat. His eyes moistened with stinging tears as he felt an urge to cry.

  Mike wanted to act tough, to show that the pain had no impact on him. He fantasised about giving Doug a line like 'Is that all you've got?' but his body betrayed him. Why? Why was he so weak? He remembered reading something about the body recalling feelings. "The body remembers," he recalled. It made sense as he had flashes of childhood memories.

  Mike's father used to beat him. He saw a flash of his father slapping him flush across his cheek the first time. Sure it stung, but it was worse than that. The sheer shock caught him by surprise. It was his father's indifference to respecting the sanctity of his body that caused Mike's severe emotional response. He couldn't verbalise it at the time. Before that his father used to yell at him all the time and hit him in all the usual places.

  In response Mike would cry; sometimes wail. His father would smirk. "Twelve years old and you're still a baby," his father would say. "No guts. Such a sook. You disgust me."

  Mike would respond with begging eyes as he lay crumpled against the wall of his room. His father would kick him in the sole of his foot like a sack of dirt. "You scared little shit. Grow some balls." Then he would leave.

  On a rare occasion Mike would look up at his father with a glint of rage, gritting his teeth. His father would chuckle. "That's more like it," his father would say. "Why don't you come and hit me? Come on." Mike would look away as if his eyes would otherwise burn. He didn't know how to fight. He was petrified of the consequences of standing up to his father. His father would respond by lunging at him and just stopping short. "Weasel," he would say.

  Mike would burst into tears every time his father left his room. His crying was uncontrolled, but he tried to keep it quiet in case his father could hear. He felt alone. His mother was dead.

  As a result, Mike always felt a lump in his throat threatening tears whenever he witnessed a parent castigating, humiliating or hitting a child in a public place or when he was visiting friends or family that believed in verbal abuse or corporal punishment.

  Mike wore a tremulous grimace. He had to lock his jaw to stop his lip from quivering. He tried to swallow his threatening tears, but they were unstoppable. I don't care. I'll go ahead and cry, he thought. With tears streaming down my fucking cheeks and balling like a fucking baby, I'm going stand up to you Doug. You fat slow fuck. You're good at threatening but let's see if you can back it up. I'm going to fucking hurt you. I'm going to rip you apart while I choke on my fucking tears.

  "What are you doing, my friend?" Doug asked with an amused smirk.

  Mike lunged at Doug, sobbing. He rushed blindly. Doug's eyes flashed in surprise as he braced. But, instead of permitting an impact, he stepped aside.

  Mike had shut his eyes. He opened them, surprised and disoriented. Doug stood a distance behind him, grinning, hands on his hips. "Where am I?" Doug teased as if to mimic Mike's voice. "What's happening to me?" It was like he was playing with a helpless child.

  How did he do that? He's so large. Slow. Undoubtedly unfit. How could he move so rapidly?

  But he didn't move, Mike realised. I did. He just turned. How did he know to do that? Mike was alarmed.

  "Well, my friend," Doug said. "What are you waiting for?" He opened his arms as an invitation for Mike to attack him again.

  Mike was wailing.

  Mike swatted at Do
ug in a clumsy attempt to punch him in the face. Before Mike could make another movement, Doug's arms squeezed around his waist from behind. He struggled but at once found himself tripped the ground, his ears ringing from the impact. Doug sat on Mike's chest, his knees resting on the ground on each side of Mike's body. Doug slapped Mike in the face over and over. Mike's cheeks stung with each impact. He imagined they were red and swollen.

  "You want to fight, my friend?" Doug asked, letting out a strained breath with each word, as he continued his assault.

  Mike lifted his hands to cover his face. Doug pressed one of Mike's arms to the side. Leaning over Mike's face, Doug jabbed his elbow into Mike's cheek with one arm and, with the other hand he grabbed Mike's wrist. Then, sliding his hand, around in a technique that was incomprehensible to Mike, Doug compressed and twisted Mike's arm, causing excruciating pain in his elbow.

  "I should break it," Doug said. His chest heaved. He was panting. "And I'm going to, my friend, if you don't tell me what I want to know."

  Mike's face warped in agony. The pain was too much to bear. He had tried to stand up to Doug, but had underestimated him. How could such a big man be so adept? Where did he learn to fight like that? What about the adage that bullies were cowards, who would squirm if he stood up to them?

  Doug increased the pressure and Mike screamed. Releasing him, Doug said, "You damaged my HUD. You let him get away. Why? Why did you do that?"

  "It wasn't me," Mike said. He strained to get the words out. "It was the volunteer."

  "What a load of crap," Doug retorted. "That flash of light in my HUD. That was you. You cheated." He pointed at Mike's face. "You know what I think, my friend? You were trying to hurt me. You wanted to blind me so you could get away. Didn't you?"

  Mike shook his head.

  "Let me help you," Doug said. He grabbed Mike's head and slammed it into the floor.

  Mike's face contorted. His eyes squeezed shut on impact. He saw stars.

  "How did you did do it? What's the secret my friend? What did you do to my HUD?"