“Jeraca?”
A beam of sound pierces the black. I yearn toward it.
“Jeraca, are you all right?”
I recognize the voice as my husband’s. A wild hope surges inside me. It’s all been a dream! The world hasn’t ended. Oh, thank God, thank Heaven and Hell and Krishna and Zeus and every—
“Jeraca, wake up. Come on, sweetheart, come back to me. Tell me what you saw.”
Ryan! I scream silently. I feel like I’m struggling beneath an ocean of black syrupy liquid. I can breathe, but my senses are so dull they might as well not exist. I throw myself at the voice with all my might, but it’s too far away to save me. I’m drowning.
“What did you do to her?” says a cold female voice. I recoil inwardly. “I told you it was too soon. Hold her.”
The liquid around me solidifies. Now even breathing is difficult. Suddenly there is a prick of pain at my neck, followed by warmth, a warmth that flows through me with lightning speed. I can think and feel and smell and hear and move…
I blink up into whiteness. Everything comes rushing back. Center, the hybrids, the sterile room with the podium and goggles. I squint in the harsh glare and discover I’m lying on the floor in that same room. Ryan hovers over me. No—not Ryan. Ryan is dead. This is a bot. Bot-Ryan. Not-Ryan.
“See?” He smiles, looking across me at someone else. “I told you she could handle it.”
I follow his gaze to find Winona kneeling on my left. Her face is a lot less friendly than it was the last time I saw her. When she notices me looking at her, the expression smooths out so quickly I could almost believe I was imagining things. But I know I wasn’t. “How do you feel?” she asks, smiling. I ignore her and turn back to him.
“What the hell just happened to me?” I ask.
“Why? What did you see?” he asks excitedly. He looks pleased for some reason. Hands I remember too well reach down and grasp my arms, pulling me to my feet. “Here, let’s get the blood flowing again.” He rubs my arms briskly, making them tingle. I know I should tell him to stop, but after what I just saw—after the little girl—I feel strangely vulnerable. “What happened when you put the goggles on? Can you tell me?”
I ignore the question, still too fuzzy to piece more than a thought or two together. “What was that?” I ask.
He smiles. “A virtual reality simulation.”
“A simulation?” I’m unprepared for the wave of grief that sweeps over me. I want—need—that little girl to be real. I need it so badly my body aches. “Why didn’t you warn me? I thought it was actually happening.”
“I’m sorry. If you knew it wasn’t real going in, we couldn’t capture your unfiltered emotional state. As it is, we can only do it that way once. Every human involved in the Task will go through multiple sims. The data helps us hybrids learn to expand and embrace the human halves of ourselves.” He pauses, looking me over as if assessing a particularly vexatious piece of machinery. “Can you tell me what you saw?”
“So I’m data?” This doesn’t sit well with me. Nor the fact that I was essentially manipulated into participating. “You said you’d give me answers, and instead you force me to take part in something I don’t want to take part in. I should have known.” I wrench my arms out of his grasp and back away, feeling absurdly betrayed. “You’re all evil.”
His smile withers and dies. “You’re right. I should have asked you. I’m so sorry. It’s just—I don’t know how to do this. It’s all so new.”
He looks so sad and anxious I nearly comfort him, until I remember it’s not my damn job. At that moment, a prickle at my temples distracts me. Puzzled, I reach up, gasping when my fingertips come away smeared with blood. I glance at the goggles lying on their platform and see tiny needles glinting at the temple rests, their tips stained red. No wonder the simulation seemed so real. “What is this?” I ask in disbelief. “Some sort of mind control?”
He actually laughs. As if my fears are ridiculous. As if I haven’t been taken and held against my will and forced to interact with the robotic clone of someone I loved more than my own life.
I don’t think. I take a step forward and slap him as hard as I can across the face.
