Conception

I’m breathing heavily, running down a corridor. What is this place? A hospital? No, it’s a manufacturing facility. There are rooms full of drones being fixed up and tested to be shipped out and inhabit the world.

“Atticus!” someone shouts my name from the other end of the corridor. I have to move faster. My work, everything I have planned, is five stories below me. There’s an emergency exit stairwell coming up. Hopefully the chaos caused by the alarm system will stall them long enough for me to prep. I ram into the door at full speed, and instantly the lights switch from white to red. The stairwell is now blaring with red and that obnoxious ringing. I rush past the lower floor’s emergency exit, then the next, the one after that, and I hear the rest start to swing open, as well as my name shouted again followed by, “Stop him!” I hear the rest of the building start to empty into the stairwell, making my estimations of my pursuers harder to make, but chances are they’re right on my tail.

I get to my floor. As its door starts to swing open, I run into Mitch, the security guard. I can’t let anything get in my way. With my current momentum, I ram him into the nearby wall. He slumps to the ground.

“Sorry!” I shout running past him, entering the floor. I don’t believe he’s getting up anytime soon. As I reach the end of the hallway, I hear the door open swiftly and my pursuers’ footsteps closing in. I can’t fail. They found out about the Foible Code. I find my door, and force my way through, allowing it to slam into the wall, leaving a dent. The door slams shut. The steps getting louder near the door, I bring down a bookshelf to block it.

My pursuers are stuck on the other side, bashing my door. I rush over to my console. The image of a keyboard manifests itself before me, as well as a USB port. Pulling my hair to the side, a hieroglyphic of a USB inhabits the upper right corner of my forehead. Tapping the USB port image, I pull a green line from it to the image on my forehead. A progress bar reads “uploading…” as my brainwaves are copied into a nearby pod. I hear the door begin to give, as my pursuers break down the door the bookshelf flies back, and the red light of the hallway pours in.

The line still connects me to the console. I can’t venture far from it. I can’t take cover. The upload gains a percentage every three seconds. The upload already reads 90%. Is my mind really so small? I think to myself. Shadows begin to enter the room. 91%. I pull a broom out from the nearby corner, breaking the end off over my knee. 93%. Three men in suits stroll into the room. I stand holding the broomstick as if it were sword, ready to face my pursuers. Come on! Bring it! I’m ready!

94%. The middle man, a stout, short man, wearing a pink and blue suit, smiles and says, “Ah, Atticus, working so hard to achieve what you think to be right.” 95%. He smiles.

“Mr. Simper himself. I should be honored to meet you…I should.” 98%.

“You will,” he replies, as one of his men, a drone, punches the console, leaving a hole. The holographic keyboard and screen, cut out as the bar reaches 99%.

“No!” I shout. The line connecting me to the console blinks out of existence. Simper takes a step forward, as the second drone kicks me in the back of the knee, bringing me to a kneeling position. I find myself face to face with the goblin.

“We know what you’ve been planning,” his smile somehow grows even bigger. “How could you? How could you try to undermine the foundation that serves so many? How could you try to sabotage us?” The drone that brought me down to my knee kicks me in the gut. I slump down even further, now looking up at Simper. Like the Cheshire cat, all I see is his white smile in the shadow.

I start to reply, “Because it’s the right thin-“ BLAM!

I’m startled awake. My alarm blaring, the red numbers flashing brightly in my face. I slam the alarm clock, the numbers turning white. I see my TV is still on. There’s a stand off scene inside a science lab. I have to stop watching programs as I fall asleep.

I leave my room, walking over to my brother’s door. “Wake up, bro. It’s time to get ready.” Knocking three times, with no response, I burst in. “Did you hear me? It’s time to go-“ a bin falls onto my head.

He laughs pointing at me, “Geeze, how many times have you fallen for that?”

“Approximately two hundred and thirty-four times,” I reply rubbing my head.”

“You keep track?” he asks.

