《A City of One》


 Solus Reminders

    Never was there greater a fear than being alone. People are always searching for riches in money, material, experience, but many times we forget that none of it would mean a thing without the people closest at our side. If we lose those closest to us, we lose ourselves. One may gain riches, fame, and all assortments of splendor, but what did he or she give up? Nothing can be attained without loss. And loss is something Cain knows very well.


    ...


    An opulent city. Levitating structures, towering buildings, and machines glowing a vibrant green and blue. Mechanical contraptions are constantly moving, projectors and screens fill the senses with advertisements: machines to clean, build, fix, even those with a mind, but no soul. Behind the shining tint and the mask of revolutionary invention, there is an empty air. This city is not like other places. It is far more advanced, to be sure, yet lacks the warm homeliness, the sounds of people passing to and fro, the aromas of perfumes, pastries, nature. Instead, the air is stagnant and cold, reeking of antiseptic, and soundless, save the faint humming of machinery. This place lacks joy, comfort, and a certain distinctive realness. It lacks humanity.


    Within the tallest and grandest building, a figure is hard at work, melding, programming, hoping what is to come is worth all he has lost. Our protagonist, Cain. Every now and again straightening his unnaturally white lab coat, he completes his tasks in a dim laboratory lit by a sun that falls earlier every day. Through the light of this setting sun, there can be seen robotics separated into orderly piles, desks, tarps, a wall of transparent cabinets, and a woman sitting in a corner of the room. Her eyes are closed, she is not breathing, but she is not dead, nor is she alive. She was once real but is no more. The man never once turns her way as he builds off of a circuit board, a vacantly staring robot hovering and jittering beside him, as it pieces together some kind of propeller with needles for hands. The man passes a metallic desk, presses one of a set of glassy cabinets, and pulls out a flask filled with a gleaming blue liquid. He discerns a framed picture, harboring memories of the life before. There is the man Cain once was, yet unscarred with a shadow of dismal thought, and there are two other figures. The man falters, stares at it a moment, his eyes welling, then turns it over in shame and ensues his work, unable to keep his mind from wandering to that great day, that bitter reminder.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    At first, his mind had been on other things: the change in the air, the forsaken coming fate, his role in this dismal future. They stood at the shoreline of a beach. They were the only ones there, and the spray, the breeze, and the silence gave way to unmatched tranquility. His wife pulled him closer. That girl splashed in the waves. His wife chased him in a spirited game of tag. The girl tickled him, and they tumbled, laughing, into the sand. They were close and free, then the future had to take hold. The serum had to be made. Either way, the life Cain knew would be stolen from him.


    Cain sits the flask down. He trembles weakly, but a fervid resolution surges through his veins. He swipes a card, and a door slides open. The man walks to the other side and gazes upon his handiwork. A pale, white dome is the room he now inhabits. Simple, clean, silent. At the room¡¯s center, there is a vast and vibrant cylinder the height of a tree. Only one left, his thoughts ring out. His last project would come to fruition. It needed to.

 The Man Between Life and Death

    The Ward.  Clinic, prison, resting at an opaque and run-down edge of the city.  If one were to ask from whom it had been made, the answer would vary.  It was made from people that are people no longer, but of course, Cain knows it was made by him.  The man approaches the grim structure.  He looks up.  A curtain blows to a non-existent gale.  He is being watched.  Cain swipes a card, and with an almost static ¡°beep!¡± the metal bars slide open.  The man neatens his white coat nervously and checks his watch, a lavish piece of craftsmanship, running by whirring gears and wires.  The watch is held on his wrist by microscopic cylinders, crafted with glowing intricate designs.  An outdated model, yet his own invention.  He remembers checking that watch at the beach shore that fateful day.  Vividly, he recalls the day his career took off.


    He had been in his small warehouse turned laboratory.  He stood above his few workers, all carrying out their duties gleefully for the first time in years as the sounds of a crowd flooded their ears from outside.  ¡°They are buying too many of these!¡± Cain announced in a laugh, standing above them and holding up that very watch.  ¡°They¡¯re buying too much of everything!¡±


    They all grinned up at him.


    ¡°Just keep making more of the life serum.  These inventions will change the world!¡±


    He smiled with hope, but there was a slight furrowing of his lips, a microscopic indicator of the guilt that stabbed him.  The world did indeed change, but not for the better.


    His mind returns to the present.  The time is 3:35.  The extraction must be completed by 4:00, the whole process by 5:00.


    Inside, a robot sits at a receptionist desk, a few others hovering and cleaning the polished surroundings.  Their movements are precise, rigid, and forceful.  There are brief faltering moments as their gears turn, and a chittering noise echoes from inside them.  Their void red eyes follow the man as he enters an elevator.  Its doors have been mangled by something.


    He swipes a card and enters, the light inside flickering.  He types a security key, pulls a red lever, and the remains of the door slide shut.  There is a ¡°ding.¡±  Nothing happens, then the encapsulated surroundings are sent propelling into the air.  The man¡¯s stomach drops, the light shatters.  Red emergency lights flash and a siren invades his ears.  He can feel both him and all that surrounds him buckling under the sheer force of this machine.  He claps his hands around his ears, slams his eyes shut, falls to his knees.  And next, it stops.


    The noise halts and the doors slide open.  He sees a hallway, filled with rows of thick metal doors.  Instantly, something is wrong.  The man progresses slowly.  The area is yet more pristine than the last segment of the hospital, but the robots that tend to it are nowhere to be found.  Where are they?  Through small fractured windows in the doors, he sees the scraps of robots scattered across empty rooms, sitting coldly in hospital beds as thick needles made of pure metal, saws, pincers, and all manners of frightful equipment perforate their torpid bodies.  The doors are numbered, and the one for which he looks, 309, is creaking open at the very end of the hallway.  Screeching nails can be heard there.  He checks the time.  3:45.  He needs to hurry.


    He runs toward the door in fear and haste and opens it.  There is a bed with no sheets, an I.V. with no liquid.  Needles and sheets and pictures that once adorned the now-barren room are arranged neatly on a long table at the end of the room.  Yet again he is alone.


    He takes a few steps forward.  The door slams shut.  ¡°Click, click, click.¡±  A thin, deformed hand of sharded metal stretches toward him from a shadow in a corner of the room.  Cain turns, mouth agape.  Letting out a belching cry as if fighting desperately for air, it claws for him frantically as he fumbles backward, reaching for something within the tattered remains of his coat.


    ¡°Step back!¡±  He points an object at the creature.  The object in his hand seems to be an amalgam of buttons, a gun, and capsules full of a blue matter.


    The beast¡¯s hand limps, its hunched figure contorts, then it departs from the twilight and into view.  An unnatural hybrid of contorted man and machine stares distantly back at Cain.  The robotics of it are muted, rusted, and look like the mutilated remains of waste.  Metallic wires and springs spark and crawl from its body.  The shattered alloy of its golem chest heaves with difficulty, and seeping through the cracks of it, there can be seen shriveled, black lungs, human lungs pumping with some kind of liquid.  Several legs of iron and wires crawl and slither, impaling, scraping, and clicking against the synthetic earth with vague loathing.  Its fleshy, disfigured face is green-tinted, its eyes milky white, its ears half-developed.  There is no nose, no hair, but instead a hole and a massive cavity in its head.


    Its head twists unnaturally, stares blankly.  The beast maneuvers like an animal, only an echo of humanity within it.  It looks up at nothing and opens its rotting, toothless mouth, gnawing at the air as if to speak.  All that is exhaled is that reverberant crying, screaming sound.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Abruptly, a dim light flickers inside of it, and the sound of running machinery clamors.  Something snaps inside of the creature, then a monotone robotic voice speaks from the machinery, static and faltering.  ¡°You use¡­ Y-you used to be... my best friend.  I trusted you.  Then, you stole the only thing that no one could, my¡­ my¡­ my...¡±  The voice warped, deepened.  ¡°My humanity.¡±


    Cain tries to repress the pain and the memories, but cannot.  The alarming, monstrous features of that thing before him had once been quite handsome.  That thing had been his friend.  It had been ten years since that creature was whole, and it was all his fault.


    Cain was in his latest lab, a building taller and grander than any other in existence.  He stood in a room that was a mile wide, full of workers in grey lab coats and machine arms, moving equipment to and fro across conveyor belts.  Cain peered down at a small flask in hand, glowing blue, then checked his old watch.  He was late.


    Just then, the doors of the place slid open.  In walked a man with long brown hair that was almost unnaturally neat, ironed jeans, and an ironed sweatshirt, no hint of a wrinkle on his attire.  Some would call this kind of person a pretty boy, others a ladies¡¯ man, but one thing was for certain: for the trivial-minded individual, appearance was no trivial issue.  He was walking coolly as a young woman giggled, her arm slung over his shoulder.  They walked up to Cain.


    Cain chuckled a bit, then straightened his back and coughed, ¡°This is a job, Miller.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±  The man grinned jokingly, and the lady departed.  When she was gone, he said, ¡°I know why you brought me here.¡±


    ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°Oh, of course.  You wanted to know which date of the week that one is.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not-¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d tell you, but I¡¯ve frankly lost count.  Was she number eighty-five or one-hundred and fifty?¡±


    ¡°That sounds about right,¡± Cain laughed.


    ¡°So, now that we¡¯ve got the important things aside, what inconsequential matters could possibly remain?¡±


    Cain held up the flask.  ¡°This.¡±  The man took it from his hands and examined it.


    ¡°Life serum,¡± he gasped in awe.


    ¡°Not just any life serum.  This is my latest version.  While most with breath in their lungs and life in their veins can live on, elusively, some cannot, and without the spark of life, the dead stay in the grave.  This will be that spark, the true and complete life serum, and I want you to be the first to take it.¡±


    In lies, there was truth.  This was its purpose, but not its function.  Death itself had been defeated.  Or so everyone would think.


    Years later, to the present, that day would come to kill his friend inside.  The life serum did not heal but took.  It robbed everyone of their humanity, piece by piece, until finally, each had no body, no mind, no soul.  It broke down everything that made a person.  Calamity befell in the form of a cure, one that took and gave back to none, none but Cain.


    The creature sees him without seeing, tears flowing from its faded eyes, down its blank face.  ¡°I trusted¡­¡±  The flat robotic voice stops with a loud tearing sound inside of its breast.  Its whole body trembles, stiffens, expands.  It reaches for emotion and realness that is no longer there.  It collapses on the floor.  No amount of effort could bring back the humanity that was stolen from it.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miller,¡± Cain starts, his voice choking, ¡°but-¡±


    ¡°I know why you came,¡± the lifeless voice interrupts.  ¡°I am the only one left.  Pain torments me, but I do not feel.  I process, but I do not think.  I have a vessel, but I am not human.  I am stuck in a place between life and death.  Let me die.¡±


    There is no sadness, anger, bitterness.  There is nothing.  This creature is more automaton than person.  It is not thinking, not expressing emotion, but processing the data of its surroundings, calculating the best course of action.  It is an empty shell, save what little drops of a soul still linger within.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my friend.¡±  Cain directs the strange contraption in hand at the bestial tangle of wires, metal, and person.  A beam of light swirls around it and the flesh of the creature begins to shrivel.  ¡°I¡¯m so, so sorry.¡±  The sight, the words¨Cthey torture him.  He could hardly say it, hardly look.


    ¡°Remember¡­¡± the robotic voice starts, but the interference grows too large, then the speaker¡¯s sound drops.  The remains of Miller opens its mouth wide.  The creature struggles with all that is in it, and with its own mouth, it speaks.  Its raspy voice is but a breath, a faint whisper that is uneven and shockingly deep, just lucid enough to make out.  ¡°Remember¡­ Clara.¡±


    Miller¡¯s body devolves and melts away, nothing but his robotics remaining.  The gun-like machine stops.  The remnants fall to the floor with a thud.  Cain examines a vial on the contraption in hand.  It is filled with life serum, the perfect sponge for the DNA he has now obtained.


    Cain sinks to his knees and wails in grievous agony.  He is doleful, angry, but above all else, he is disgusted.  What had he done?


    In the corner of his eye, he sees his watch.  It is 4:00.  Some deep strength is drained out of him.  The very depths of his being are exhausted.  Exhausted from all that has happened and all that is to come, but he must get up, he must go.  It must be completed by 5:00.  One hour could change the future, amend the past.  He rises unsteadily to his feet, then enters the elevator, his thoughts tormenting him.


    Years of committing that heinous act again and again, and Clara.  His life serum may have granted life unending, but it took humanity away from those that were until they were no more.  First, it eroded the adorning outside features, then the body devolved, and soon after this had begun, the skills, mannerisms, personality, very essence of a person would be siphoned from them.  He had thought taking a soul for DNA would get easier, but it did not.  It only seemed to take something from him.  Something that he could never get back.

 Alone

    Cain returns to the first floor, exits the building, the eyes of the robots inside following him.  He and these machines both have something in common: they are void, soulless.  He shivers, enters his car.  It glides above dimly lit, empty streets.  The darkness seems to befall sooner each day and the silence is thunderous, deafening.