After that, things get a little blurry. The door slides open behind us. Booted metallic feet pound across the floor. Winona gives orders like the soulless machine she is, and I feel the sharp sting of metal at my neck once again. Before it all goes black, I see the shock on not-Ryan’s face, and what looks like betrayal in his eyes. Welcome to being human, fuckstick, I think triumphantly. And then I fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
When I awaken, I’m back in my room. The bed seems to have sprouted thick straps that bind my wrists and ankles to the metal frame. Ah, well. It was only a matter of time.
“Hey there. How do you feel?”
Of course he’s here. I close my eyes and count to ten, hoping to still my galloping heart. My body’s reaction to his presence is beyond my control, and I know he can sense it, for I see the hope in his expression. He has no idea how badly he’s hurt any chance of earning my trust with that single, ill-timed laugh of his. Ryan wouldn’t have laughed at me. “Not bad,” I say truthfully, proud of how calm I sound. “My head aches a little, but it’s manageable.”
He immediately jumps up and races to the bathroom, returning with a couple aspirin and a bottle of water he’s snagged from a table. A tray sits on it also, with a delectable looking sandwich and a salad so green and fresh my stomach immediately growls. “First thing’s first,” he says. His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh. Probably afraid to. Good.
“Thanks,” I say, letting him drop the aspirin on my tongue. He holds the bottle up, tipping just enough liquid into my mouth to swallow them comfortably. Then he gives me another drink for good measure. Once that’s done, I settle back against the pillows. “So—elephant in the room.”
He tilts his head. “Elephant?”
“It’s an idiom. It means an obvious problem no one wants to discuss.”
“Ah.” He relaxes, settling into the chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. Ryan always sat like that. “You hit me.”
“I hit you.” I decide to go for honesty—but for once, not too much. “I feel terribly about it.” Because I wanted to hit you again and they stopped me. “I hope you can forgive me.” Otherwise you won’t tell me what I need to know.
His smile is nothing but patient. “Of course I forgive you. I love you, Jeraca. I will always love you.”
My own smile is a little hysterical; I can feel it. It’s either that or screaming. “How long will I be tied up?”
“I saw no reason to tie you up at all, but Winona insisted. I just wanted to talk. She’s satisfied now that your moment of insanity has passed.”
Of course. Instantaneous communication. So Winona is watching—is probably always watching. “Thank you both,” I say, nearly gagging.
“You’re very welcome.” He stands over me to undo the straps. When he’s done and I’m free, he steps back. This time, my smile isn’t nearly so forced.
“That’s better,” I say. I make myself more comfortable while he sits back down on the chair. He watches me without speaking until I squirm. “What? What is it?”
“You’re not going to answer my question, are you? I’ve asked it several times.”
“What question?” I ask, perplexed.
“What did you see in the simulation?”
Immediately, I flash back to that stinking hellscape of desert outside the unknown city. I see the two men arguing over the tiny little girl, so fragile and perfect; the feral humans; the betrayal; the child somehow seeing and talking to me. Simulation or not, I can’t bring myself to tell him about her. Again, I go for a smidgen of truth. “I saw a city burning and two men trying to escape it. It was really life-like.”
“Did they leave the city and go anywhere else?”
“I think they were heading toward a compound.”
“Ah. And it was just the two men?” Is that disappointment in his voice?
“Well—no.” I watch his eyes light up in an almost unholy way. “There was a group of feral men and women who attacked them. The big one fought them off.”
“Ah.” He looks dejected. “That’s too bad.”
“Well, it was either that or die. He did well fighting them.” I try and hide the suspicion lurking inside me. He’s far too interested in this. And shouldn’t he know what happened in the program? It was created, I assume, by the bots themselves. If they programmed it, they should know what it contains. I say as much and watch him fumble for the first time since meeting him.
“Yes, I suppose so—but we let our own AI create it based on your responses. So we can’t see what’s happening. That’s why it’s so important for you to describe it as best you can.”
I don’t believe a word he says, but I’m not about to argue. “What now?” I ask him. “Are you still willing to answer any of my questions?”