“It’s part of my duties,” I say laughing, putting him in a headlock, “so that I know how much to repay you.” I release him, and he rushes off to get ready.

While he gets ready, I prep breakfast, turning the TV on. An ad for Beam Technologies plays. “Here at Beam Tech we work to serve the human populace as best we can. Now, introducing our new line of service providers.” A female drone walks forward. She almost looks entirely human.

“Hello. My name is-“ I turn off the TV. Beam tech has been developing drones for years, making more and more life like machines. Their purpose is to make our lives easier, and to do so by any means necessary.

My brother walks into the kitchen, and I serve him his breakfast, a fully balanced meal, at least my understanding of what one is. “Another nutritional breakfast?”

“Well I know you’re not getting it from your school,” I reply, taking a candy bar out of his bag as he puts it on the table, “so I have to make sure you get it from somewhere.” He begins to eat. “What time do you need me to pick you up from school today?” I ask. He averts his eyes, only looking at his food.

“Actually, would it be okay if I start leaving school on my own?” This causes a bit of a jolt in me.

“Am I not cool enough to come by your junior high,” I ask, doing my best to sound joking. I don’t like the idea of having him walking the streets home.

“No it’s not that,” he says defensively, “it’s just that now I think I’m at an age where I can handle walking by myself.”

“You know what, my building is not far from your school. It’s exactly five blocks from there. Since I don’t want you taking the bus on your own quite yet, you will go from school to my building. Fair?”

“How will I get in?” he asks.

“What time do you want to leave school?” I ask.

“As soon as it gets out,” he replies with sharp determination. He really does not like school.

“Okay,” I say laughing, “It should only take you about five minutes to get to my building. I’ll be waiting for you to get to my building by three, and if you are not there by three-ten, I am coming to get you. Got it?”

“Okay,” he replies with similar laughter. “I got it.”

We take the bus. It arrives around ten minutes late, like it usually does, and as we board the bus, I see that our driver is now a drone. You can usually tell thanks to a seam line, fairly unnoticeable, on the right side of the face. It looks like a scar. It’s fairly impressive how they captured Rick’s image so well. He was such a nice old man. When we came to be recognizable, he treated us warmly. I got the feeling he did this with a lot of his regulars. Last we talked he was talking about retiring. I guess he went through with it. I hope he’s doing well.

“Good morning kids,” the drone says, greeting us with a face as if he knew us as long as Rick did. It’s a nice touch.

“Morning!” bro replies. I guess he didn’t notice the new scar. We both slide our passes through and take our seats.

Getting off at our stop, I drop off the kid and begin my walk to the building. I turn around real quick to make sure he got inside okay. I don’t see him anywhere. He probably ran right inside. Does he like school?

I arrive at my building, Beam Designs. I check my watch. About five minutes. Walking to the clearance gate, I see Mitch. “Good morning, sir!” Mitch says with enthusiasm.

“Good morning, Mitch,” I start, till he turns toward me. He also has a scar on the right of his face. Replaced, just like Rick.

“How are you doing today?” he asks.

“I am feeling fine. Yourself?” I ask out of politeness.

“Functioning well too, sir.”

I make my way to my room. There, a girl greets me. I recognize her voice. It’s the girl from the ad. A drone. What was her name?

“Hello. My name is Jen.” Ah. I got my answer. Wait. She has no scar.

“You have no seam,” I tell her, “Does that mean-“

“Yes,” Mr. Simper interrupts me. He walks from behind me. “It means we are using your new, more attractive designs.” Mr. Simper walks next to Jen. “This is Jen,” he starts.

“I know. We’ve met.” He’s as short as I imagined him. “But you’re using my design?”

“Yes,” he continues, “now we might even trick people like you into thinking you’re talking to a real human.” He smiles his Cheshire smile. It’s a little unsettling, but I laugh and give my thanks. “No. Thank, you. You’re helping us serve the people better. Now maybe the drones will be better accepted.” He turns and leaves the room. I wait for his shadow to disappear before I say anything to Jen.

