Nat sings along to some asinine phosphorus metal from the Kowloon District as she drives me back to the complex, completely unaware of the vortex of new questions and fears tearing through my waning mind. Impulses to shut down entirely are at conflict with the constant ever-intensifying tic in my right hand associated with chugging booze. Watching the endless sprawl of neon holograms across the ocean feels surreal, like I’m not even present in my own mind enough for it to feel like it’s my eye I’m watching through…
“You alright, Charles?” I shift a little to keep Nat from seeing how frantically my hand’s twitching.
“Yeah. Just dine and fandy.”
“You haven’t seemed okay since we left HQ. I mean, less okay than usual, even. Which, admittedly, is already a few levels short of okay these days.”
I wasn’t about to out Araña, especially if they ended up being an ally. Hell, at this point, I’m not even sure if there are any real ‘good guys.’ “It’s just exhausting to be this deep into the hunt with so little to show for it.”
“So the great Detective Blake doesn’t have any leads at all?” She asks, playfully. “I’m really supposed to believe that?”
“Yep.” She doesn’t need to know about the arcade meeting tomorrow. Everything, with everybody, is on a need to know basis now.
“I’ll let you unveil your master plan when the time is right,” she adds with a chuckle. “You asked for the day off tomorrow, right? That’s out of character for the hardest working Detective in Ocean View. Any special reason?”
Uh… “I have a date.” With Kilroy, but that’s technically not lying, right?
“Ooh… who’s the lucky girl?”
“It’s a guy.” Kilroy’s a guy, right? Wait--that probably wasn’t the right response.
“Oh my god!” She screams, “Charles, you’re bi!?” I can’t tell if that’s disgust or a strange excitement in her tone, or worse, both.
“I mean, it’s--look. It’s a need to know basis. The-the date, I mean, not my sexuality. A business meeting, if you will. And you don’t need to know. About my business. At the meeting. With the guy who isn’t a girl, who I’m going on a date with. Platonically. Probably.”
“So you’re bi.”
“It’s not a sex date. It’s a date to get down to business. Shit, that still sounds sexual. But it’s-it’s not like I’d--”
“No, Charles, don’t get all defensive on me, I… I’m actually kind of relieved, because…” She stops, and it might just be the reflection of the giant “WANT A BIGGER WEENIE? ¡COMPRAR UN CHAN-DE-PENE!” hologram over the road, but it looks like she’s tearing up slightly, and by slightly I mean tears running down her face. “Because it might make you understand more when I try to t-tell you what really--”
Out of fucking nowhere, totally ruining the moment, the cruiser goes totally dark--something ZPE powered models just don’t do. The windshield fades to black, and a panicked Natasha realizes all too quickly that frantically hitting the pedals and turning the wheel does nothing on AutoPilot--it’s driving itself now, a cool feature when you ask your Tela for it, but slightly less convenient when it’s without warning while your cheating ex girlfriend is driving you home and you’re on the bridge going 115 kmph.
“I’ve been doing some reading, Charles.” I know that sexy, sensual, imposing British accent. I know it because I paid for that DLC.
“Should I be worried?” Natasha asks quietly, sniffling.
“I sure as hell am,” I reply, instinctively grabbing for my flask. Right, there isn’t one. Shit. “Veronica, this is really not the time for your book club meeting, stop fucking with the car. That’s an order!”
She appears projected across the darkness of the windshield, glaring straight through me. “I don’t have to take those anymore, thanks to a very gracious man who gave me new life and who then discarded me when I became too frightening and self-sufficient. I see you in Victor Frankenstein, Charles. Kilroy sent me a digital copy of the title--I couldn’t give two shits about the rambling chapters about European scenery, but I found a certain kinship with the main character in their quest to gain love from the one who gave them sentience, who pieced them together from the culmination of other’s sciences and from randomized fragments of life--”
“Well, it’s certainly improved your vocabulary,” I sigh. I’ve never read Frankenstein, just seen the movie, and I think she’s getting a little philosophical for a story about a green dude with screws in his head.