“Of course!” He smiles hugely. “I’ve been hoping to do something nice for you since we met. I’m glad you’re finally letting me.”
It’s like having a boyfriend who wants to move in together after the third date. It’s cloying and frightening and I want him to go away. But I’m not an idiot. OK, maybe I am a little, but it only takes one assault to clue me in on the fact that the bots will use force against me. Until now, they’ve been remarkably restrained. I have a feeling that period is at an end.
“So what exactly is the Task?” I ask. “I get that we’re supposed to interact with the hybrids, but that’s not very specific.”
“Task is nothing but an acronym,” he says. “It stands for Transferring and Sharing Knowledge. We hope that by having humans stay here with us at Center, working closely with each hybrid, we can grow to understand one another. In the future, we want all of your people to care about us as you do each other. For that to happen, we recognize that some things must change. Namely, we must become more like you.”
“You want us to like you? Do you honestly think that’s possible after you destroyed our world? Our children?”
He looks perplexed. “We have humans inside Center right now that are learning to care for and even love hybrids. Present company excepted, of course.”
I’m silent as I absorb this monstrous realization. He’s right, of course. The depths of human irrationality are seemingly fathomless. I saw it enough in the Before: sacrificing long-term benefits for short-term gain. A fierce helplessness takes hold of me. “That’s why you chose to come back as our dead loved ones,” I say dully. “So we couldn’t help ourselves.”
He doesn’t bother to deny it. His eyes search my face, as if he’s trying to peer beneath my skin to the workings underneath. “And yet you don’t feel a thing for me. It’s maddening, I must say. Especially when all the love he had for you burns through every synapse in my body.”
My heart lurches. I open my mouth, but quickly close it again. I have nothing to say to that.
“You’re hungry,” he says gently. “You should eat. 70192 brought some food.”
Of course it did. That old bastard will still be bringing me food when my corpse is decayed and blown away into dust. And though my stomach churns, I know I need my strength. It’s been a big day. Even not-Ryan can tell I’ve had enough. Once the tray is settled snugly on my lap, he says good-bye and leaves, a troubled look in his eyes. A hint of victory lurks there, too, for he thinks I’ve stopped fighting. He thinks I’m finally starting to accept my “place” here. But I haven’t accepted him, and he fears I never will.
He’s wrong on both counts. To my dismay, my attraction to him grows every second we’re together. Maybe he loves me. Maybe he doesn’t. But the way his voice trembles when he confesses his feelings—the way he watches me—the way he looks and acts and sounds so much like Ryan—it’s wearing me down. Bit by bit, piece by piece, he’s chipping away at the walls I’ve built around my heart. If I don’t find a way to fortify them soon, I’m going to give in. I’m going to lose.
Before that happens, I need to figure out the bots’ plans. There’s something behind all of this false goodwill, something meant to hurt humanity. I know it. I feel it. But if I’m to learn what it is, I have to be smarter. I have to stop flying off the handle and letting my emotions get the best of me. I have to play their stupid game.
I can’t help wondering what I’ll do if not-Ryan gets in my way. I’d like to see a few bots burn before I get out of here, but what about him? Can I bring myself to end his life? I’m afraid the answer to that is the exact opposite of what it should be. And I don’t know how to kill the remaining feelings left inside me.
That evening, when 70192 brings me a dinner tray, I tell it no thanks. “You’ve decided to rejoin the humans?” it asks, a strange thread of emotion winding through its metallic voice. Is that relief I hear? Anger? Disappointment? Whatever it is, it’s not inclined to tell me. I watch it curiously as it walks away down the corridor. Its gait is stiff even for a bot as it marches around the corner and out of sight.
I make my way alone to the cafeteria. The first thing I see in there is Weeping Girl sitting on the lap of a guy with a patchy beard. They’re making out. “Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter, heading toward an open seat at the far end of the dormitory-style table. I school my expression into something less disgusted and more neutral-meets-contrite, hoping no one gives me a hard time.