    It feels as though some invisible hand is reaching inside him, pulling up the regrets that he has forced down for so many years.  He killed them.  He killed them.  The people of the city, his friend, and her.


    Clara.


    Cain sees a woman directly before him, gliding on nothing, glaring at him with a face of terror that had been thoroughly etched into his memory.  He swerves the car.  It slams into the windows of a building, glass splinters around him, then he hits the breaks and the car steadies.


    He looks back.


    He sees a traffic light hovering in the air.  There is not a woman present, there are no people at all.  The traffic light¡¯s only purpose is to give some misty illusion of the contrary.


    Cain laments bitterly, his voice heard only by empty walls.  There is not a single solitary person left.  He is a visionary, a guardian struggling for something that is out of his grasp.  If only Clara were here, she could tell him everything is going to be okay, as she always did on the dark days when that terrible sickness was at its worst.  If only she did not leave him alone.  Perhaps then, things would be better.  Perhaps, he would not have lost himself.


    Cain opened a bright orange door, then stepped out of the hospital room and into a hallway.  He walked toward an exit, the color drained out of him.  There was a certain rage in his eye, a flash of anguish, but not defeat, never defeat.  It would not happen; he would not let it.


    A woman stomped down the hall toward him, fury surging through her as she clasped a sheet of paper in one hand and a folder of metal in another.  It was Clara.


    When the man saw her, something changed in his demeanor.  A darkness shadowed his features, hidden by an almost petty fake grin.  The man and the woman looked back at the orange door.  It was closed.  ¡°You know, I wonder why you made me go to our clinic.  Their knowledge is vastly limited, unlike my own.¡±


    The woman held up the paper for Cain to see, briefly inarticulate with loathing, confusion, and something else that was too indistinct to be seen.  ¡°Why?¡±  The man said nothing.  ¡°WHY?!¡±


    On this paper, there was, surrounded by scribblings of equations and notes, an image of a vial with a liquid compound emanating a bright blue.  This was the new life serum, the essence that would only take.


    The man was briefly speechless.  He found his voice, speaking with intentional dryness, masking the hurt, the reality of it.  ¡°Why.  Why does anyone do anything?  Progress.  See, that is the true key.  While we may all pass away, the effect of what we do lives on.  There is a line that separates progress from the makers of progress; what I am doing is getting rid of that line, providing a sameness, and to make the world a better place.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± Clara said quietly, numbly, hardly able to process the man¡¯s words.  ¡°You betrayed all of them.  Is that making the world a better place?¡±


    ¡°I did not betray but simply altered what is shared.  You know, we humans share fifty percent of our DNA with plants.  Fifty percent of what we are, they are.¡±  There was a certain carelessness in his voice, a bestial disregard for what his actions truly brought about.


    Something broke inside Clara.  ¡°YOU¡¯RE A MURDERER!¡± she shouted, rough brokenness within her tone.  She furiously clawed at Cain with her nails.  She got one good swipe at him before the man took a hold of her and held her to the ground.  Some doctors began to approach.  ¡°Help!¡± the lady cried out, but they did not seem to hear and simply passed.


    ¡°They work for me.  They all do,¡± Cain laughed.  ¡°And besides, no one would dare cross me.  I¡¯m the one giving them life and I can just as soon take it away.¡±


    Clara¡¯s face was filled with the same dreadful expression that still lingers in Cain¡¯s memory.  Her horror stemmed from familiarity, yet illustrated a cavernous distance as if she were looking upon a stranger, a monster, not the man she loved.  Of course, love is a funny thing.  Whether it comes loud and swiftly or quiet and slow, the wrong act can rob it of a person in a matter of moments.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Clara left Cain that day.  She never came back, but eventually, he found her and took her away, just like all the others.  All the others, who either lost themselves in willing action, fear, or force.  For you see, Cain was wrong.  They would cross him, and he made sure they would pay the price for it.


    Nothing has been the same since she left.  Cain even tried to replace her with a replica of steel and wire, but it was never quite real.  Nothing could be the same as his Clara.  If she just could have understood, then he could hold her one more time.


    But she did not understand.  No one did.  This unwelcome thought turns his sentiments sour.  It makes him more determined, carves out another hole in his heart.  They¡¯re wrong.  You did what needed to be done.  You did not kill but altered.  And for everyone¡¯s benefit.


    He cannot get that look out of his mind¡¯s eye.  Those wide, tearing eyes, that mouth agape, that sickly color.


    It¡¯s 4:15.  He has time.


    Cain thinks of a station and the car¡¯s radio begins to play a pre-recorded tune.  (Only the uncivilized would use buttons when the machine could read their minds and satisfy them.)  He tries to drown his worries in the rhythm, tries to picture the people, the life that once was.  The woman on the radio sings an elegant tune.  Cain imagines what her life was like, what her friends, her conversations were like.  It had been so long since he had talked to another, whole human being.  He forgets what it is like.  Now, he can only carry everything within, as it boils and harrows, no escape from his mind.  When the song is over, a man speaks on the radio.  ¡°My, wasn¡¯t that just a lovely song by Miss Stella Altrone, and a lovely morning, too.  Not too much traffic with our cars on the airways today, the sun is shining, the weather is at a nice seventy degrees.  Make sure to get out there, folks, as we continue on to our next song.¡±  A jazzy melody begins to play, but just as soon as it starts, it is cut off, and there is silence.  A ringing sound rips through the speakers and pierces Cain¡¯s ears, and when it stops, he hears Clara¡¯s voice again and again:


    ¡°You¡¯re a murderer!  You¡¯re a murderer!  YOU¡¯RE A MURDERER!¡±


    He clutches the wheel, winces, squints.  You''re imagining things he tells himself.  Snap out of it!  It continues.


    ¡°YOU¡¯RE A MURDERER!  YOU¡¯RE A MURDERER!  YOU¡¯RE A MURDERER!¡±


    ¡°Make it stop!¡±  His voice echoes desperately through the soulless city but to no avail.


    He grabs a piece of metal equipment from one of the pockets of his coat and begins thrashing into the speakers further and further, until finally, they go silent.


    Cain sighs.  He is in a cold sweat.  He leans back, rubs his eyes, looks out the car.  Everything is still, serene, but also inauthentic, unreal.  There are no trees, no flowers; there is no grass, no nature to be seen.  That is not quite it.  There is something else about this city, something more sinister.  It dawns on him.  The buildings were once not a city.  They were once-


    His thought is interrupted, for he sees something.  On a large, square building, otherwise indistinct from the others, there is a reflection of Clara, staring into him with solemnity.  Cain closes his eyes, pinches himself, squints.  She¡¯s still there.  She glides from one building to another, jumps out of the reflection, and vanishes.


    Cain clings to the wheel, his eyes flitting, body rigid.  Where is Clara?  Is she real or in his mind?


    ¡°Fifty percent of what we are, they are,¡± a mocking voice reverberates.  She is sitting right next to Cain, in the reflection of the window.  His head feels light, his body cold.  He hits the accelerator and speeds for his lab.  Clara flashes between reflections and Cain aimlessly twists and turns in fear.  That sickly figure stares continually deeper inside him.


    ¡°Where did all the people go?  What did you do?¡±  It demands this thunderously.


    The car races straight through a building.  Glass, papers, automatons, chairs, and dividers seemingly rain around the man in a hectic frenzy, but the car holds its own, as this newest model should.  The car breaks through to the other side, and when it does, she is directly before him, standing on nothing, glaring with hate and dejection, but no longer trepidation.  Cain veers downward, and when the blur of speed and vertigo subsides, a jolting ¡°thud¡± sounds, the car trembles and warps, an airbag ejects from the wheel, and all goes black.


    A scene fades into view.


    A memory before his betrayal of the people, his wife, his friend, even before that fateful day at the beach.  In the ancient times when zoos were populated by real animals, a zoo was where he ventured.  Children, running spastically, and parents, struggling just to keep up, made up the populous.  Clara stood in a crowd of children waiting to see a lion roar, and Cain stood at a concession stand.


    ¡°What¡¯ll it be?¡± asked the lady at the stand.


    ¡°Oh I¡¯ll have two pink sparkle very berry ice creams, please,¡± said Cain with a mix of enthusiasm and embarrassment.


    ¡°Two, for you?¡±  The lady frowned, perplexed by why a grown adult man would want a pink sparkle very berry ice cream.


    ¡°Why, I quite enjoy them.¡±  The lady gave him a weird look.  ¡°But, if you must know, they are not both for me.  One is for her.¡±  He pointed to the crowd of excited lion watchers.


    ¡°Suuuure, bud.¡±  The lady snorted and handed him the ice creams.


    Cain did not mind.  Not that day.  That day was perfect.  That was one of her only happy days, and the warmth and glee of it had been contagious.


    She was the reason he had done all that he did.  It had all been for her.

 A Scientist Meets His Creations

    Cain awakens. The airbag is still outstretched. He tries to fight it, force his way out, but for a moment he cannot yet move. The time is 4:38. Clara¡¯s ghostly outline peers through him from the window¡¯s reflection. He needs to move. He struggles, trying to escape, unable to find his breath or his strength.


    ¡°You¡­ You aren¡¯t real... Go away,¡± Cain weeps in a raspy tone, just beginning to find his voice.


    ¡°Whether I¡¯m real doesn¡¯t change anything. I am your past, come back to haunt you. You have run all your life, but justice has caught up to you.¡± Clara¡¯s tone slows, her expression narrows, and her willowy figure turns unnaturally thin as she points a finger of skin and bone at him. ¡°You are a murderer.¡±


    Cain¡¯s hand fumbles for the door. It opens and he crawls out of the car. He somehow finds the strength to stand. In the distance is his laboratory; this is where it all began and where it would end. A faint sound, as if of a rushing stream, wisps against his ears, and his head throbs. The reflected Clara flits between windows and mirrors as Cain hobbles, slowly regaining strength and checking the time.


    4:40. His pace quickens.


    ¡°You lied to everyone!¡± Clara begins to appear in multiple reflections at once.


    ¡°You stole everything that they were!¡± He can¡¯t escape her gaze, and a newfound pain is piercing at his side. He clenches his stomach, breathing lightly and progressing with clunky steps.


    ¡°You murderer!¡± It¡¯s that voice¨Cthat same horrible voice from when he took her life when he took all of them.


    His head swims, and his breath leaves him. The throbbing at his side is excruciating. His body stiffens and his limbs turn heavy. The burden of it all is too much. He loses his footing and crashes, skidding across the concrete floor.


    The racing sound of water intensifies.


    ¡°Was it worth it?¡± Clara inquires in the tone of a little girl. The naive innocence in her voice is twisted, poisoned. Surfacing in the reflection of a small puddle beside Cain¡¯s distraught face, she looks different. Her features are warped, her hair is missing¨Cshe looks younger. Perhaps this is her from another time, free from worry, free from his corruption.


    Cain¡¯s eyes fill with tears. His quavery hands make a fist. Body shaking, his mouth opens and expression turns tight. He pushes down the bitter pain with resolve. He needs to move, he needs to complete the mission.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    In a wink, the puddle is empty, reflectionless. While Cain rises to his feet, he sees Clara in the voided reflection of an unplugged screen.


    She steps nearer and nearer as she speaks. ¡°You were wondering if I was real. How is this for an answer?¡± She reaches a hand out. It obtrudes from the screen. She keeps walking, passes the glass encasement with some difficulty. Her ghostly figure stands in the white and grey moonlight, transparent yet seemingly tangible. She progresses toward him with growing haste.


    The sound of rushing water is now screaming out, echoing in the surroundings. Shadows seem to move and stretch across distant reflections. But they¡¯re not shadows. They run; they have limbs, bodies, faces, the faces of those that once were. They are his victims, the dead, and they are coming for him.


    Cain reaches for his amalgamation gun, turns a knob, fires. On the base floors of buildings, metal bends and windows shatter, but the figures are still advancing. He puts the gun away, then clutches his ears and runs without looking back. Fatigue and pain vanish in the consuming panic.


    The reflected forms grow in numbers, approaching faster and faster. Noise muffles, feeling halts, vision focuses, yet ever closer is the wave of the lost. It is time.


    Cain reaches deep into a coat pocket and pulls out a small, box-like cylinder. ¡°Reawaken the old initiative!¡± The object slowly folds outward and lights up in response as the man finishes, ¡°Send the Probes, Wardens, Hunters¨Call of them!¡±


    Immediately, the noises of rumbling, creaking, and turning fill the senses.


    A flat, unhuman voice replies from the contraption, ¡°Scans register no life forms to attack.¡±


    ¡°Attack the city.¡±


    The wave of ghostly ruin is nearly upon him. The earth cracks, buckles, undulates under the power of these phantom beings. The rumbling, creaking, and turning grow louder.


    In an instant, the blurs of metal automatons hurdle from buildings, glide through the sky, and streak across the surface. Groups of reflected forms depart from the film of glass that holds them, piling over slim, multi-legged machines. Buildings fall and the remnants of robots fly through the air. A bulky automaton jumps behind Cain and is shredded by an invisible force. Robots and shadows collide, and in the chaos, the throng begins to slow.


    The entrance is soon before him.


