No one would believe that the creature fallen in the landfill had once been human. A mixture of flesh and machine, incinerated by extraterrestrial contact or by some other Babylonian entity. The smoke caused by a primitive arrow or sympathetic magic had already dissipated: the shock of a supercorporation’s portable plasma weapon.
He was a Black man with dreadlocks, accompanied by vultures, flies, and a strange mist rising from the ecological tartarus in which he lay (probably methane). He could easily be mistaken for a real synthetic cyborg—or even a mummy (because of his age)—but in the end he was simply someone who had already died, for he had crossed the wrong people at Lazarus.
He was still breathing…
“You don’t look very comfortable. Want a pillow?” someone said, adding a comic touch to the scene, like a Doctor Frankenstein meeting his own creature. He was a fat, bald man with a patchy beard, wearing a dark gray lab coat. The patient’s face managed to sketch a smile in response—unthinkable under the present circumstances.
He continued, “Yeah, old man. You’re getting famous. I was looking for you when a little girl came around here to tell me where you were. Looks like you’ve got another student.”
“I don’t give lessons,” the dying man objected.
He was an ancient soul, from the classical age. While all other souls had melted away, his remained intact—mummified, yet adamantine. He was a child in a state of purity, but his mind had developed multiple personalities and disconnected impulses. Yet the essence was still there.
Through a program, the personalities had been stabilized toward a single persona: the image of a warrior forged for the present age. The outer shell was a mirror of the inner image—and vice versa.
“The human mind is easily broken; it can be lost and never found again. Who can say that I am truly myself, if not my own consciousness? And yet, at the same time, the mind can reach anything—or rather, the self… (hiss of soldering) that lies beneath it.”
James continued his monologue already in the workshop while repairing his brother, Puzzle.
(...)
Approximately 3 years later…
“How much longer until you recover the object?” A male voice came through the car’s communicator.
“The mission has already been successfully completed. We just need to take care of one small detail,” replied the officer in the passenger seat.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I expect confirmation in five minutes. Out.”
“Damn it! Look at what these thieves are putting us through! And for what?” grumbled the officer behind the wheel.
“For money, obviously. What else would it be?”
“Who knows, maybe they’re cult lunatics. Especially since it’s a religious item…”
“Whatever. How many cars do we have now, six? Watch the right!”
“Yeah, I see it. We’re at 130 kilometers per hour, and he’s accelerating.”
“My God!…”
In a pickup truck ahead, someone wearing a gas mask and a cloak managed the feat of jumping onto the rear of the vehicle.
“What the hell is that? Shoot!”
The thing hurled itself toward them. Shots were fired. The car slammed the brakes, swerving toward the shoulder, but the body struck the windshield with full force. The pursuing cars sped past them.
Getting out of the vehicle, the officers assessed what had happened.
“Kamikaze? What else can you expect from fanatics?”
“Look at this—it’s a robot… and it looks like a rental unit, but modified. They removed the tracking and all that crap. But why would a robot wear a mask? That cloak is a ZeroTrace cleaning uniform.”
“Greyman… what if I told you we’re chasing a single person who’s using several disguised robots as a form of deterrence?”
“That’s an interesting hypothesis.”
Farther ahead, other officers managed to block the criminal’s car, but he escaped on foot, slipping between the vehicles in the traffic jam.
After hearing the shout, “Damn it! Another robot!” a pair of officers leaned against their patrol car and spoke.
“We have to remember we can’t use full force. We need patience and we need to capture him with the item,” said the stocky officer.
“Your humanity moves me. I’m doing my job—I can’t care whether he’s carrying some historical junk or not. He could shoot us, so screw that. I’m going to take care of myself and do whatever’s most practical.”
After a moment, the policewoman added:
“I have people waiting for me at home.”
She opened her wallet and looked at the picture of a little boy.
“Maggie!”
A long blade burst through the woman’s chest, piercing her vest and staining the photograph with blood.
Panicking, the stocky officer fired at the criminal. The attacker, however, used the victim’s body as a shield, grabbed her weapon and returned fire, striking the officer’s gun and sending it flying.
Sadistic like an animal toying with its prey, he swung his katana, slicing open the officer’s vest. Amused, he struck again—this time opening the man’s abdomen and spilling his intestines onto the asphalt.
He made a point of making the biggest mess possible.
(...)
Inside a hovercraft, a man watched the pursuit from above as he spoke.
“Only my men? I understand… Listen: he’s already gone too far for an ordinary person, thanks to those robots of his. Deploy the supersonic defense drones.”
Still fleeing, the masked man’s car took a violent hit that tore off the passenger-side door. The bag that had been strapped to his chest had ripped loose during the chase and now lay over the relic, exposed on the seat.
“Stop now or we will activate the defense system!” a voice boomed through a loudspeaker.
A small robot leapt swiftly into the passenger compartment and, seizing the relic, flew back into the void from which it had come.
“NOOOOO!” the masked man cried in rage.
Moments later, he began to hear the buzzing of the defense drones.
“Until next time, Puzzle,” he said.