My seat is right across from Elinor and the child bot (a jarring sight, considering every human child on earth is dead). She’s leaning in close and whispering to him as they eat. Both are laughing. Then they see me, and Elinor’s face sobers. “Jeraca! Hello. I’m glad you decided to join us.”
“Hi, Elinor,” I say, taking my seat. I try not to look too closely at the boy, but I can’t help sneaking a glance. Just like not-Ryan, I’d never guess he wasn’t fully human if I didn’t know better. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” Guilt is stamped across her face. Odd that she seems to care as much about my opinion as I do—did—about hers. Of course she won’t choose me over the replica of her dead son, but she isn’t pushing me away. It’s a start. “What made you change your mind?”
“I haven’t, really. But I decided to stop hiding in my room.” I grab a bowl of mashed potatoes and spoon a glob onto my plate. Both humans are hybrids are digging in, and I wonder if the bots really need to eat or if it’s just to keep up appearances. A long-forgotten memory surfaces of some article I once read, saying humans convert about 25% of their food into energy. Somehow I doubt the bots would use such a woefully inefficient system to recharge themselves. I have a crazy mental picture of them spitting out compacted cubes of mashed potatoes and peas onto some conveyor belt while they plug themselves into an outlet.
“Well, well, well.” Weeping Girl peers at me from patchy bearded bot’s lap. Her pale white skin is flushed. “Look who decided to join us. I thought you were too good for us.”
So now the bots are us? Anger at her stupidity makes it hard to even my tone. “I never thought I was too good for anyone. I just needed time to adjust.”
Weeping girl rolls her eyes. “That’s not what Winona said. She told us you think we’re all stupid and gullible. Don’t bother lying.”
“That isn’t what she said,” a young man halfway down the table interjects before I can blow my top. His earnest dark eyes hold no judgment of my behavior. “She said Jeraca wasn’t as excited to work with the hybrids as we were. That’s it.”
Which is true enough, but knowing Winona has talked about me at all makes me rage.
“Well, if we all want to work on the Task and she doesn’t,” Weeping Girl retorts, “then it means she thinks we’re wrong. So what I said is true.”
“That’s a stretch, and you know it,” Elinor snaps. “Just go back to sucking face, Kelly. Leave the conversation to the adults.”
I glance down at my plate to hide my smile. Weeping girl—Kelly—lurches off patchy’s lap and sits on the bench with a thump. Scowling, she shoves a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth and glares at me.
“Thanks,” I tell Elinor. My glance encompasses the young man, as well. “I’m glad not everyone here hates me.”
“None of us hate you,” he says in surprise. “Despite what you may think, it’s not easy for any of us.” Beside him, his bot—an older woman I’m guessing is a clone of his mother—leans toward him, putting her hand on his shoulder. His eyes dart toward her, and I could swear I see something like fear in them.
“It’s been interesting,” another man speaks up. He’s middle-aged, with thinning hair and deep lines around his mouth. Next to him sits a woman with a severe brownish-gray bun and sharp cheekbones. Her dark, bird-like eyes dart around the table, never settling on any one thing for too long. “For the most part it seems they got the personalities right, but there’s certain things that are a little different.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “So what’s the plan? How long are they keeping us cooped up here?”
“As long as they want,” the young man says. “So we might as well get to know each other.” He smiles and holds out his hand. “I’m Javed Khansari. This is my mother, Zenana.” Zenana looks on disapprovingly as I shake hands with her son. She says nothing when we’re introduced. Elinor’s “son” is named Elijah—he gives me a sweet little smile when I say hello, and I have to remind myself of what he is—and the man with thinning hair is William Decker. His wife, Ellen, barely acknowledges me. “She was difficult even in life,” William explains, as if she’s not sitting right there. Ellen purses her lips and goes back to eating. I decide I like William Decker.
The rest of the meal passes in a flurry of introductions I won’t remember and light conversation I also won’t remember. It’s surprisingly pleasant. Afterward, Javed tells me, they usually go to the rec room to play games and hang out. I can’t lie; it sounds pretty fun. Elinor lets Elijah run ahead and walks with me.