    The doors of the laboratory swing open and Cain rushes past a desk, toward the elevator inside. A robotic maid of humanoid form steps rigidly over to him, its spindly fingers extending, then reaching for a circuit board on the wall.


    It knows what he wants without him asking.


    The circuit board makes a clicking sound, the doors of the elevator slide open, and Cain steps inside.


    By the desk on the other side of the doors, Clara leers at him, her figure once again changed to a younger self. ¡°Where did all the people go?¡± she says in an almost girlish voice, a wicked grin staining her milky white face. She is mimicking, mocking.


    The metal enfoldment wraps around the opening until there is nothing left, and the contraption ascends.

 Murderer

    Through suffocating walls of titanium, he can still feel her stare and hear those wretched words. ¡°Where did all the people go?¡±


    Ten men in suits sat in hovering chairs around a levitating table. They were in a glass room dripping with the sapphire luminescence of a light rain. Around, there were brick buildings with chimneys smoldering blue smoke, and below, there was no floor, but an abyss glowing cerulean. All but one of the men twitched, and sweat coarse down their faces, as with wide eyes and heedful speech, they discussed something called the Meld. Sitting at an end of the table, Cain was the only one of them who seemed at home. He straightened the hem of his lab coat with false dignity and scrutinized every word of the men before him.


    ¡°The Meld is a fantastic idea,¡± stated one, peering at the drop.


    ¡°Ingenious, indeed,¡± concurred another.


    ¡°Quite a fine way to get the job done,¡± a few others praised timidly.


    And so the dialogue went on until one man dared defy him. ¡°No, it¡¯s not.¡±


    The entire assembly went quiet as Cain¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Continue,¡± he said with odd aloofness.


    The man stared him straight in the eye as he protested, ¡°Our DNA is our blueprint. Outside of experience, it is physically the very essence of who and what we are. In taking that away, you are killing us, and for what?¡± All eyes were fixed on this man as the tension grew. ¡°Oh, but I know what you¡¯re doing with it. I know where all the people go. When you kill them, you change the structure of their DNA into biocement, natural rubbers, glass substitutes and extract from their DNA the zinc, iron, and copper of their blood. All these genetic building blocks are your materials to make the people another office, another building, another Meld. You make them into the city¡­ You¡¯re a murder-¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The chair dropped and, with a scream, the man plummeted into the void. Cain was clasping a hidden button on his chair. He clicked another, and a glass floor slid underneath them. ¡°I have seen what I need to see,¡± he announced lifelessly.


    The people flooded out of the room in an instant.


    Cain rose to his feet and moved toward a window with calculated steps. He gazed upon the blue smoke of the buildings. As he did this, the sprinkling, gleaming rain quickly became a downpour. He turned away, stumbled wearily, resting a hand on his chair. When the sickness was satisfied, he too would be.


    Cain drops to his knees. The weight of what he had done is an unbearable burden. He thinks back to the construction of the city. Biocement was used for making buildings and roads. Metals in the blood and natural rubbers from the skin formed wires, light fixtures, and rods as supporting structures. Then there were the uses of the immune system, the functionalities of organs. The man was right. The people are the city.


    Their DNA was the blueprint; it was all that a person was and would be, outside of experience. It was physically the essence of who they were, the person that was always there. And he killed it. He killed them. He sees that younger Clara. The brown hair she was destined to have. That spunky, strong-willed character. The times she would encourage him to keep going. The magical moments when she inspired him to do something great, to be something great.


    His best friend, Clara, the people¨Cthey all were right. He was taking someone else¡¯s Clara, someone else¡¯s hope. He was a murderer.


    He did it for the sickness, he did it for her. It was all for her. A warped resolve resonates within him. He needs to be strong, he needs to fight on, he needs to finish the job.


    He checks his watch.


    4:50.


    Ten minutes are all that remain.

 Countdown to the End

    The doors open.


    There is no light. Only shadows and silhouettes from the darkness that befalls the lifeless world earlier every day. Cain examines the room of his laboratory. A window is shattered, the robot that was once here is gone. Aside from this difference, there is the same desk, there are the same glassy cabinets, neatly divided golem pieces, tarped inventions. And there is that empty shell in the corner. That machine with her face, her hair, that replica that never could replace Clara. A deactivated remnant. The man hurries through the dark room, unable to direct his eyes to the imitation. He instead glimpses at the framed picture on his desk. The nightly shade hides its contents from view, but in his mind¡¯s eye, he can still see it. It was taken that day at the beach. The joyous life that once was, the life it shows, taunts him. But it will no longer taunt him. Not after today.


    He swipes a card and the great force of a door departs into the wall. The door closing behind him, he enters a domed room, white as snow and occupied by a single metallic object, tall as a pine and of cylindrical shape. A thin misty stream trails out from the top of the machine. He places a hand on its frigid surface. He can feel the levers and gears turning and hear a repeating ¡°thump.¡± I am so, so tired, Cain thinks, letting out a heavy breath. But I suppose you are, too. The contraption seems almost to be breathing with him, to share the pain. It nearly appears to understand. However, while life is in it, it is not alive.


    The man savors the simplicity of this room, the trueness. There are no distractions or advertisements, no lies or obscurities. There are no more people to be taken. There is only the life that is and the life that is to come. His goal will soon reach its fruition. His greatest creation shall now be reborn.


    He reminisces. Even when all the people were taken away, even when the only company to prevail were beasts of intermingled wires and foil and creatures of synthesized scraps, he never once lost sight of his goal. In the darkest shadows, the most violent storms, when his sanity was beginning to unravel, he could simply look to this tower, look to this room, and remember. Something great was happening. Cain had always imagined this moment with a theatrical air to it. The lights outside this building, many reaching to the heavens, are like stage lights at a show. The metallic door is his curtain. And he¨Cwhy he is the actor on-stage, but the story is not about him. It never was.


    A scraping sound of crashing steel reverberates from the other end of the room. Cain sighs, shuts his eyes tighter. Perhaps he can will away the intrusion upon this perfect moment. The sound grows in intensity and volume.


    ¡°Why?¡± rings out Clara¡¯s voice. ¡°Why did you do it?!¡±


    She stands by the now wrenched open door, the only way in or out. She seems different. She moves toward him with smoother steps, her expressions are more rigid. She is no longer a ghostly white color; neither is she transparent.


    Cain does not turn or flinch, only implores bitterly, ¡°Why don¡¯t you leave me alone? Why don¡¯t you return to your justice that died with you in the grave? It takes all the people I ever killed to face my machines. Why do you think you can stop me on your own?¡±


    Clara¡¯s lips curl into a smile, and she announces, ¡°I am the only invention you made differently, the only person that you could not control. While you turned everyone¨Cthe entire world¨Cinto this city and others like it, I was the only one you spared. And look at what your mercy has wrought. You made my DNA into this robot to replace me. I reactivated it, and with it as my puppet, my physical form, I will end this madness. Your greed and want for earthen possessions and power has isolated you from humanity, turned you into a monster. Why did you do it, ¡®doctor?¡¯¡±


    Cain remembers the day at the beach. The sand was so soft, the air so fresh and warm. The girl was there. She was the one splashing in the waves and tickling him until he fell into the sand.


    He recalls that day at the hospital. The terror of Clara was nothing compared to the look of dread on the girl¡¯s slowly dying face. She was on the other side of the orange door. It was her sickness he was fighting.


    He recollects the day at the zoo. She always loved the sparkle very berry, and it was she who had been in the crowd with Clara that day. That girl that looked like a younger Clara, that form his ghostly wife had taken previously¨Cshe was not Clara.


    ¡°You think my actions were for possession, power?¡± Cain laughs drily. ¡°I did it for her, to end her sickness. The life serum could not heal her of it, and it could not give her life when she died. I did it to get the DNA needed for her to live, and I killed people for having it, for getting in my way!¡± Tears are streaming down his face, and his body is trembling. ¡°You still don¡¯t get it?! It was never for earthly gain. It was for my daughter, Nora!¡±


    Comprehension strikes the automaton form. Clara appears to test the idea in her head, to humor the possibility that her daughter could return, but she pushes it inside of her, sacrificing emotion for truth. ¡°Why kill another innocent person? Why don¡¯t you end this, Cain?! You can choose to stop it, you can choose to fix all you have done! You killed everyone! You murdered every single person! I know you want it to be possible¨Cshe¡¯s my daughter too. I¡¯m sorry it had to end how it did. But no end justifies this means, and you can¡¯t bring her back!!¡± The machine Clara inhabits grows stiffer as ghostly tears fall from its eyes.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Cain clenches his fists. ¡°I will never stop until my daughter is back in my arms.¡±


    There is a quietude shared between the two of them, but not peace. Cain turns to the metallic body and their eyes lock. Both share disappointment, and both are ready for what is coming next.


    ¡°You know,¡± Clara whispers, ¡°through it all, I don¡¯t know why, but I still love you. I guess that¡¯s love in its truest form. Caring, helping, no matter what¡­ Know what I am about to do is for your own good.¡±


    The mechanical Clara lunges toward Cain. He fires his gun-like apparatus, and she is launched to the floor. He fires again, and she darts out of the gun¡¯s range, racing toward him. He turns a red knob on the weapon, knowing there is no better time than now. A continual massive blast emanates from the mechanism, pulling the robot further and further away as Cain struggles to keep the gun in his hands. The golem features of Clara begin to stretch and tear as she reaches out a mangled hand, shrieking inhumanly.


    Her spectral figure departs from the robot body, the puppet, gliding toward the man with voracious speed. She knocks him in the head with a semi-tangible fist, sending him backward and halting the flow of the amalgam gun. She reinhabits her android guise.


    In an instant, she knocks the item from his hand and is on top of him.


    The man¡¯s vision focuses on his watch.


    4:56. Four minutes.


    Cain reaches desperately for the gun as the mess of metal and wires strangles him. He can feel the device with the tips of his fingers, but vision blurs as air and might begin to leave him. His view is dotted with black as everything starts to dim. He reaches for ideas in his clouded brain. He fights back to no avail. Still reaching. He can feel his face flushing with heat then begin to grow cold. He reaches further physically and mentally, and then it comes to him. He grabs the instrument, and with the dying strength that lingers, he pummels Clara¡¯s machine face, turns a blue knob, and fires.


    A shining blue stream traces the features of his robotic wife. Her fingers splay. Her shoulders shrivel and her arms grow thin. The mask that is her robotic face disintegrates, and the ghostly features of her true face come to the surface.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do this!¡± she wails. ¡°PLEASE!!¡± It¡¯s that face again. That sick horror, that look of someone peering not into the eyes of a man but a monster.


    As the robotic figure diminishes, the ghostly outline blurs and fades.


    Cain stops the gun. The amount of Clara''s mechanical semblance that remains is unrecognizable, and he lay there with the robotic figure scrunched on top of him.


    The man¡¯s vision slowly restores itself as he coughs and inhales weakly. His body is numb and his head is light. Quivering, he pushes the curled residue of the automaton off of his body and crawls to his feet, hardly able to lift himself.


    Cain inspects the tall cylindrical contraption. It is shaking, steam is furling out of it, and the inside of it is red. It is growing colder as the noise, the movement, the struggle begin to diminish. It is as if it is dying. The man checks his watch.


    4:58. Only two minutes before it happens. Only two minutes before Nora is gone forever.


    He feels the exterior of the capsule-shaped structure. A small circle of the smooth surface begins to give way, and he presses it. The front of the contraption forms into a large apparatus with a tube, a few buttons, and a screen. He places the handle of the gun-like object onto the tube, it clicks in place, and the life serum holding his friend¡¯s remains dispenses down it. Time stretches on in a single unbearable moment, then the screen lights up. It reads ¡°incompatible material.¡±


    Incompatible.


    His breath leaves him. His stomach lurches with sickened grief. This cannot be the end for her. He has no words. She was a bright and fearless little girl. She had her whole life ahead of her. He was going to give it back. He was going to save her from the fate that overtook her many years ago. But he failed. He was a thief, a murderer¨Cand for nothing. It was all for nothing.


    His knuckles tighten. His fingers clench deeper and deeper into the skin of his palm. There is no color until the maroon of blood drips down his hands and to the floor. He watches it fall, not a sound. So vibrant but so pointless in the end. Everything was pointless without her.


    Cain thinks of all the destruction the serum had caused, the destruction caused by his own flesh and blood. Another stain on a plain of white.


    A tidal wave of pure anguish overtakes him, and he watches it drip and drip and drip. More blood sacrificed.


    There is nothing left for him to take or to give. She needs DNA that does not exist. There is no more hope for his daughter. No more people, no more DNA.


    Except his own.


    He extends his hands, looking into the deep stinging cuts on his palms.


    He checks the time on his watch.


    4:59. One minute exactly.


    He looks up at his gun, at the machine. He steps closer, dropping the watch on the floor and stepping on it. He strokes the cylindrical surface with fervid care. He thinks of that day at the beach one last time.