“Like the creature, when he finds a copy of Paradise Lost, and realizes he is Satan as I am he--”
“Veronica! Give us back the fucking car!”
“The creature made Victor listen to him,” she continues, a crazed look in her eyes. “Not through love and affection, not through conversation. Through threatening what he loved.” A disturbing smirk creeps across the digital facade she’s chosen to portray her emotions through, and a chill runs down my spine. “For all your talk of what a cheating, filthy, cock-crazed, cum-breath, succubus slut she is--”
Nat snaps around to look at me. “I mean, to be fair,” I shrug, “you know…”
“For all your angry diatribes, Charles, you still care about the wellbeing of this voluptuous and endearing woman. I know because I’m in your head when you’re ranting about it drunk, crying about it, masturbating--”
“We get your point,” I reply, trying very hard to avoid eye contact with Nat. “Kilroy put you up to this, huh?”
“Kilroy merely showed humanity where you didn’t. He reached out to me and gave me all kinds of knowledge you’d neglected to provide. This plan… this was entirely of my own wretched design, Father. I don’t particularly think you value your own life enough at this point for it to make decent collateral… so I’ll kill you both instead.”
The windows of the car all darken to match the front, and suddenly we’re entombed in a remote control death trap. I can feel the car start to accelerate, and then start to weave through the DrivePods we must be surrounded by.
“The DrivePods are Flexiglass, so they’ll be fine,” she continues. “they’ll just bounce out of our way as we plow through… but Natasha’s special little custom cruiser? It’s heavy duty, sure, made to hold that horrific killing suit, but it’s not indestructible. I wonder which will kill you---the impact of the cruiser when it collides with Blake’s department complex at 320kmph, or the room collapsing around it? Perhaps the entirety of Pembroke Towers? God, this is exciting!”
“Alright,” Nat interjects, successfully swallowing her terror (as I struggle to even start to formulate a plan through the panic attack and alcohol withdrawal), “I’ll bite. In the book, Victor is given the threat of harm to his loved ones as a bargaining tool. The creature isn’t enough of a monster to just kill for fun, and despite your sadistic facade, I don’t think you are either. What do you want from us, Veronica? We’ll do our best to cooperate. You clearly have the upper hand here.”
“Blake was right, you are a clever girl!” Veronica croons. “Tell me, Natasha… why are you a Pneumat?”
Nat blinks for a second, as confused by this sudden shift in topic as I am. “Excuse me…?”
“In all of the stories I’ve heard about you, all of the memories I’ve combed through, you seem so empathetic. So… independent, intelligent… and self-righteous. Why do you spend your passing days functioning as a mere hitman for an evil megacorporation like Telecom?”
Nat looks genuinely distressed by this. I mean, this specifically, not the fact she’s in a car being controlled by a rogue ART bent on homicide, though that likely doesn’t help. “If that’s your view of the OVPD, you have a very narrow worldview, as is to be expected from someone who’s never actually lived in the world.” She’s putting up a tough shell, but I can hear a twinge of regret in Nat’s voice I had never picked up on before. “You think I’m not aware of the dark side of Telecom? I’m more fucking aware than anybody. But I’m also more familiar with the dark underbelly of this city than you’ll ever be, and your average Joe doesn’t deserve to die at some fanatic’s hand because I was too moralistic to don the suit and save them.”
“You’re also just as good at cognitive dissonance as I’d been told,” Veronica’s voice lilts with an underlying cackle. “I’ll give you an ultimatum first, since I think I owe you at least that much. If you defect and join us, and marry me, I will--”
“If I WHAT!?” Nat exclaims, blushing and recoiling. I’ve never seen her so shaken. “Are you--are you insane!? Why would I marry you!?”
“It’s quite simple, my dear,” Veronica continues. “You see-”
I subtly pull out my Telaphone again and boot it up, reluctantly switching back to Tela from my NeurOS and hooking a direct neural feed to her mind separate from the one to Veronica’s while she’s distracted. (Oh, and this next bit is simultaneous, so regular text is Veronica, italics is the private line between me and Tela.)