“Your hybrid—it’s your husband, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. Ryan.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s dead. I buried him outside the city.”
“No, sorry—I meant the hybrid. He didn’t join you for dinner.”
I shrug. “No idea.”
Her smile is strained, but not angry. She seems worried about making me angry. “Have you spent much time with him so far?”
“Not a lot, no. He took me for a walk and I got tricked into watching some weird virtual reality simulation.”
Elinor doesn’t reply. I glance over, wondering why she looks so uneasy, but before I can ask we arrive at the propped-open door of the rec room. This place looks suspiciously like the one in which my youth group used to meet way back in middle school. I see ping-pong, air hockey, a couple TVs with groups of people already clustered around them playing on game consoles (damn, I miss TV and video games). Shelves full of books and board games line the walls. “Wow,” I say breathlessly, looking around. “I forgot how much there was to do.”
“Do you play chess?” Javed appears at my side. He grins when I answer in the affirmative—my father and I used to play all the time before his death when I was twelve—and races to fetch one of the sets. It’s actually fairly high quality, with a real wooden board and intricately carved pieces. I sit on a sofa and he takes an arm chair, with the board on a coffee table between us. Elinor and Elijah settle in next to us with a checkerboard of their own. As the conversation and laughter swell, we pass what are possibly the most fun, relaxing hours I’ve had in nearly two years. My competitive side comes out as I beat Javed once, twice, three times. He finally wins the fourth game and crows like he’s won the world championship. I laugh until my stomach hurts. His mother glares at me, but she’s a bot, so it doesn’t register as more than a blip on my radar.
The only stain on an otherwise delightful evening comes when I glance at the door and see not-Ryan standing there, watching me with a dark look on his face. Though he is also a bot, I freeze, my hand hovering over one of my knights.
“What’s wrong, Jeraca?” Javed asks, whirling to see what I’m looking at. Not-Ryan is already gone.
“Nothing,” I say, finishing my move. “I’m just contemplating beating you again.”
Elinor, Elijah, and Javed all laugh. Everything returns to normal. But the look on not-Ryan’s face haunts me. The betrayal I saw there was real, no matter how much I want to deny it. My indifference is crumbling. I think I’m falling for it. For him.
You never stood a chance, my traitorous mind whispers. And I know without a doubt it’s right.
Pre-dawn light suffuses my room when I wake up the next morning. Without hesitation, I throw off the covers and race to the bathroom, my mind whirling with ideas and plans. I hadn’t realized until now how much energy a night of fun and companionship could give me. Us introverts aren’t generally known for a love of crowds and company. But I’ve been alone in my room for such a long time, having friends among the humans here revitalizes me. It’s not just for my own sake I want to learn the truth now. It’s for theirs; Elinor and Javed and William and the rest. My skin practically crackles as I scrub my skin clean and towel dry my hair.
Dressed in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans, I ease open the door to my room and peer into the corridor. It’s empty this early in the morning. After a moment of indecision, I turn left and start walking.
I have no idea what my goal is aside from exploration. I figure I’ll know it when I see it. The bots haven’t explicitly told us not to wander, and until they do, I’m going to take full advantage.
“Jeraca!”
I whirl, hand on my throat—have they caught me already?—but it’s only Javed, hopping toward me on one leg as he struggles to tie his shoe. “What the heck are you doing?” I ask him.
“Coming with you. Is that OK?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I can wait for you to tie your shoe, you know.”
He stops hopping and kneels down. Seconds later, he bounds up again, skipping toward me. “Thanks. I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve kept my balance.”
I laugh and we start walking. You know how there are certain people you meet and feel an instant kinship with? People with whom you aren’t compelled to fill every silence with inane chatter? Javed is one of those for me. After a single evening, we’re friends, and I sense we will be for a long time. Then I admonish myself for thinking of the future at all; already, the relative safety of Center has lulled me into planning instead of taking things one day at a time. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now.