I close my door. “So, Jen, why are you here?” It’s my understanding that drones only go where they are meant to serve. If she wasn’t here to act as a prop for Mr. Simper, why is she here?

“I have been appointed as your personal assistant by Mr. Simper.” She’s too real. Her mannerisms, with out the noticeable scar, are too human.

“Why? Why do I need an assistant all of a sudden?” trying to sound joking. “Is Mr. Simper all of a sudden worried about my work load? Does everyone else have a Jen,” realizing my comment could be perceived as rude, “I mean, an assistant.”

“No.”

“Then why?” I ask again, still trying to act jokingly.

“Mr. Simper noticed some property damage, and wanted to make sure you weren’t overly stressed.”

“And do what instead?” I ask, still trying to hold my composure.

“Well, talk to me,” she responds.

I have to take a seat. The product is too strong. Isn’t that the point? But then something else strikes me. “Jen, you said there was property damage?” I don’t recall doing anything in here to damage my room.

“Yes. There’s a dent in the wall, like somebody had punched it.”

“Is anything else damaged?”

“Your bookshelf looks like it was hammered in several points.”

“Thank you.”

I take a quick look at the damages, trying hard to think of when and how this might have happened, but it doesn’t keep my interest for long.

Besides Jen being present, the day was pretty much normal, just going over some code, as well as manufacturing procedures. It took some time, but after a while, I got used to Jen. With out the scar on her face, I’m not always reminded that she is a drone. It’s three. Bro should be leaving school at this time. I’ll go down and make sure bro can get in.

It’s five after three. The walk from his school to here only took me five minutes. He’s not here. He is shorter than me. It is possible that he can’t get here as fast as I can. Three-ten. He’s not here. Where is he? I walk out the door at a brisk pace. Down the street I see a group ganging up on a lone pedestrian. From their taunts I take it he displayed some kind of valuable. Only those who haven’t experienced the world make this mistake. I feel my heart sink, speeding up so I can make out who the victim is. It’s him. It’s the kid.

The men surrounding him are kicking him, pushing him around.

“Where’d you get those books, kid?” One of them taunts, kicking him in the back, pushing him to the ground. “Can’t imagine those were cheap,” the jerk continues, “What else do you got on you?”

The guy pulls out a knife. I feel a whiteness, a white hot burning in my head. “Protect him at all costs” like a command, echoes in my head, and I move instinctively, analyzing my targets with the block and a half I have left.

I count five, all male. They are all of a skinny build, except one. One of the men has a knife visible. It’s important to take him out first, possibly using one of his allies as a means. With my momentum it should be relatively easy.

With my course determined, I tackle the man next to the knife wielder. I manage to cause them both to fly into the wall of a nearby alleyway, resting in a pile of garbage. I whip my head, eyes lit with fury looking at the other three.  The smallest of the three rears his fist back and charges forward, another following behind him. The third just stays back. The punk in the front swings at my face, but I block, not even feeling the force behind his punch. I respond in kind, grabbing his arm with the same I used to block, and punch him right in the chest with the other. I feel some ribs crack, and I instantly let go of him, as he hunches to the ground trying to capture air. The one behind him manages to punch me clean across the jaw. I swing right around, the man taking a cocked position, ready to attack or defend.

“Why did you bother him?” I ask him, “What point was there?”

He replies, “Kid needs to keep his privileged self out of our turf”.

Instantly forgetting my regret for the ribs I broke, the man and I simultaneously run at each other, him swinging while I duck. I pick him up and drop him on his back, knocking the wind out of him. As I stand over him, I’m blindsided by the third. He bashes me from the side, forcing me to roll.

He comes charging at me again, like a bull. I try to leap out of the way, but he’s oddly fast for his girth. He grabs and rams me into a wall. I slump to the ground. The beast picks me up again with no effort, and slams me right back into the wall. I can’t withstand this. Looking to the distance, there he is. The kid. The one who looks up to me. The one who needs me. I must be bleeding profusely, internally. My vision goes blank. All I can see is blackness.