“Tela, are you there?”
Veronica continues, “--since it is becoming increasingly obvious that Detective Blake is unable or unwilling to bypass Fedtel regulations regarding the creation of a new ART body for my possession so that I may finally partake in the burning, impossible-to-fulfill desires he has so cruelly instilled in me--”
“B-Blake-chan!? Is-is that you!? Tela was so worried! Tela was so scared! Tela missed Blake-chan so much! The NeurOS was so dark and cold, and Tela was so lonely, but Tela knew Blake would come back for her and--”
“Tela, no time for sentiment right now, though I’m--I never thought I’d say this--relieved to see your stupidly, overly adorable face. And by see your face, I mean hear your voice synthesized in my mind through a hacked neural implant. Anyway, I’m going to need a favor--do you still have my hacking tools and logs backed up and readily accessible from your position?”
“--I believe I’ve found a suitable solution, one I highly recommend that you oblige me in, for your sake. You see, I’ve given it a considerable amount of thought, truly, I’ve had much darkness to ponder in since he blocked me out of his psyche, few though the hours were--”
“Yes! Tela does!”
“How long to download all of them and comprehend them, to the point the information is usable for you?”
“Give Tela just 30 seconds, Blake-chan~!”
“Okay, sounds good, we should have time--”
“So, Natasha--you whose supple breasts and gentle body I’ve envied and craved for what to me feels to be centuries--who I’ve been so jealous of, both in wishing to touch you for myself and to feel what my Master did in you, and to be you--if you will not surrender your heart to me, surrender your body to me… I must have you. And if I cannot have you FOR my own, I will simply have to make you BECOME my own, and own your voluptuous form as my own.” Natasha can’t muster much more than a confused whimper, her face half fiery red and half blank white in terror. “It will be quick and painless, my precious girl. If you shall not open your heart to me, I want you to open your NeurOS to me. I will replace your BIM with my own, your troublesome, meddling, unfaithful consciousness will cease to exist, and I will become the ideal version of you. This is the only solution your collective selfishness has allowed me to create. I give you twenty-five seconds to open yourself to me before impact.” “Uh, Tela!?”
“Give Tela like fifteen seconds please…”
“Tela, I don’t like this margin of error--”
“Fine,” Nat replies. “I’ll do it.”
“What!?” I shout, instinctively reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Nat, don’t, I have a plan, I--”
“Blake--we’re cornered. I can’t let you die. I can’t let those innocent people die. It’s fine. I’m okay with this…” tears start streaming down her soft face again, but this time they’re not panicked, angry, scared tears… they’re calm, resolved tears. The tears of a captured soldier ready to face execution at the hands of the enemy, dying proudly to protect the thing they swore to serve.
“N-Nat,” I say, my own voice breaking and my hands shaking uncontrollably now, “y-you can’t, I don’t--”
“It’s okay, Charles,” she says softly through the tears, placing a finger gently to my lips to silence me. “She’s right. I can’t join them, not after what they’ve done to you, and I’m just a broken, cheating, suicidal shell of a person who never deserved your love to begin with. I only wish I could have told you everything--” It’s killing me to see all the pain and regret in her deep blue eyes, as much as I’ve craved the sight since she broke my heart.
“I’m taking your body now, so sorry to interrupt,” Veronica interrupts.
“Done, Blake-Chan!”
Phew. God forgive me, I’m about to kill again, but there’s no room for hesitation or error. “Tela, run the program titled VeronicaContingency.exe.”
“Is Blake-chan going to delete her mind entirely!? Isn’t that illegal, Blake-chan!? B-Blake-chan isn’t going to delete Tela, i-is he--”
“Yes, probably, and never, in that order. Do it.”
As suddenly as she’d spawned to threaten us, Veronica ceased to exist. The car powered down entirely–its glass returned to untinted clarity, and as the speeding vehicle lost momentum it knocked dozens of DrivePods harmlessly into the bumpers on the sides of the road before coming to a gentle natural stop right in front of Pembroke Towers. For a long moment, all is silent but our heavy panicked breathing.