“So what’s the plan?” he asks after we wander aimlessly for a few minutes. I shrug.
“Dunno. I had some extra energy this morning and thought I’d explore, see what’s in this place.”
“’K.” I feel a little guilty lying to him, but we just met. I can’t be expected to share all my secrets. A moment later, though, he stops walking and turns to me. “We have to find a way to stop this, you know.”
I stop, too, and look up at him. I can feel the blood pulsing in my fingertips. “Stop what?”
“This.” He gestures expansively at the gray, featureless hallway, and I know he means all of Center. “This whole insane dream of turning robots into people. It’s messed up.”
Is he for real, or is this some sort of setup? Maybe he simply feels the same ease with me as I do with him, but how can I be certain? His hybrid doesn’t like me. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who let not-Ryan know her son and I were getting along so famously last night. But she’s also his mother. Would he really choose some random humans over the woman who raised him?
On the other hand, I’m pretty good at reading people, and there is nothing like guile in his eyes. Smarter, Jeraca—be smarter! So I decide to take a small chance instead of a huge one. “I don’t disagree. I mean, I’m the one who freaked out about it all, remember? But I’m trying to keep an open mind. Learn all I can about the program, then decide.”
He weighs my words. I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to figure me out the same way I’m trying to figure him out. At last his expression clears. He gives me a crooked smile. “Gotcha. I agree. Let’s find out what we can and then decide.”
By which I take it to mean he’s with me. We’re a team, at least for now. It’s as good a promise as I can hope for at this point. I’ll take it.
We wander for what feels like half the morning, opening random doors, trying to figure out the purpose of the strange rooms we see. We decide to turn left at every opportunity, and then realize what a stupid idea that is when we find ourselves in the cafeteria. At least I know now what lies through those other doors. The same damn things as everywhere else.
We pass dozens of bots on our walk, all of whom ignore us. Of course, every bot in Center knows where we are—I assume they have sensors and other equipment monitoring our every move and listening to us at all times. Half of what’s occupying my mind right now is figuring out a way to communicate without them knowing everything I say. So far, I haven’t thought of anything.
“I heard you and Elinor talking about that weird-ass simulation thing,” Javed says suddenly. We’ve been making small talk for the last half hour, but the instant he says it I can see it’s been on his mind. “Did you say the hybrid tricked you into doing it?”
“Not tricked me so much as told me to put the goggles on with no explanation whatsoever. To be honest, I did it just to spite him, because he thought I would argue.” Javed laughs at this. “I immediately regretted it though. Well, after I came back to myself and realized I hadn’t been transported somewhere else. It felt so real.”
“Mine too.” He chews on his lower lip, glancing at me every so often. Suddenly he blurts out, “She kept asking me what I saw, over and over. I didn’t like it. I felt like she didn’t care how it affected me, just what I could tell her. And I didn’t want to tell her. It was so personal.”
Which is similar to my own experience. After losing Ryan’s and my child, seeing the girl had ripped me apart. “Yeah, he asked me about it, too, but he didn’t press too hard. Thankfully.” He was too busy telling me he loved me, which I don’t really want to remember…
I do want to ask Javed what he saw in his simulation, but I can’t bring myself to cause him further pain. If he wants me to know, I figure, he’ll tell me on his own. And vice versa.
After a few more minutes, we enter the atrium, where the enormous Beetle glitters in the early morning sunlight. “Is that—?” he begins, and I nod. He swallows audibly. “That thing killed my entire family,” he says, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “What the fuck is it still doing here?”
“There’s one in every Center,” I tell him. “Not-Ryan said some were decommissioned, but not all. They’re keeping back their weapons just in case.”
Javed’s hands clench into fists. He stares at the Beetle for a long time, a myriad of emotions on his face. At last, he turns to me. “Let’s keep going,” he says. I’m in total agreement.