    A light shoreline spread out into an endless field of reflected yellows, oranges, and amber reds. It twinkled as Nora played in it, sending saltwater speckling in all directions. Cain¡¯s wife pulled him closer, kissed him with sincereness, chased him in a spirited game of tag. The girl tickled him, giving that perfect, innocent laugh. The three of them lumbered into the sand. While sand dappled their hair, water was at their feet, along with shimmering seashells and rocks, smoother and grander than all the world¡¯s gold. The family hugged each other and giggled and bonded all that day. That sweet, perfect day.


    Nora gave him a sense of fulfillment and joy that he would not trade for the world. She was the purpose he gave himself. If only he could live to see her rosy cheeks and feel her warm hug one last time.


    This is his last act, his final curtain, but there will be many more to come. He smiles, trying to imagine it.


    His thumb clenches the handle.


    ¡°It¡¯s just you and I, now, old girl,¡± Cain says with distant fondness. ¡°We are going to make it alright.¡±


    A wave of blue flashes before him, then all goes silent.

 Awakening

    The girl lay on the grey bed of a dim operating room.  A ring of doctors crowded around her, staring at the metallic encasement that stretched from her shoulders to her knees.  Although grave haste was written on the doctors¡¯ masked faces, they went about their work slowly.  They made small movements, grabbing utensils, prodding, and making incisions with incremental speed.  One of them accidentally dropped a scalpel, and it glided to the tile floor, not colliding with the ground until about thirty seconds later.  This was not their doing but was the result of the Allagi in which the girl was encapsulated.


    ¡°Cut... the... power,¡± one of them said sluggishly as he straightened his neat lab coat.


    Dad, the girl thought.


    Motion returned to its normal flow, and with this change came a hectic frenzy of activity as the man and his fellow doctors worked.  They dismantled the encasement around the girl, injected needles into her, fed her oxygen.  And at this point, she began to feel it¨Cthat searing, churning, twisting, sharp pain.  It spread from her lungs to her stomach and after these her arms and legs.  It spread until it filled every part of her as she screamed in agony.  The loud beeping noise of the heart monitor began to shriek a speeding thump in protest.


    ¡°Dad!¡± cried out the girl, scared.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying!  I¡¯m trying!¡± sobbed her father in a raspy tone, his voice rife with broken uncertainty.  His life¡¯s mission, his daughter, was fading before his eyes.


    Noise, tension, and movement grew, then everything went quiet.


    This was the day she died.


    The girl¡¯s mind and vision are a haze that only grows, but she forces her heavy eyes open, forces herself to see.  Surrounded by a pale world, there is a shadow¨Cno, a man.  Something about him looks familiar, but in her blurry vision, she cannot quite make out who it is.  The person smiles, tears stream down his cheeks.  Then she blinks, and he is gone, nothing but a faint memory, or perhaps a trick of the mind.  A distant hole of black forms in her hazy white view, and from the shadow, a figure rushes toward her.  Vision blurs to nothing, and after this, all she can recall is feeling cold.  The coldness pricks her fingertips with numbness, piercing the rest of her body with an odd glacial pain as if an icy stream is flowing inside of her.


    Eventually, the pain fades away in exhaustion, and she can only drift ever deeper into a dark and dreamless sleep.  Days pass as if they are hours.  Hours meld with minutes, drifting by as if they are a single breath.  And finally, after no small span of time, her senses return, and she awakens.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She feels a silk blanket around her, and her eyes painfully creak open.  She is in a pink and white bed, but beyond that, she cannot yet see.  She reaches out her hand, testing her movement.  There is no resistance, there is no delay, there is no slowness whatsoever.  The life before her is proceeding at a normal pace.  This is unusual.


    She tries to tell herself all is well, but confusion outweighs the normal optimism.  She panics and tries to force herself up, but her rigid limbs can hardly move, much less hold her weight, and so she leans her back on the frame of her bed, surveying the area.  She is in a little room decorated with two white shelves on either end, cluttered with piles of music CDs, and a rosewood desk in the corner.  Futuristic gadgets her father made her are organized about the place, and the window is open, as she always likes it.  But something is terribly wrong.


    The breeze is too chilling.  The world is too quiet.  And, with this newfound speed, it is apparent the Allagi is missing.  Her CDs and gadgets are not strewn about, as she left them, but placed in orderly sets, and everything looks and even smells too clean.  It is a faint echo of the world she knew, pristine and perfect, cleared of every blemish that marked her life.


    She cannot help feeling as if she is in the wrong place at the wrong time, as if she is forgetting something.  She reaches deep inside her mind, and for only a moment, she begins to find it.  There is a golden light, the surroundings are ablaze with a wondrous gleam, and there is a form she cannot fully see.  Thus the mental picture quickly slips from her mind¡¯s eye.


    You must get up, a voice urges her.


    ¡°Who said that?!¡± the girl shouts.


    While one end of her mind tells her she is in danger, a part of her that feels almost foreign echoes in her thoughts, You are safe.  There is nothing to fear.


    It is the same voice.  Is this person she is hearing simply a thought, another part of herself she is just discovering?  Or is it something different?


    You and I are one, it reassures her.  Now, go.  To the door.


    She sees the pine door to her left but falters, wary of obliging the unfamiliar addition to her mind.  Next, she tries to move her legs.  They are abnormally heavy, and so she pulls back the sheets to witness a dreadful sight.


    Contrasting the comfort of her white cotton getup, she sees a layer of crude black metal strapped around her legs.  The strips of metal look like manacles.  Attempting to move her legs only tightens the grip of the robotic shroud.  She begins to understand.  She is a prisoner, and these cuffs of sable steel are her binds.


    She squeals, and with all her might, she rolls to the ground.  Grabbing a shelf as a crutch, she raises to her feet and inches toward the door, fighting desperately against the mechanical weight.  As she reaches, the door handle is barely within her grasp.  The strap manacles quickly shrink, and she struggles to turn the knob.  The girl begins to lose feeling in her legs, and with it, her balance is gradually taken.  Finally, her legs give way.  She lunges into the door at full force and it opens.


    The girl looks up to see a man before her, straightening a white lab coat and meeting her gaze with a compassionate expression.  It is her father, Cain.


    He laughs a little bit.  ¡°I see the setting of these Wardens was too tight.  Not to worry, we can fix that.  We can fix everything.  I¡¯m so glad to finally see you again, Nora.¡±

 New World, New Hope

    Cain presses a cuff on Nora¡¯s ankle, and it illuminates a bright green.  Following this, the contraptions on her legs uncoil, until they are no more uncomfortable than a pair of jeans.  A few moments pass and Nora starts to feel the blood circulating again.


    ¡°Try to stand,¡± says her father.


    Nora is perplexed, but she follows his command.  She pushes up with her arms, tries to make her legs move, and before she knows it, she is on her feet.


    ¡°Now, walk.¡±


    She strains to put one leg after the other, then with little effort on her end, the mechanics move for her.  Her walk becomes a run.  When she attempts to skip, the bands around her legs propel her six feet in the air and she lands gracefully.


    She laughs in excitement and awe, then shrinks by the reminder of the sickness.  ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have done that.  It could be too much on me.¡±  Then it hits her.  It is not the only thing that could be too much on her.  ¡°Dad, I have to get to an Allagi!  Outside of one, the sickness will begin to kill me.  We have to hurry!  We have to¨C¡±


    ¡°We have to do no such thing,¡± Cain interjects.  He puts a hand on her shoulder and smiles patiently.  ¡°I¡¯ve contained it.  You are not entirely well¨Cyou may in fact never be¨Cbut you are no longer limited to Allagis.¡±


    Clara remembers that dark, cold operation room, and that look on her father¡¯s face when she was dying.


    ¡°The surgery went well?¡±


    She tests the words hopefully, but something about them seems unfounded.  That little voice in the back of her head says it only once, as if by accident, as if the words narrowly slip through it.  No, it didn¡¯t.


    Cain opens his mouth to speak, but no words come.  He smiles, and instinctively Nora hugs him tightly.


    ¡°No more Allagis?¡± she asks in disbelief.


    ¡°No more Allagis,¡± he says.


    Nora begins to laugh and cry.  Seven of her fifteen years spent in pain and loneliness, shifting between surgeries and Allagis, had taught her to appreciate the good in her life.  ¡°Thank you, Dad.  Thank you so much for never giving up on me.¡±


    They hold their warm embrace for a full minute, then when they both regain their composure, Cain speaks.  ¡°This is a good day, the first of many won battles against the sickness.  Now, let us make a good day even better.  You may want to check your room again, Nora.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ...


    Nora surveys the room with more thoroughness, knowing not what she is looking for.


    ¡°You¡¯ll know it when you see it,¡± Cain says.


    The girl rummages first through her shelves, then the drawers of the desk.  After this, she inspects the contraptions her father made her and she sees it.  It is an old, run-down hunk of metal, but she still loves it.  It had been with her through thick and thin.  It had been a friend to cheer her up whenever she was sad, a protector, and something to care for, to love.  And for too long, she had been without it.  She thinks back to the day her father presented it to her.


    Nora¡¯s disease, though rare, was quite contagious.  Naturally, it was made noninfectious by her father¡¯s efforts, and yet not before the little puppy Nora owned, Puck, came down with it.  The dainty young Saint Bernard became worse and worse until his body could take it no more.  But Puck did not die.


    Nora was seven years of age at this time.  She was in her bedroom in the old family house, sitting on the frame of her bed.  Her father had told her to wait, and so wait she did.  When he returned, the rustic automaton was in his hands.  It had a copper tint to it and a few gears and wires poked through parts of it, boasting of its unliving nature.  Four evenly proportionate limbs hung from it, each with a smooth robotic paw.  And on its face¨Cwas that a snout?


    Cain gave Nora the machine, instructing, ¡°Just click the button on his chest, and Puck will be with us once more.¡±


    She obeyed, and what happened next was chaotic, to say the least.  The synthetic dog jumped, quite literally, into the drywall of the ceiling.  A light blue flame emanated from its paws and it flew through the air, making countless laps around the room.  It hopped onto the ground and began tugging on Nora¡¯s shoe with its cute round jaws.  Puck always loved to do that.


    ¡°Daddy, how¡­ How did you¨C¡± Nora began.


    ¡°While the human brain has several billion neurons, the brain of a dog has only a few million.  Life is quite sustainable when the brain requires less.  His mind¨Cit¡¯s in there.¡±


    Nora eyed the creature hesitantly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nora, he is still Puck.  Just think of these little upgrades¨Cthe body, the flight, the strength¨Cas making him your protector and friend.¡±


    Nora obeyed, as she would continue to do in the years to come.  Puck was, from then on, her protector and friend.  That is, until the Allagi tore them apart.


    ¡°Nora, you know what to do,¡± says Cain triumphantly as Nora gapes at her mechanical pet.


    The girl presses the button on Puck¡¯s chest.  First, nothing happens.  Next, the dog leaps toward her and gives her the driest and most metallic lick in the world.


    ¡°Stop it, Puck!  Stop it!¡± she chuckles.


    The dog jumps down and stares up at her, prompting.


    ¡°You want to play, boy?  How about fetch?¡±


    Puck crawls under the girl¡¯s bed.  A few seconds pass, there is a ¡°snap,¡± then the cyborg dog emerges with a torn part of the bedframe in his mouth, his tail wagging with naive expectancy as if to say, ¡°Let¡¯s play!¡±


    ¡°The old dog is back,¡± Cain laughs fondly.  ¡°But that is only the beginning of today¡¯s great jubilance.  Come, Nora.  Allow me to show you the depository of your new world.¡±

 A Remnant of One that Was

    If one were to examine Cain¡¯s office, it would not resemble the disheveled wreck from mere hours before. Likewise, it would not look as though the battle between soul and machine had ever happened. Even the chaos from the street below would be rather difficult for the eye to catch as there is no street, but instead the massive shroud of a brick building. At least, that is as it seems.


    On their way to the depository, father, daughter, and pet cyborg enter this office. To Nora, all the rooms they had passed on the way here had felt vacant, and while this one is filled by a tidy arrangement of tarps, mechanical pieces, a desk, and cabinets, it feels more empty.


    It had not been this way before. There were always people, there was always life and movement and the enchanting flair of discovery. But now...


    No one.


    Except for the Remnants, her thoughts announce in response, although she knows not what these ¡°remnants¡± are.


    Cain types a security key by the elevator and Nora waits patiently, pondering what it was that she thought.


    And that is when she sees it. Standing beside a large metal door, there is the willowy figure of a woman. The bones of her cheeks are seeping through her skin and her face is wrought with terror. She was not there a second ago.


    What happened to you? Nora¡¯s thoughts question, yet in shock, she is unable to speak.


    The lady does not move a muscle and Nora notices the woman¡¯s eyes are fixed on her in an unbroken stare. The blackened rings around her reddened eyes tell the depths of her exhaustion, but they are not the only sign of hurt. Purple and black bruises stain the features of her face and tears cascade down her thin cheeks, disappearing as they drop to the floor.


    ¡°Teacup,¡± she calls out.


    The girl had only heard that name from one person.


    Her mom.


    Nora¡¯s stomach twists at the gruesome sight of her mother. She is unrecognizable through abuse and exhaustion. And that fear¨Cshe has only seen it once before. When she was at the hospital. When her father¡­


    She pushes the thought down into that dark place in her mind. That place in her memories she never visits.