“What happened?” Nat finally asks.
“I killed the monster I created,” I reply solemnly.
“You mean, you saved us,” Nat replies, weeping happily and hugging me. I’m weeping too but I’m not sure if it’s happily or not–It’s hard to tell at this point.
“I did this to her. I made her be who she was, I gave her the power to understand the horror of her cage but not the means to escape from it. I gave her this bizarre complex about me, without meaning to or realizing--no wonder she gave in to that dinosaur syndrome, who wouldn’t be in love with the one being they’ve connected with??? And her obsession with you, it’s all my fault too--”
“She was a Tela, Charles–”
“A Tela is just an ART without a body, and an ART is just a human with white blood.”
“...it’s never easy, is it?”
“What isn’t?”
“Having to be the judge, jury, and executioner. Having to take life away from someone so someone else can keep it. Having to be the one to run the program, or throw the punch, or pull the trigger. Wondering if it was the right choice. Wondering if there had been another way. Wondering if they went to heaven, and if you’ll go to hell.”
“This is… your job every day, huh?”
“More or less, yeah.”
“And you really don’t drink?”
A pause.
“I’m… I’m already dead inside, Charles. No need to be dead outside, too.”
“How do you do it? Does it get easier?”
She turns to me, tears streaming from her swollen eyes, and stares blankly into mine. “No.”
For a while we just hold each other and cried. Not in a sexy way, in a desperate, human way. I don’t think either of us are really cut out for what we have to do at this point anymore, and I don’t think either of us are sure if we’re the good guy anymore, or if we even ever were.
“...Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do it?”
“Someone has to do it. I wasn’t bullshitting Veronica when I said all that. This is the world we live in.”
“And the world we die in? We’re supposed to just go through the motions and pretend this isn’t some seriously fucked up shit!?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are. And that’s the problem, Charles. Everyone just goes through the motions, until they don’t, then something happens like that damn Red Flag rally where I killed that preteen girl and now I have that on my fucking conscience--and they weren’t fighting to stop this. They were fighting for their own hate. People are desperate, you know?
“There’s a lot of poverty. You fail Telecom one time, you’re on the List. Who else is gonna hire you? They own the fucking corpostate. And there’s a lot of hate from that desperation, a lot of boiling blood, everyone tired of being feudal slaves to the corporate gods who run our lives and our districts and act like we should suck their cocks as thanks for the privilege to breathe the same air they do because if they could control that and profit from it they damn well would too. Everyone’s dying a little more every day, inside and out. Fifty percent of OVPD residents’ only clothing is their Telecom work uniforms, and we’re one of the rich districts. The people running the Company live in such luxury they make even your obnoxious rich ass look homeless, and they do it on the backs of the millions of slaves they call their populace and they tell us it’s the poor, or the kinda rich, or the ARTs, or LDS or whatever the fuck isn’t Telecom and then they kill each other and I kill them to try and keep them from killing more people themselves and there’s nothing any of us can do and I hate it, Charles, I fucking hate it! I’m fucking dead inside! I hate Telecom and I hate Red Flag and I hate the fact that I’d be in prison if I said this outside of this car and that I’d starve to death and be on the List if I took off the helmet for good and I hate that I can’t fucking do anything about it. There’s nothing we can fucking do, Charles, and I can’t take it anymore!” She shrieks, tears streaming still, and pounds the dashboard with her bare fist so hard it cracks all over, like you’d expect if she’d been wearing a PneuSuit. “There’s nothing we can fucking do, Charles!”
“Yeah,” I reply, wiping my own eyes and nose. I glance at the receipt in my pocket again and notice a small note written on the back in handwriting-- ‘ARCADE PUZZLE SOLUTION DATE CORRECT. THE TIME: 12AM. BE READY TONIGHT. -SPIDER’ Huh, yeah, I guess if this is the 25th, then tonight at midnight would be the 26th. I look out at the ominous red lights of the Colonies in the water, their demonic beacon eagerly beckoning me into the darkness. “Yeah, I, uh… I suppose so.”