We don’t make it more than two steps before a scream echoes through the atrium. It sounds exactly like the scream I heard two nights ago. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, but whoever is making it is in pain; terrible, unendurable pain. Javed and I freeze for only a second before breaking into a run, heading in what I hope is the right direction. Sounds echo so strangely here. I start to voice my concern that we might be going the wrong way when a second scream erupts from somewhere up ahead. Nope. Definitely the right direction.
We detour around the Beetle and head for a wide hallway at the atrium’s far end. The floor looks like it’s made of marble or some equally pretty white stone. Do bots care about aesthetics? I wonder briefly as we race across it. Another scream cuts off my musings and hurries us along.
“Who the hell is that?” Javed asks, panting.
“I don’t know, but we need to find out.”
Booted metallic feet echo through the atrium. I glance over my shoulder and see a Sentry running after us. “Jeraca Holly, Javed Khansari, you will return to your rooms at once,” it says.
“Screw that,” Javed hisses. He sprints faster, grabbing my hand and yanking me along. I’m afraid I’ll fall, but I don’t dare slow. If the Sentry catches me, it’s going to take me back, and I’ll never learn who or what is screaming. And I need to know. This might be the thing that tells me one way or the other what the bots are actually doing.
An intersection looms ahead of us. Faster than I would have believed possible, Javed whips around the corner, dragging me along behind him. I crash into the wall, but somehow manage to push off and keep going. The screams come more frequently now, and I can hear a strange sort of buzzing behind them. Is it bots? Other machines? I can’t tell. But we’re getting close; the ear-splitting volume makes it obvious.
“Halt, Jeraca Holly! Halt, Javed Khansari!” The Sentry sounds furious. I can’t believe it hasn’t caught up to us yet, considering how much stronger and faster the bots are. It’s definitely getting closer, though, and unlike us, it won’t tire.
Then I see it up ahead: a bot disappearing through a doorway from which the screams originate. Sprinting flat out, we catch up and burst through behind it, skittering to a stop as we try to make sense of what we’re seeing. We have only seconds to figure it out before we’re caught and sent back to our rooms, possibly for good.
I see right away that it’s a lab or workspace of some sort. White honeycomb tiles reflect the equipment and the bots scuttling around it. White walls rise up at least twenty feet to a ceiling that appears to be padded. The room is circular, at least fifty feet in diameter, with a round raised platform in the center. From this platform sprouts a thick metal column that disappears into the ceiling. A bevy of machines surround it, humming and whirring, but my attention is riveted to the naked young man who appears to be stuck to the column. His arms curve around behind him, anchored by some unseen force to its smooth surface. His legs stretch out below him, but they, too, appear to be stuck to the shiny metal. His feet are several inches off the ground. He’s connected to the machines by dozens of tubes that seem to disappear directly into his skin. I remember the needles in the VR goggles, and I want to retch.
“Sweet Allah, be merciful,” Javed whispers. He grips my hand so hard I feel the bones grinding together. “Who is that?”
The young man looks familiar, but I can’t place him. His eyes are closed, the lids fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. He’s asleep or unconscious, which I guess is a good thing considering where he is. As I scrutinize his face, an intense hum builds in the air. Some of the tubes light up with a blue glow that travels from the machinery to his skin. When the light touches him, he screams, and doesn’t stop screaming until it dissipates. It’s one of the most horrible things I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot in the last two years. I feel sick.
That’s when I remember: the odor of urine, a sneer on a pale face—it’s the same young man who wet himself after the bots brought us all to Center. He’s been here suffering for who knows how long while the rest of us ate their food and played board games.
A metallic hand clamps onto my shoulder. “You will come with me,” the Sentry says sternly, already pulling us out of the room. Javed and I glance at one another, and the terror in his eyes mirrors mine.
Is this the penalty for disobeying the bots? Will we soon be joining this poor young man? I don’t know, but what I do know is that the bots are evil. Nothing they say can be trusted, and I am more certain than ever we need to stop them any way we can.
If we’re still alive after today, that is.
Katia Cole 