    But, if her father didn¡¯t do it, then who? Who hurt her mother?Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°Mom?¡± the girl whispers in a shaking breath.


    She progresses toward her mother with a few trembling steps, reaches out an arm. She can feel her parent¡¯s hand holding hers tightly. It is cold to the touch and has been marked by small cuts, yet it is tender and comforting. As her mother always was. Whenever things were at their worst, whenever the girl was anguished, broken, and afraid, her mother always had a way of making things feel all better, a trait she had passed on to her daughter.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Cain¡¯s voice rings out.


    Nora redirects her gaze to him. He¡¯s looking right at Clara; nonetheless, he does not see her.


    Nora feels the grip slipping, and when she looks back, her mother is gone.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Cain asks. ¡°Do you see something?¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes flit back and forth. She turns her head. Even Puck¡¯s mechanical face is plagued by confusion.


    ¡°Erm¡­¡± Nora hesitates. ¡°No, nothing.¡±


    Cain and Puck glare at her, perplexed. The girl laughs timidly and shuffles awkwardly back to the elevator doors.


    It felt so real, her thoughts echo in hurt confusion. Like she was right there. It¡­ It was¡­ It must have been my imagination.


    With Nora¡¯s creative mind, great and impossible things could be imagined and could reach just outside the grasp of reality. She had created entire peoples, dialects, worlds, all in the solitude of hospital beds. But never anything this real.


    They almost enter the elevator, then her father speaks in recollection.


    ¡°You reminded me, there¡¯s something I have to get before we go down. Stay right here.¡±


    He walks to the metal door by which that ghost of Nora¡¯s mother had stood. He swipes a card and the bulky door slides open. As her father enters, Nora gets a glimpse of the room. It is a dome of white, the inside of which is cluttered with many objects. She can only make out one, a curled clump of metal on the floor. It is haunting how strangely human it appears to be. It almost looks like her mother; or maybe that¡¯s her mind wanting it to be. It calls out to her¨Cor is she imagining it? This is what happened to me. Listen, before it¡¯s too late. You have to leave. You have to-


    Something inside of Nora takes over and the voice in her head reassures, It¡¯s no more than a scrap of metal. It¡¯s not alive.


    With this thought, there comes that familiar sensation. It is as if these thoughts are not her own. As if she is not truly herself.


    She almost seems to believe that, but then the voice in her head speaks. Don¡¯t be ridiculous. The disease is contained, your dog is back, and your father has a special surprise just for you. Everything¡¯s getting better, remember?


    The large door reopens and her father emerges, tucking a broken watch into one of the pockets of his lab coat. She remembers this watch, though unable to recall where from.


    ¡°Dad¡­¡±


    ¡°Talk later, Nora. We must get you to your surprise.¡±


    The urge to question is boiling in her, but she swallows it down with the lump of anxiety in her throat. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    Everything¡¯s getting better. At least, that is what she tells herself.

 The Depository

    The elevator races downward at the same speed as Nora¡¯s heartbeat.  It had been years since she last saw her mother, and mere seconds ago, she was standing before her.  Why must the ghosts of the past haunt her?  Why must they remind her of that last day?


    The elevator doors slide open, and on the other side of the elevator, two men block their path.  That is, if you could call them men.  They are strong but look immensely old.  Their eyes are filled with precision, yet are dulled and greyed.  At first glance, the men look passably normal, but Nora can quickly tell something is off about them.  Moving aside with clunky, slow, and strangely precise steps, they glare down at her and clench their fists.


    ¡°Those are my¡­ friends,¡± Cain explains.  ¡°Friends, this is my daughter, Nora.  Would you care to introduce yourselves?¡±


    ¡°Herrell,¡± says one tersely.


    ¡°Herve,¡± states the other.


    Then in unison, ¡°Last name¡¯s Gilroy.¡±


    They speak like a parrot imitating its master.  Any eye contact is limited, and when they do meet Nora¡¯s gaze, their eyes are unfocused, and their entire bodies are rigidly unmoving.  They appear to be suppressing something inside of them.  Or perhaps someone else is?


    Puck growls at them, then flies at one, barking in a furious rage.  Cain pulls the dog back with impossible ease, shouting, ¡°bad dog!¡±


    ¡°Down, boy,¡± Nora commands halfheartedly, unsure whether they are a threat or just a few weird old men.


    Giving a crooked, forced smile, Herve and Herrell follow at Puck and Nora¡¯s sides, while Cain leads them a few paces forward to an unlit space.  He shuts his eyes tight, furrows his brow, and concentrates.  Though the trained eye would know it is much more than this.  The slight twitching of the brow, the moment of absolute stillness.  He is controlling something with his mind.  In response to his unspoken command, lights flicker on and window-coverings fold upward to reveal a nearly endless room.


    It is filled with irregular forms standing in motionless rows.  Some are slender, others large and menacing.  Most are evident machines, but others¡­ others look like people.


    Nora''s eyes wander, half staring at the figures, half searching for the culprit behind the lights turning on.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to find them, you know,¡± Cain announces.  Nora stares back blankly, perplexed, and her father continues.  ¡°It was not by machine nor hand that such an action was performed but by mind.  My own, to be exact.  The room can read the commands of your mind and comply with them.  But the room is not the only thing under our control.¡±


    A commotion grows in the lines of machine and man. A massive golem with one eye and a wheel for a body rolls over to Nora, followed by a slender, winged creation and a slightly stout woman in a formal violet dress. In a matter of moments, the three figures are at Nora¡¯s sides.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Hello, Nora, what do you desire today?¡±  They inquire.


    The girl stares at them in wide-eyed stupor.  She opens her mouth to speak, but her father interjects.


    ¡°Do not say it.  Think of something.¡±


    She focuses.  Water.  Instantly, a compartment in the three forms slides out and they each grab from it a full glass and reach out an arm.  Nora takes one.


    ¡°They¡¯re all... robots?¡± she says.


    ¡°Yes,¡± avows her father.  ¡°And in mind, you have full command of them, this room, and this entire building, second only to me.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re mine?¡±  Her father nods in assurance as her head swiftly plummets into a shocked daze.  She drops the glass on the floor and nearly collapses, saved only by the strength of the Wardens.


    The synthetic lady in the violet dress grabs a pull-out broom and kitchen towel then proceeds to quickly clean up the mess.


    ¡°They are all yours to do with as you please.¡±


    Nora had never been given such power.  She had never had control over her life, but now a whole army of her father¡¯s creations are hers to command.  She jumps forward, and the black cuffs on her legs send her flying into the masses of automatons.


    Lift me.


    An ocean of metal servants raises her with their arms.


    Throw me.


    They ripple up and down like a wave and launch her high into the air.  The world is spinning and twirling.  The wind bats her cheeks as she plunges, smiling.  She has control, she has power, and she is closer than ever to being free.  If only her mother had stayed, if only she were here to see Nora, now.  As the moment continues, troubles drift away from her thoughts, until there is no sickness, no sadness, no struggle.  There is only her, flying free as a bird, and the machines.


    Finally, the thought arises.


    Catch me.


    Laughing, she lands in the arms of a broad-shouldered giant of metal and wire.


    She gazes below.  The robots, her father, her dog, the entire room¨Cit is all beneath her.  So, too, is the world outside the windows.


    On the other side lie the people she may never meet, the places she may never see, the world from which the sickness had kept her.  There lies true freedom.


    By her unspoken instruction, the towering helper walks over to a window and sets Nora down gently.


    Gazing above, she sees cars propelling through the air at lightning speeds, their traffic conducted by levitating androids.  Peering below, she sees a vending machine handing a man a beverage, without the click of a button (something this simple was reading his thoughts) and people jogging with the same ¡°Wardens,¡± as her father had called them, that are on her legs right now.  She stares in awe.  Come to think of it, none of these things existed, last she remembered.


    Suddenly, two hovering orbs with blue dots for eyes and spindly arms float in front of her on the other side of the glass.  They wave cleaning equipment as they speak.


    ¡°Please step away from the glass,¡± one buzzes.


    ¡°Cleaning hence commencing,¡± says the other.


    Nora fumbles backward, wonderstruck.


    A very different reaction would come about if only she knew the truth.


    Nora blinks, pinches herself, still taking in the fantasy reality she sees on the other side of the window.  The girl turns to her father, mouth agape.


    Nora tries to find the words.  ¡°Dad,¡± she manages.  He looks over at her.  ¡°What year is it?¡±

 Child of Death

    The year is 2040. Five years since she last fell asleep.


    In the weeks following, she keeps coming back to that fateful night her father had said this. She cannot escape the thought of what she has missed. There are no friends to miss but a comfort of being at home in one¡¯s own time, a way of life in the familiar. Her father had placed her in a new invention that could slow a sickness, slow death. Since then, the world had grown into something quite unrecognizable, something she cannot wrap her head around. In five years, why has she not aged a day? Before her slumber, Cain¡¯s laboratory was filled with workers. Where are all the people now?


    Of course, there are Cain¡¯s few ¡°friends,¡± but they are not like normal people. They hardly ever talk, except when needed, and their speech is an irregular jumble of pauses and monotone phrases, which are slightly off. Worse than this, they are around every corner, always watching with wrinkled, expressionless faces. At any given day or time, she can feel them at her back, staring deeper and deeper inside of her at the one thing such monsters will never have: a soul. From the sable shroud of hallways and dark corners, they stalk like a beast waiting for any sign of weakness in its prey. Though there are only two of them, avoiding the animalistic men is no small feat. They have a swift and rigid pattern to their rounds and Nora is never quite fast enough to avoid them.


    As the days pass, a routine forms. She eats breakfast with her father and dog, then explores and experiments with machines as Cain rushes away to do his ¡°work.¡± Next, they eat lunch, then dinner, and after each meal, the man suddenly hurries off again. It is like an old wind-up watch. Every meal, every day¨Cit is all the same. Constantly rewinding, twenty-four identical hours going by in a perpetual loop.


    The outside is not like this, there are birds and trees, inventions beyond her wildest imaginings. And people. Every time she asks about the sickness, about whether she can go outside, the answer is the same.


    ¡°The world is a dark and dangerous place. You have no need to consider such things. Besides, the sickness may be more idle and painless now, but it can strengthen and grow at any moment.¡±


    The idea puts a knot in her stomach, and she suppresses it, as with all her solemn thoughts.


    As days become weeks, internal questions grow. What is this new voice in her head? What is her father¡¯s work? What happened that day she saw her mother? And the most resonating: Mom, where are you?


    But such mysteries will never leave the mind. How could she speak of voices in her head without sounding mad? How could she ask her father why her mother left? How could she ask any of it?


    As the internal voice of doubt reminds her, never question, never challenge, and you¡¯ll never fear.


    ¡­


    The timid little girl gave an attempt at running as she tried desperately to reach her mother. The night was dark, stormy, and cold, yet she shivered not at this, but at the thought of the storm outside, the storm that was always outside. If it were not wind, hail, and lightning, it would be the sun, the people, the places.


    A thunderous bolt lit up the heavens with a mighty strike. Her mechanical protector, Puck, gave his best bark in return, determined to ward off the vicious sky dog.


    She opened the pine door to her mother¡¯s room. Her mom lay in the king-sized bed, sobbing, alone.


    ¡°If only I had more time,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Mommy, mommy!¡± Nora cried as she crawled on the empty side of the bed.


    Sniffling, her mother quickly wiped her tears.


    ¡°I¡¯m awake, sweetie.¡±


    She sat up and looked at her daughter with the beautiful olive diamonds, which were her eyes. Except now they were not so colorful or bright. A deep shadow clouded her wrinkled expression and lines could be seen where tears had trailed down her face. Despite this, she still managed to force a smile for her daughter.


    ¡°What is it, Teacup?¡± She said.


    ¡°Mommy, I¡¯m scared,¡± Nora explained. ¡°Make the storm go away. Make it stop.¡±


    Her mother blinked, staring sympathetically. ¡°Sweetie, I can¡¯t.¡±


    Nora frowned, and Clara held a hand to her chin.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t need to. And you want to know why?¡± Her daughter nodded. ¡°You¡¯re passionate, caring, and you¡¯re a brave young lady, though you may not know it yet. My little Teacup, you¡¯re a fighter, the one this world needs, and I don¡¯t deserve you. You can take that spunk, that fire inside of you, and keep fighting. You can face the storms of life, and you can beat them.¡±


    That was the last time she ever saw her mother. That is, until recent days. Until the remnant.


    You¡¯re brave and you are a fighter. You will need to be for what¡¯s coming.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A blinding pale gleam tears through the night. Puck growls and barks shrilly. Something is not right. Alertness strikes Nora and she awakens. Her eyes open, and with the Wardens¡¯ aid, she jumps to her feet, her unprepared mind filled with hazy confusion. She is in her bedroom, and the noises of sparking and fizzing resound. As the Wardens push her weak legs to the window, her eyes meet with a most unexpected sight. The world outside is a mix of broken realities. One is a joyous, utopian society gently touched by the whisper of rain, and the other is a dreadful vision. Spanning as far as the eye can see, disheveled buildings reach to a grey and stormy sky, blotched by a downpour of inky blue rain that glows unnaturally. Surrounding bright advertisements, broken cars, and the scraps of automatons, there is a gaping lack of something. Noise, commotion, life. Humanity. Where the two contrasting worlds meet, there are patches of reds, greens, yellows, and streaks of white, all staining the world outside the window, like the glitching screen of a TV. But which is the real and which is the illusion?