“Your job is to protect him!” I hear echoing in my head. The blackness wipes away, left with white, and then I see one of the punks staring me right in the face.

“You made a mistake here, son,” the man starts, “and now you’re gonna pay.” He pulls out a broken, metal pipe. “Found this next to where you threw me. That really hurt.” His grip tightens. “Stretch out his arms.” The rest of the group gathers on both sides of me, three of them on one arm, and the big one on the other. “I want to make him hurt.” I look over to where my brother is. I have to protect him. “Let’s start with the left!” He swings with such force, but where I should have felt bone break, I feel tearing. Looking at my arm, I see bent, metallic ligaments and blue tubes spraying fluid, sparking as well. It all comes back to me.

“You have to protect him!” Who is commanding me? It sounds like me. “No!” I hear myself shout. 99%. Connection blinking out. 99.5% Connection gone. Coming online. My chamber door opens with a hiss, as the cold air floods out into the room before me. The mist clears. I see myself on the floor. Mr. Simper approaches me.

“Come.” He motions to me. My inclination to follow takes hold, but as I leave I hear myself speak.

“Do not forget.” I’m on the floor drowning in my own blood. “Do not forget your prime directive. You have my mind. You are me. You must protect him-“ BLAM! I’m cut off. Mr. Simper shot me again. He ushers me out.

“He’s right,” he says, “you do have a prime directive. Go on and live your life. Serve my company well.”

As I come to, the men holding my left arm have fallen to the ground holding my arm. I have a directive to follow. Mustering all my strength, I flip backward to kick the big guy in the face, making him stagger backward. I rush to the men holding my arm. The guy whose ribs I broke instantly lets go, while the other two are frozen in fear. I punch the one on the right across the face, dislocating his jaw. I grab my arm, easily snatching it from the last man, who just cowers away.

I turn around to look at the last one remaining. I am hunched over, and armless, holding my left arm like a club in my right.

He shouts, “Come on! Bring it! I’m ready!” He begins to run right at me with the pipe above his head, ready to swing down. His grip is loose. He swings hard though. I block with my left arm, knocking the pipe out of his hand.

I drop my arm, and grab him by his collar. I can see his fear. I’m compelled to stop. I think I’ve made my point clear. Hurting these men further will just make protecting the kid harder.

Red lights start flashing, red and blue. The police are here, accompanied by Mr. Simper. “Drop the human, Drone!” the officer commands. Once I let go, I feel a sharp jab in the back of my head. Blackness.

I hear voices. “You know the procedure. Defective drones must be taken apart and disposed of,” a woman’s voice says annoyed.

“I know,” a young man’s voice replies, “this is just the first one to be defective. What went wrong with this one?”

“Lack of inspection,” the woman replies.

“Seriously?” he starts, “then what about the rest of them?” His concern is very apparent. The confidence in Beam Tech is weakened.

Don’t forget, echoes in my head. Where is my brother? Sitting up fast, I startle the two. The young man approaches cautiously.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

“Where is he?” I ask in a low, quiet voice.

“Who?“

“Where is my brother?” I say again, this time staring right at the pair.

“Is he talking about a fellow drone?” the man whispers as he approaches me, “You don’t have a broth-” I cut him off, grabbing his throat. I look around the man, and stare at the woman.

“Could you please fix my arm?” I say with a smile.

“Hey!” I’m interrupted. “I-I think I know where your brother is.” I can feel his fear.   He’s lying. “Yeah! He’ll be waiting for you when we-“ Snap. I drop the body. The woman begins to creep toward the intercom near the door. I throw one of the nearby tools, piercing the intercom. She looks at me with astonishment.

“You are going to fix my arm,” I tell her, and she abides. As she begins to fix my arm, a thought crosses my mind, I will protect him at all costs.