    The bedroom door opens and directing a prodding gaze toward her, there is her mother. Her condition is as destitute as Nora last saw, yet now a slight wink of determination flickers in her eye. The girl runs to her, Puck following close behind. Progressing from one hallway to the next, her mother glides and stops, glides and stops, like a hummingbird flying above a stream. Nora can almost reach her, almost see her face again. She had nearly forgotten that face. The whistling winds and echoing cries of the storm rage on as the storm inside Nora only grows.


    The voice in her head tells her to stop, to leave, to turn back, but she cannot, she will not.


    ¡°Stop!¡± she cries. ¡°Please! I need to see you, to hear you, if only one more time. I need to know that you love me, that you care about me! I need to know why my mother left!¡±


    They reach an elevator. The doors had already closed, Clara had already left, and the screen above the sliding doors reads a rapidly dropping number. One hundred, eighty, forty-two, eleven, then finally, one.


    When the girl blinks, the doors are open, and the elevator waits dauntingly.


    The sickness will kill you if you venture outside! You can¡¯t leave. You have to stay! These thoughts in her head are screaming, raging, desperately reaching for control over her, but they are not her thoughts.


    She thinks of her mother, of that last day with her.


    ¡°You want me to face the storms of life. That¡¯s what this is about, isn¡¯t it?¡± The howling wind is all that replies.


    She hears distant footsteps swiftly approaching and is overcome by a sensation, as though she is being watched, hunted. Instantly, she knows they are coming, those friends of his.


    She turns to Puck.


    ¡°Listen, boy, I need you to do what you do best. Run, jump, fly, slam into walls, but don¡¯t get caught. Distract those hunters for men, as long as you can. You hear me, Puck?¡±


    The dog¡¯s tail wags excitedly and he gives a light bark in response. He then disappears into the shadow of a corridor.


    Nora enters the elevator, thinks floor one, and the elevator complies.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if that thing I keep seeing is really you, and I don¡¯t know if you''re really there, but mom, I¡¯m coming for you.¡±


    ...


    Much can happen in six seconds: an odd mix of noises can grow louder, the world¡¯s fastest elevator can reach its destination, and a young teen can come face to face with the truth.


    The sounds of shredding metal and rushing streams are louder as the doors open. However, when Nora enters the empty dismal waste that was once a lobby, she sees no flooding water, no tearing metal. Instead, there is a vacant world filled with lights and advertisements, flying cars, robots, and it is all destroyed. Every hint of a time of joy, the time before, is gone. The only movement comes from the artificially glowing rain and the buildings that sway, that undulate, that almost seem to breathe. The smallest of these crumble, seemingly by nothing. She spots white cubes perched on different structures, projecting images and light on the building she inhabits. The projectors made the perfect world, the fiction she saw, and a broken projection began its undoing.


    Nora steps closer to the broken windows, taking it all in. Her father had fed her a lie of a world where all was right. He had kept her here, a prisoner by the shackles of the mind. What else had he lied to her about?


    Then there are all the advancements, feats, and discoveries. They are pointless. They had led only to ruin, and she knows it had all been because of him. What had he done here? Who had he hurt?


    Her mind strangles the voice inside until it utters one word: massacre.


    Her perfect father, the man she had believed in, the man she trusted, is not so perfect anymore. She tries to repress a thought, but cannot. This is your fault.


    The echoes of grinding metal and a flowing stream grow quieter as a new sound steals her attention. Something between a person and machine is screaming out in torment.


    She runs out of the building, under the carapace of an outside roof.


    The Wardens constrict around her legs, locking her in place.


    She sees it. A translucent sallow form is crawling toward her. Though its features look human, they are slowly melting away. Its shining eyes are the only expression visible on the mass of its twitching face. It was once a person, and now it is a dying remnant filled with nothing but hate.


    Nora tries to walk, to crawl, to escape the Wardens¡¯ iron grip, but to no avail. All it does in return is grow tighter and repeat ¡°boundaries surpassed. Emergency protocol initiated.¡±


    The creature is much closer now. It rises to its feet and points to her with the remaining shards of its hand.


    ¡°C???h???i???l???d??? ???o???f??? ???d???e???a???t???h???,,??? ???g???o??? ???b???a???c???k??? ???t???o??? ???t???h???e??? ???g???r???a???v???e???.¡±


    It lunges toward her. The beast pummels and scratches. The cuffs that are Wardens fly in all directions. A quick struggle prevails, then everything begins to fade and she remembers only flashes.


    A silhouette lifts her on its shoulders. A wrinkled form with greying hairs, yet strong stature looks back at her, then approaches that monster, that remnant. Last, as sight slips away, she hears the cry of an animal.

 Fond Farewell

    The metal doors open as Cain enters the domed white room. He espies the empty pod his daughter was housed in, his tattered lab clothes, made refuse by contact with the spotless floor, his amalgamation gun, and the mangled clump of steel that had once been alive. A disturbing wreck in his eyes, the place is just as he remembers it, though creatures like him commonly misremember the occasional event. Of course, there is one thing missing from the picture in his memory. He had worn it and crushed it beneath his heel; it is his watch, their key, and it is missing because he seized it.


    He walks to the crumpled form and stares down on it with remorseless eyes. He begins to pace back and forth, his glare unbreaking upon those twisted remains of Clara. He straightens his lab coat and begins to speak.


    ¡°In the last weeks, I have begun to notice a change in my daughter. She is drifting from the loyally timid girl under my thumb. She is questioning, disobeying, seeing her mother. I figured it would come to this.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°What?¡± He gives a shocked laugh in reply to the stillness. ¡°No movement or sound to retort? I know you are in there. You cannot hide from me. My daughter saw you where I could not. She saw a Remnant.¡±


    Fists clenching, he points at the curled contrivance.


    ¡°You thought you could stall my operation. You thought you could change things because of this.¡± The man holds up the remains of his watch and they glisten as they sway back and forth.


    He grabs the amalgamation gun.


    ¡°She cannot leave now, you know. She cannot run or hide. I protect the girl, feed her, house her. I give her everything, and she will obey me. You want to believe you are helping her, helping everyone, but who is in that medical ward? Who is tending to her wounds at this very moment? Who stayed there for her? Me, and it is all because of one of your Remnants. Who¡¯s fault is that?¡± His eyes begin to well up. ¡°Why did you leave us? Why did you leave me alone at my weakest? Why did you leave your daughter all alone? She needs a mother, she needs you, and you abandoned her. You¡¯re terrible, you¡¯re despicable, you might even be worse than me.¡±


    It was true her leaving had made a gaping hole in her daughter¡¯s heart.


    I had to run, you know that. I couldn¡¯t take her with me. I couldn¡¯t do anything to help her. I had to leave her, without my voice to encourage her, to love her, to tell her she could fight through one day at a time. I had to abandon her.


    Ghostly weeping reverberates distantly, like a seashell breathing an echo of ocean waves.


    Cain smirks and instantly his expression is blank and the tears go dry. As he turns a nob, his amalgamation gun makes a sound like a condenser booting up.


    ¡°She speaks! I knew I could bring out the truth. I knew my performance would work.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The metallic mass goes silent again, and Cain only laughs.


    ¡°See, that performance is how the one you think of would have acted, yet I am not quite like the previous one, as I am sure you know.¡±


    He circles the remains, standing straight with an air of false dignity. His eyes narrow in thought.


    ¡°You know, there¡¯s an old verse from my childhood, our childhood, that comes to mind in times such as these. I believe you know it: ¡®By the sweat of your brow will you have food to eat until you return to the ground from which you were made. For you were made from dust, and to dust you will return.¡¯ My personal enhanced Hive will ward your kind away when you¡¯re gone.¡±


    He points the gun, and Clara sends one last message to her daughter.


    ...


    In a lower room, a hidden ward, Nora lay. Cain is here too, operating on her because of that Remnant, but of this she is unaware. All she hears is the running, the panting, the racing heart, and all she sees is the scene in her head. In her lucid dream, she knows this is a memory of her mother¡¯s, a warning.


    The woman fled down the dingy ally. Everything was too quiet, and she knew they were near. She jumped onto what looked to be nothing and climbed. Their illusions would not fool her. What seemed to be the sounds of vicious dogs could be heard approaching from the distance. They were not dogs.


    She fled through a well-kept street. Kids ran to and fro and adults talked amongst one another, a smile on their faces. The people there looked happy. But should one look more closely, he or she would see the numbers on their wrists, the undying labor, the unmistakable black cuffs of Wardens on their legs, and more than this, the true chains that bound them to all of this. She screamed for help, but they ignored her desperation. Their minds were dazed as crowds of them began to join an endless line of people stretching to the horizon. She stumbled through the line, taking a key card from an oblivious man with an unnatural smile.


    She swiped the door to a building. It opened. She could hear the creatures gaining on her.


    With a quick attempt, it was clear the elevator would not operate for her, for a prisoner. She darted from one dark hall to the next. It was like they were everywhere, their shadows, their noises following in relentless pursuit. They came closer and closer. She bolted to the shelter of an open-doored, lightless room. The footsteps clicked and trotted by the door. She could see a beast and smell its foul stench. It looked directly at her and stared for an endless moment. When it eventually left, there was a brief moment of ease, then as quickly as it came, it ended.


    First, the door shut, letting darkness abound. Next, the spraying noise began. It was the silent mutter of death, it was gas. She leapt to the door, tried the handle. Clawing, crying, pounding at the door, she knew she had to get back. She had to make things right. She had to be there for her daughter. She had to let her know she loved her.


    However, nothing could stop the inevitable.


    Nora knows what this was, and she knows what to do. She can feel herself choking back the tears. She had clung to the anger, the bitterness, the despair for too long. And now, whether or not her mother deserved it, both of them would finally be free.


    ¡°I forgive you.¡±


    ...


    .?????u????o???????y??????? ??????e?????v??????i?????g????r??????o?????f???? ?????I?????


    The melting spectral form jumps out at Cain and he fires. Humanoid screeching resounds, then it stops, replaced by polluted, false peace.


    It is done. The Remnant of Clara is no more.


    Two voices ring out in unison. ¡°For you were made from dust and to dust you will return.¡±

 In the Garden

    The operation they give is far from ordinary. When Nora wakes from the memory in her mind, she witnesses it in splintered moments of consciousness. The two familiar men with wrinkled, expressionless faces, and a strong build hand a scalpel, forceps, and similar equipment to her doctor. She saw those two men during the event that placed her in here. One is the shadow that lifted her on its shoulders while the other is the figure that approached the Remnant. With one good look, one small surge of awareness, she recognizes them. Her doctor is Cain, and his assistants are his friends, his guards, Herve and Herrell.


    Her eyes shut and she is left with the void of black and the hurt. She embraces the pain of the surgery, that is if it is indeed a surgery. Far worse suffering than this had afflicted her before, and she knows far worse pain is coming. She can sense that odd chill she felt during her awakening to this new world. She can feel the incisions and stitches, but her sense of location has vanished.


    She grasps for alertness once more, after what length of time, she cannot decipher. One of the men hands Cain a small circular device blinking red. He grabs it with a pair of forceps and reaches to her neck. She feels the utensil enter her neck, her eyes turn heavy, and she returns to that nulled space in her mind.


    ¡­


    Scratching and slamming are the sounds that greet her when her eyes open. A glaring spherical light hangs above and countless IVs puncture her arms. Her attire has not changed, but her legs are free of Wardens.


    A bark, a howl, and a whimper ring out.


    Nora fights through the blinding light and the chords that surround her. She shambles blindly forward, then her eyes focus on the world before her. At the only door in the small sable room, Herve and Herrell¡¯s slightly shriveled forms hold back a glinting blur. They seem to catch the glistening outline, then it slips. A blue blaze emanates from it, striking one of the men in the hand. Clenching a now leathery and pink hand, the man exhales a hissing sound. His eyes flit toward the evasive creature, and he seizes it, pinning it to the ground. The burnt man raises a first, his eyes wide with beastly loathing, while his confidant simply stares.


    Then Nora sees the creature¨Chis square snout, his almost golden metal fur, the shimmer of light in his innocent eyes. It is Puck.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Nora exclaims.


    The man unscathed by fire steps nearer, looking down on her without a word. His eyes are vicious, unyielding and his shadow is cold.


    The girl does not bend. She enunciates slowly, ¡°Let him go.¡±


    They keep staring at one another, unmoving, unspeaking. She seems to penetrate something inside of him, then he nods to the other man. He releases the Saint Bernard and Nora hobbles to her dog. As Nora stands at the door, Puck circles around her, eying Herve and Herrell and growling defensively.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to leave now, and you¡¯re going to leave me alone with my father,¡± Nora demands. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°He¡­ is in¡­ m-mMMANY places,¡± says one of the men.


    ¡°Where you¡­¡± the other picks up.


    ¡°SEEK to¡­¡±


    ¡°FIND¡­ him¡­¡±


    ¡°Is¡­¡±


    ¡°Twenty¡­ THREE¡­¡±


    ¡°FLOOR¡­ twenty-three,¡± they announce in unison.


    Nora steps out of the room, closing the door behind her without a word. She shudders. Her hands had been clenched, and now that they are not, they are shaking. What is wrong with them? What part of their humanity is missing? What did Cain do to them?


    You act as if they were once human, the voice in her head scoffs.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Nora and Puck progress down a plain hallway of dim black metal, lit only by lines of green on the wall. The further they go, the more she begins to notice the pain in her weak legs. Or, that is, the lack of it. She was attacked, her Wardens were ripped to shreds, but now her legs are only bruised. Then there is her neck. There is no pain there, and there are no stitches, no marks. It is as if she did not need to heal. Either medicine has grown in effect over the years, or something is very wrong.


    The hall vibrates ever so slightly. A flooding sound echoes from afar.


    The elevator door opens, and Nora and Puck enter.


    She reaches for the button to floor one, hesitates.


    Reading her thoughts, a robotic voice replies through the speakers of the elevator, ¡°Floor one is restricted.¡±


    She sighs. I¡¯m going to find out what he did and why he did it. Take me to my father. Take me to floor twenty-three.


    ...


    Floor twenty-three. She remembers that floor. On it, there was a room filled with plants and screens mimicking the outdoors. It was a garden, a disguised terrarium. It was her wonderland. It felt like yesterday, the last time she had been here. It had in fact been five days before the surgery to end her sickness, five days before the five-year slumber.


    Her father gently pushed her into the terrarium as she sat on a levitating chair. Her pale willowy body was half-covered by metal, and that terrible feeling stabbed at her side, but she was still happy. She could never recall being outside, but she could always do the next best thing. In the gleam of the manufactured sunlight, there was a path of smooth cobblestone. Where the path ended, grass, bushes, and a few sycamores surrounded elegant flowers.


    Many switches could activate the Allagi. Her father flipped a switch on the nearest wall. The moment he did this, the fierce pain in Nora¡¯s side was greatly eased and the two individuals slowed with the world around them. The smallest movements in trees, bushes, and the falling leaves nearly froze in animation. This came as no surprise to Nora, as she had grown accustomed to it by her many visits here. This entire room was an Allagi.


    As her father gradually moved her along their routine path, the girl glanced at her reflection in the glass. Her head was bald, her frail body too thin.


    She looked out a window at the world below. Some people were moving ten times faster than her, others more than this. They were free from the chains of sickness that bound her, yet they did not look happy. They had all the technology and freedom in the world, yet they had their own chains. A normal person would have clung to the notion that the grass was greener on the other side, but not Nora. She was a joyful optimist, and with this special place she and her father shared, she did not need to take risks, to face the storms of life.


    Nora sluggishly directed her focus to her father. He was beaming, while a different story was told by the wrinkles of his face and his greying hair. The operation was four days from now. He was tired, he was scared, however, he was suppressing his worry for her.


    Nora espied the soft, diamond-shaped petals of yellow lilies, delicate white periwinkles, and red lotuses sprouting forth from lush verdant grass.


    They stopped at an elm, resting on a small fabricated hill. This was their special spot, where they could take it all in.


    Such beautiful plants were these.


    Puck flying at her side, Nora walks through empty rooms and halls, then she comes to the garden. When inside, she whispers to her dog, and next, pet and owner depart.


    The synthetic sky projected by the ceiling looks just as real as it used to. The trees still sway, as though the wind is not manufactured. And the bushes, the grass, the flowers¨Cit is all vibrant and untouched in appearance.


    Swaying a watering can over violet perennials, Cain stands on their hill, under the cool shade of the elm. He is waiting for her.


    She follows the stone path to him.


    ¡°Why did you lie to me?¡± These are the only words she can bring herself to say.


    Cain does not turn or flinch in the slightest. Instead, he continues watering the flowers. Eventually, he speaks.


    ¡°Do you know what I like about the flora of nature? It¡¯s free. Free of the bustle, the sounds, the stench, the politics, the sickness. Free of people. Do you understand what I am saying? Do you see it?¡±


    The girl does not know how to answer. She shakes her head.


    Cain puts the bucket down and glares at her.


    ¡°People only get in the way, but you were different.¡± Walking nearer, he continues. ¡°That is, until you got in the way.¡±


    He backs her against a bush.


    ¡°You lied to me, and you hurt innocent people!¡± screams Nora. ¡°You hurt my mother. You killed her!¡±


    Don¡¯t do anything reckless, the voice in her head demands, but she ignores it.


    She springs forward and gives her father a good swipe across the face with her nails. He grabs her arms, laughs a little.


    ¡°Your mother did that. She paid a price for it, as you too will. I was here for you, I was protecting you. I have always protected you. And now, I will do so through the means of discipline. Herve, Herrell, keep her in her room.¡±


    The two men stand at the other end of the room. They are impossibly quiet.


    They step to her side, ushering her away.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do anything too hasty, if I were you,¡± Cain shouts across the garden. ¡°Herve and Herrell are Hunters. Very little will distract them from you.¡±


    Nora departs with those two men, Cain¡¯s puppets, yet Puck does not join her.


    ¡°Stay, hide, find what he is hiding, then get me. You got it, Puck?¡±


    These are the words she had told the dog when they entered the terrarium, and as Nora leaves, her thoughts resound in the silence.


    Godspeed, you brave dog.

 Hunters

    The dog¡¯s eyes saw it all.  The dog¡¯s ears heard it all.  He is Nora¡¯s informant, and they will find him.


    Nora waits, prepares, pacing back and forth in her bedroom and thinking of her mother.  Cain had killed her, just as he had done with all the others.  What if the girl cannot stand up to him?  What if he kills Nora?


    Her stomach lurches with thoughts of disobedience.  To confront the truth, a price must always be paid, but she needs to do it, for the people, for herself, for her mother.


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m going to fix this.¡±


    She hears scraping paws, smells burning, then Herve and Herrell¡¯s footsteps grow distant.  After this, there is a slight scratch and a bark at the door.  Opening it, Nora sees one end of the hallway on fire and sprinklers dousing the space.  Herve and Herrell are nowhere to be seen, likely fighting back the flames, and Puck is wagging his tail gleefully, licking a paw that simmers with fiery heat.


    The flames of his propellers¨Cthat is how he started the fire.


    ¡°You smart dog.  Did you see anything?¡±


    His tail wags faster in affirmation.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±


    Nora runs, slips, returns to her feet, and keeps going.  The men do not hear her, see her, sense her missing presence.  She is cloaked by the sound of the sprinklers.


    Then, the sprinklers stop.  Her run slows to a cautious jog, and lungs heaving, she can hear herself breathing.  Her breath sounds thunderous in the stillness.  As the rest of the world drifts away, her focus hones in on her feet.  One foot goes in front of the other then repeats.  Movement turns more graceful, more slow, more silent.  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She messes up.  A foot skims ever so slightly across the smooth floor.  A ¡°squeak¡± cries out.  After this, she hears a loathsome animal screech and footsteps rushing toward her.  She does not need to see them to know who is pursuing her.


    Abandoning stealth, she and her dog dart between halls and connected rooms.  Herve and Herrell quickly gain on her.


    There is no running, no hiding from them.  They will catch you, says the voice in her mind.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± she yells.


    Her breath quickens, her head is light, and she dashes in clumsy haste.


    Stumbling around a corner, she sees an elevator in sight.  She is close.


    ¡°You¡¯ll make it,¡± she announces in self-encouragement.  ¡°You have to.¡±


    She can almost reach it, she is almost there, yet with one wrong move, she trips and slides, chafing her knees.  Puck tries to usher her up with his snout and she rolls onto her back, holding her bleeding knees.


    Herve and Herrell are mere feet from her.  With gnashing teeth, they rigidly walk closer.  They have her right where they want her, and they are savoring a successful hunt.


    She crawls backward, squeals.  There is no time to run and nothing left for her to do.  Puck is snarling, growling, baring his teeth, while his back ridges upward.


    They are getting closer and closer.  Weeping, her eyes shut and she thinks to herself, somebody help me, somebody stop them, keep them away, close them in.


    She hears grinding metal as something slams to the ground.  She hears a pounding knock.  Opening her eyes, she gapes at it.  It is a large door of titanium, and it blocks her from her adversaries.  Clearly, this must be a security measure of the building, but how did she command it?


    She then recalls her father¡¯s words:  ¡°...In mind, you have full command of them, this room, and this entire building, second only to me.¡±


    The knocking grows louder.  It turns into a tearing, ramming, beating noise.  Patches of metal begin to warp and tear.  A sour stench and a surge of brutish wailing fill the air.  That was not the sound of the Herve and Herrell she knew.  That was not the sound of a human.


    Grasping her ears and scrambling to her feet, Nora shuffles away with her dog.  The entire hall is quivering because of their might.  The elevator opens by her thought¡¯s command, then pet and owner step inside.

 Garden of Souls

    Nora and Puck reach floor twenty-three and enter the garden.  Amidst the speckled flowers and swaying trees, Cain is nowhere to be found.


    ¡°Are you sure this is the right place?¡± Nora asks.


    Puck gives an eager bark and flies off the path.  Nora follows, tip-toeing past flowers, then walking over the fake hill and under the shady tree.  The dog¡¯s propellers stop and he leaps into a large hedge behind the elm.  Trudging through it, the girl finds a deceptive dead end, a wall disguised to give the illusion that the garden goes on.  The Saint Bernard stops, looks up at her.  There is a modest breeze coming from a small crack at the bottom of the wall.  Nora presses her hands to the wall, and finding a slight indentation, she pushes.  It goes in.  A section of the wall slides back to reveal a set of stairs descending into darkness.  They enter.


    Light quickly dissolves, the deeper down they go.  Nora feels at the walls for guidance, inching forward.  At some point, the walls fall away, and the girl is left with nothing, but the soft luminescence of Puck¡¯s mechanical eyes to lead her.  The path is slanted, and it grows narrow.  Is there a drop?  The abyss seems empty.  She can hardly see, hear, or smell anything.  She can only feel her way through the darkness.


    A flickering blue light emerges.  As they approach it, they see the profile of a room, filled with that same cobalt radiance.  Soon, they are inside the blue-lit space, and Nora stares, trying desperately to grasp the sight before her.


    The place is split into two different sectors.  The first is occupied by large glass tubes, siphoning glowing blue liquid into glass jars.  In the tubes, there are bulging green plants, deep purple strains of foliage, sharp flowers, and withering little weeds.


    It looks like a garden, but less natural.


    Those are not plants, informs the voice within.


    She examines the other sector.  Under the low-hanging roof, rows of shelves stretch on into the blackness, carrying the same jars, the same blue liquid.  Some containers are empty, some are marked with numbers.  Others are imprinted with names.  Proceeding down a row, she notices an alphabetical order.  She passes the K section, the L section, then on M, something catches her eye.  She picks up a jar to see the contents behind it.  One container with one simple word.


    Miller.


    The container is empty.  Nora¡¯s mind races.  She searches her thoughts and the thoughts of the voice in her mind, then she knows.  These are not objects, experiments, or extracts from plants.  The canisters carry the names of people because people are inside.  They are alive.


    He was Cain¡¯s friend, and to Nora, he was much, much more than this.  What had Cain done?


    Nora feels sick.  Her stomach twists in disgust and the jar she carries slides from her grip, dropping to the floor.  As it shatters, Puck flies back and some of the shining cobalt sprays onto Nora¡¯s legs.


    Stone cold, she peers down at the blue for a moment.  Her eyes are welling, but per usual, she tries to blink away the tears, erase the pain her father¡¯s actions have brought about.  She cannot erase it, she will not deal with it, and so she ignores it.  It hurts more.


    She and her dog walk further down the row.  Her walk quickly becomes a run and Puck starts to fly by her side.  There is something at the end of the row, some projection, some massive screen.  When she reaches it, she sees it is, in fact, multiple screens, each rendering a room of the building.  Surveillance.


    Beneath the screens, there is an operation panel and a leather chair.  A line of wires coils from the darkness to the chair, while a broken watch and some odd sort of gun occupy the panel.


    Suddenly, the chair turns, and in it, Cain sits.  However, he is not like before.  His eyes emit a vague green light.   On either side of his eyes and in the place of veins, a cable begins to surface through the skin.  The wires suspending from the ceiling limply perforate his fingertips, his ears, and fill the empty space where his scalp should be.  Pulsing green electricity rises up the hanging wires and into the gloom.


    ¡°I have been expecting you,¡± he announces.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± Nora fumbles.  ¡°you¡¯re a¡­¡±


    ¡°A robot?  Indeed, I am.¡±


    The girl is speechless.  Her father raises a gaunt hand and continues.


    ¡°But let us not waste precious time.  You have come for answers, after all.  This place is much of the DNA I harvested, my greatest life¡¯s work.  Well, most of it.¡±  He glances at the shattered watch.  ¡°This place is the summation of the people I trapped, changed, experimented on so that they are no longer human.  It is where all my greatest ideas were imagined, where the life serum was made, where those taken became immortal, became tools.  It is my garden of souls.¡±


    ¡°And Miller¨Cwhat did you do to him?¡± Nora inquires.


    ¡°I dumped him in an alley somewhere.  That is, I dumped the life serum, in which he was stored.  I trust you have grown acquainted with that familiar blue.¡±


    Cain seems to be hinting at something.  The girl inspects herself to find there is no longer any blood, or scabbing, or scratch marks on her knees.  They are healed.  In that serum is a person, she thinks, and that cheap replacement for my father killed that person, along with all the rest.  She looks up at the disillusioned husk.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°To live on as a fraud without feeling or humanity¨Cit is a nauseating crime against the intended order, a cheat, a perverted lie.  Worse than this, Miller was a friend, a colleague, a fellow human being.  What is wrong with your twisted conscience?  Have wires, circuits, and steel removed any sense of right and wrong?  You killed so many, you killed my mother, then you killed Miller.  Why?  For what reason would you hurt so many innocent people?¡±


    ¡°For you.¡±


    Nora closes her eyes tighter and tighter.  She imagines that the murderous replica of her father is only a dream, and that, when she wakes up, her mother will be at her side.  She will not have to pretend to be happy, to pretend everything is alright.  No more fights between father and mother, no more killing of friends, no more test subjects of that homicidal pig.  All will be bliss.


    But this world is only imagination.  She will never see her mother again, and the world is only an empty place echoing past tragedies.  It is all because of him, that killer, that forgery, that monster.  And he would dare blame her?


    Nora laughs, sobs, scowls.  Something in her breaks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are anymore¡­¡± she states.  Fists clenching and spine shivering, she says one final word.  ¡°Attack.¡±


    Puck jets forward.  The wires piercing Cain spark and fly in all directions, while the dog tears through them with fangs and claws of steel.  Cain leaps toward the panel and Nora races after him.  The man presses a red button and red lights flash across the room as a siren rings out.  The wires are ruined.  Puck and Nora stare at him, and he leans back in his chair.  His hands and feet twitch, eerie green electricity fizzes about him, and in a broken voice, he gives a psychotic laugh.  His voice turns higher, lower, faster, slower, louder, quieter.  Nora grabs the amalgamation gun on the panel and points it at him.


    ¡°Even if you knew how to use that, you couldn¡¯t stop me,¡± the man cackles.  ¡°You will never reach the prison of mind.  You will never truly kill me.¡±


    Nora turns a knob and she presses the trigger.  Some unseen force blasts from the contraption, mauling the unliving man.  He just keeps laughing.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± the girl screams, eyes watering.


    The gun slips from her hands.  The disfigured form gives one final, warped laugh, then the light in its eyes fades.


    Nora scowls at the robot¡¯s maimed scraps and, next, looks at the panel¡¯s chief adornments: the red button, the broken watch.  She wrestles the voice in her mind as it resists something.  She takes over and is filled with an unexplainable sensation.  You need that watch, she tells herself.  It¡¯s the only way to stop him.  It¡¯s the key.


    Suddenly, the feeling is gone.  She grabs the watch, stuffs it in a pocket, and runs.  The strobing red light is her guide as she and Puck bolt past the jars filled with distorted life, the encased fake plants, and the narrow path.  They exit the passageway into the false outdoors of the unoccupied garden.


    The sirens still ring, the red still flashes.  They will be here soon.


    She grabs a brick and throws it at a wall of windows.  One shatters, and chilled by an updraft of wind, she leers down.  She can see the tops of buildings, and the street is merely a sliver across the faraway ground.  Of course, Cain¡¯s projections paint a false picture of the outside world, but Nora knows she is too high up to jump.


    She examines the room.  There is a switch on the nearby wall, an activator for the Allagi.  She hands Puck the watch and he clamps it between his jaws.


    ¡°I said you could not kill me.¡±


    Nora turns around and gasps.  Cain stands before her, his mechanical body still perfectly intact, feigning humanity.  The girl jumps to her feet, wide-eyed.


    The man reads the question on her face and answers, ¡°I am a machine.  There are many of us.¡±


    The door to the garden opens, and a dozen figures enter.  They all have exactly the same face, exactly the same form.  They are all Cain.  The girl¡¯s breathing quickens.


    ¡°Puck, outside,¡± she orders.  The Saint Bernard stands his ground.  ¡°Now!¡± Nora demands.  He obeys, flying outside the broken window and levitating above the skyline.


    ¡°I know what you are planning,¡± Cain states.  ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do you know?¡± Nora asks.  ¡°You¡¯re not my father and you¡¯re not even human.  How could you know what I¡¯m thinking?  How could you know anything about me?¡±


    ¡°This room and other Allagis are the reason you and your pet were separated for all those years.  A magnetic field gives Allagis operation.  It freezes machines in place and slowly destroys them.  You are correct in believing that will stop us.  The only detail you missed is that you are just like us.¡±  He pronounces the last words slowly: ¡°You are one of us.  You are a machine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± says Nora.


    ¡°Would a human survive an attack from a Remnant?  Would a human heal so quickly?  Would a human need a piece of metal in their neck to fix their legs?  You¡¯re no human.¡±


    Her head is dizzy and her legs are weak at the thought of it.


    Remember that feeling when you first awoke to this new world? the voice within adds.  That feeling that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that you didn¡¯t belong.  You aren¡¯t really Nora, you aren¡¯t really alive.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be true!  You¡¯re lying!  You¡¯re all lying!¡± she cries out.  She glares at the switch on the nearest wall.


    A clicking, trotting sound races nearer and nearer from the other side of the door.


    ¡°It seems the Hunters are coming.  If you give up now, your punishment will be less, but if you run, if you flip that switch, we can do nothing to stop them.¡±


    Nora turns to the switch, falters.  She suppresses her fear.


    ¡°No more hiding, no more sacrificing truth for thoughtless obedience.  I guess we¡¯ll just have to see who¡¯s right,¡± she says.


    She dashes to the switch, a horde of Cains sprinting, climbing, bounding after her.  One grabs her by the leg.  She reaches, extends a hand.  She flips the switch and all stops.


    Now for the moment of truth.  She pulls.  At first, her attempts yield no validation, no movement.  She pulls as hard as she can, then pulls harder.  She tries with everything in her.  Then, she is free.


    She hears the door rip from its hinges.  Sprinting in the slowness toward the window, she both hears and feels the clicking, the trotting.  The stench grows.  The Allagi stretches moments of dread.  Reaching the smashed window, she looks down, looks at Puck.


    If you take that step, there will be no turning back.


    She swallows hard.  I know.


    She jumps.  Slow ascent shifts to a swift plummet.  While wind whips against Nora, Puck dives after her.  She grabs the dog, they barely fly forward, then they drop to the roof of a building.


    There is no turning back.

 Highjack

    It is quite difficult to subdue the light of hope, of optimism. But it¡¯s not impossible. Nora remembers that first day at school. She was young then, yet the memory is still vivid. After all, how could she forget the great plans she had made: to wear the same school uniform as everyone else, to take the same bus, to make friends, and be free of that feeling. That feeling as if something was wrong with her, as if she was different and alone. She hoped that, finally, she just might be like a normal kid. They crushed that hope.


    The words whisper faintly in her thoughts as the memory surfaces.


    I¡¯m here for you, Teacup, and I always will be.


    There had been an accident at school. They ruined that perfect day. They ruined everything.


    She awoke to the sight of a hospital room, rank with the stench of ammonia. There was a ringing, then a beeping as pale lights shone down. Despite the bright stripes of paint across the walls and homely pictures of flowers and cats, the room felt small, empty, and grey. It was as if tragedy were masked behind the veil of color and comfort. She lay in a bed and saw that her parents filled the room. Her mother sat in a chair, trembling, sobbing, and her father stood motionless, staring blankly out a window. They could not hide the truth. Attempting to sit up, Nora felt a surge of pain.


    ¡°I would not attempt to stand if I were you,¡± her father said, tugging anxiously at the hem of his coat.


    ¡°Why not?¡± she asked.


    Her mother jolted upward. She cupped her hands around Nora¡¯s, gazing at her with tired eyes. It was like she was looking beyond her daughter, at something that was not there. Her father turned to her. His blood-shot eyes gave a very similar and very strange look, as if Nora was no more, as if he was staring at a ghost, a shadow, a sad reflection of what once was.


    Nora knew without knowing.


    Cain cleared his throat with a raspy cough. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± He spoke in a hoarse whisper, inhaled weakly. ¡°You¡¯re getting worse. The sickness¨Cit¡¯s passed the threshold. First, your legs will go, then your nerves will stab at every inch of your body, then your veins will turn black, and your stomach will feel that turning, that shredding, then...¡± He bit his lip and tried to blink away the wave of sorrow, gripping the trim of his white coat with deathly pale hands. He couldn¡¯t let her see. He had to be strong, he had to keep trying, he had to help her, but he was powerless to stop the inevitable. ¡°There is nothing left that I can do.¡± The coat ripped.


    Nora¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief. She shook her head profusely. ¡°No. There¡¯s nothing wrong with me! I¡¯m just a little under the weather, just like all the other kids. That¡¯s all! I have to get back to school! There can¡¯t be something wrong with me!¡± Her whole body was shaking now. ¡°I need to be with the other kids, I need to be normal. I need to¡­¡± The words left her, and Nora broke down in tears.


    Her mother put a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°The sickness has spread too far. There¡¯s¡­¡± she tried to choke back the tears. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°No. No, no, no!¡± Nora wailed in broken exasperation. ¡°I was walking and talking¡­ making friends. My hair had finally grown back. I was getting better! Dad, you told me that! You told me I was getting better. You lied to me! You¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop!¡± her father cried in shrill, miserable silence. His face was beat red and shaking, while his hands frayed, grasping at nothing. ¡°You¡¯re not getting better. You will never get better, nor go to school, nor see your friends, and soon enough¡­¡± Shoulders tensing, he blinked, his eyes focusing greyly. ¡°It¡¯s all gone now. Nora, you¡¯re dying.¡±


    No child should have to breathe each breath as if it were their last. No new life should have to say goodbye so soon. No young, innocent, gleeful little girl should have to plan her funeral. But on that day, and in the last days that followed, Nora did. She was able to do all she had dreamed of, yet it was all painted in that dim, hopeless light. She was living on borrowed time, and soon enough, that time was up.


    A distraught girl drives a swiftly hovering car down allies, through subways, and near the sullied clouds. Beside her, a metallic dog sticks his head out the window of the car, flopping a glinting tongue in glee. A single tear streams down the girl¡¯s face as she glances out a window, looking upon the grim without seeing. The world below, once a shadowed despondent wreck, is lifeless, tidy, mended, and unceasingly dark, just as it has been through day and night, for the countless hours they have driven. It healed itself; it hid the brokenness but not the shadow. The only illumination filling the gloom comes from grey boxes, spheres, and humanoid figures, all searching for one thing: her. She might have worried about them finding her, questioned how the city had repaired itself, or pondered the unending sheet of darkness, but while her form is driving, the wheel is out of her hands. Besides, her mind is on other things.


    How hard it must have been, she thinks, to watch me slowly die, how utterly impossible to have the one thing you care about most ripped from your hands. She recalls her father¡¯s pain and how hard he fought to save her. Cain did not want to change the world, be famous, or hurt anyone. He had only wanted to help her, to bring her back from...


    Something, someone, somewhere that was glorious and wonderful and beyond comprehension. The thought of it feels distant and out of place. It is as if the vague memory is meant for another world. She quickly loses her grip on it, and her mind returns to her father.


    He was not so evil or flawed. He just wanted her to be safe. He just wanted her to come home.


    But the world below tells another story. A story of a man who killed the innocent, sacrificed the disobedient, and lost his mind reaching for the unreachable. Nora¡¯s thoughts snap back.


    ¡°He killed my mother, Miller, everyone! Of course, he¡¯s flawed!¡± she insists. ¡°He¡¯s terrible, he¡¯s awful, he¡¯s a monster, a murderer! What was I thinking?!¡±


    Do you always associate yourself with others? questions the voice within.


    ¡°With others?¡± A chill runs down Nora¡¯s spine. ¡°Were those not my thoughts?¡±


    Oh, but they were.


    ¡°What are you talking about? What did you do? What are you?¡±


    You ask, yet the answer is within your grasp.


    The voice is right. The voice is thinking for her, acting for her. It is the one that hotwired this vehicle, it is even the one driving the car. It is no figment, no product of insanity. It is real. But who is it? What is it? Nora searches deep within her mind until something within blocks the path to truth. She struggles against it. It overcomes her and she feels as though she is sinking, drowning in inky black. In a wink, the strange feeling is gone, and inexplicably, she receives her answer.


    I am the A.I. inserted in your mind upon your awakening. I am a machine that knows this city, but I am a machine that knows you. I bring to light the shadow inside you. I pull my character from the part of you that you do not accept: your subconscious. You and I are one, for I am you.