by Amy Johnson
An unspoken understanding passes between us.
Don’t follow. Do your job.
It’s the only way I can help her.
I muster up my newfound courage and bite back the tears that tangle up my throat. With shaking legs, I sprint back to my room, clutching the dictionary.
Chapter 16: Disposed
Eden
Zwei leads me to the Anthros, weaving through the streets with ease. Cybers part like the Red Sea at the sight of her, talking in hushed whispers, metallic eyes going wide.
I’m an exhibit again, but this time, the barrier has fallen.
I keep my eyes trained on the path ahead and ignore the image the cybers project on the screens around us. Out of the corner of my eye, dark colors flash, casting maroon reflections against the sidewalk. Curiosity wins, and I look up and take a small breath of surprise.
The camera sweeps over the bodies, and faces of the dead Luddites appear on the screens. Blood coats the ground underneath them and splashes as the Artificial controlling the camera takes a step.
Tears brim in my eyes, and I look away.
Cheers rise up from the machines around me, a symphony of shouting and clapping. They rejoice in our capture. I tune out the sounds of their chorus and focus on walking.
Soon, the unbroken sidewalk turns into the black asphalt of the Anthros and the white columns rise into view. No cybers litter the entryway. I search the area, finding the word “Closed” has been projected on the ground in front of the gate.
They shut down the entire work day just for us?
I’m flattered.
After we enter the park, the group splits. The Artificials lead the Luddites to the prep room doors for cleaning, and Zwei continues forward toward the silver spear of the administration building.
We enter the silver box, and she lowers her gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her brush her hair out of her face and rub at the splatters of blood on her cheeks. The red pinpoints give her the appearance of a chicken pox victim, but they fall to the ground when she wipes them. They flutter down to the floor, forgotten under her shoes.
When the doors open on the fourth floor, Zwei pushes me out and leads me past the operating table to another silver door. After pressing her palm to the scanner located on the left side of the door, it slides open, revealing a room with two white beds.
Both beds sit empty with white sheets lining their surface.
“Lay down,” Zwei orders, speaking for the first time since we left the tunnels. I stare at her as she walks away and wanders to the other side of the room.
Why should I do what she tells me to? Without the cuff, she can’t shock me. I doubt she will shoot me. In the tunnels, the humans serve as leverage. Here, it’s just the two of us.
She glances over her shoulder at me and smirks when she sees I’m still standing up and glaring at her.
“I’m the sweet one, ,” she says, looking back down at the drawer she has pulled open. I crane to see what she pulls out and shiver at the sound of metal being drawn across the counter. “You really shouldn’t push me, though.”
As she turns around, she smacks the three-pronged fork against her open hand.
I wince at the sight of it as I remember the intense pain when she drove it into my arm three times.
“Oh, you remember this?” she asks, giggling. “I thought you might.” She points the fork at me, and her voice drops to a growl. “Now, I said lay down.”
I scramble backwards towards the bed, pushing myself up and onto it.
Still holding the weapon, she crosses the short distance between us, reaches under the bed, and pulls out the restraints. There’s four of them--one for each limb. As she circles the bed like a panther stalking her prey, the metal fork scrapes across the sheets and emits a spine tingling sound that reminds me of fingernails against taut paper.
“I can’t kill you,” she said, standing at the foot of the bed once I’ve been fully restrained, “but I can hurt you until Eins gets here. Wanna have some fun?”
I shake my head, knotting my hair as I do so. The mattress crinkles under me as I squirm away from her.
“Good thing I don’t care what you want.”
With that, she lunges at me and plunges the fork into one of the gashes in my leg. I roar in pain, gasping for breath.
“The good thing about becoming an Idyllic is that your imperfections become your strengths,” Zwei says, ripping the fork out and driving it into the second gash. I slam my head against the mattress and writhe in unbearable pain. “I might as well give you plenty of imperfections.”
As she goes for the third gash, my brain kicks into gear.
A million questions dance on the edge of my tongue, held back by the throbbing pain that courses through my body. My tongue turns to lead as she drives the fork into the last gash and gives it a twist.
Darkness pulls at my consciousness, threatening to pull me and my questions into its cold arms. I fight against it, panting as the fabric under my leg becomes coated in warm liquid. Sweat runs down my neck and forehead and plasters my hair to my skin.
Zwei moves to my shoulder and brings the fork up. I brace myself and turn my head away from the inevitable convergence.
“What are you doing?”
Zwei jumps, and her fork spears the soft fabric of the mattress. The wind from its descent washes over my arm, and I exhale, quivering in anxious fear.
Eins stands in the doorway, carrying an unconscious Knox. The boy’s head dangles at an unnatural, downward angle; his legs drape over Eins’ muscular arm. He resembles a limp piece of clothing, drenched in sweat and blood.
“I was just having fun,” Zwei whines, puckering her lips at him as she pockets the silver fork.
“Leave her alone,” Eins barks, “and help me strap him down.”
Zwei does as she’s told, pulling out the restraints and locking Knox down just as she did me. Once they’re satisfied that he can’t move, Zwei returns to me and pushes strands of black hair away from my face.
“We heard you on the river,” Zwei purrs as she traces the outline of my face with a long fingernail. “We are going to give you real freedom, Subject 23. The two of us only answer to one being. We have nothing and no one to fear. That’s what real freedom is--being on top.”
I shiver and watch the translucent section of her face shift in the bright lights. With every word, the hydraulics pump her jaw up and down. Tiny hisses of air fall between us from her open mouth.
My leaden tongue prevents me from arguing. The pain weighs me down, gripping the edges of my body and clasping its hand over my mouth.
“Settle down, Zwei,” Eins says, appearing on the other side of me. “We should give her a little history lesson before Null arrives for her assembly, don’t you agree?”
Zwei claps her hands together a few times and grins from ear to ear. Eins rolls his eyes at her and leans against the wall.
“What do you know about the history of the machines?” he asks me.
Even if my mouth is full of rocks, he expects an answer. I swallow down blood and bile, grimacing as my tongue fights against me.
“Very little,” I mumble, parting my lips just wide enough for the words to slip out. I do know more than a little, but it would take too much effort to say. Plus, I want to compare my version with his.
Eins nods, taking a deep breath and pushing off the wall. His hands find his pockets and slip inside with ease.
“A smart little girl like you should know all about The Final War in 2024, seventy-nine years after the second World War,” he begins. “The true last World War. As you know, the United States lost this war. Germany paired up with his sister country, Russia, to obliterate North America.
“The defeat left us in inexplicable debt, which Germany demanded we pay at all costs--a sort of payback for what happened after the second World War. You should know that the US citizens couldn’t pay the debt back fast enough. So, twenty years after the close of The Final War, Germa
ny came up with a solution.
“Luca Fischer, a scientist from Germany, had an idea. He wanted to mass-produce something called service machines, which were simple robotics made to increase production levels in factories. The service machines would surpass human efficiency, but they were brainless and unable to rise against humanity.
“Within a few years, Luca’s service machines took over production, and the impact spoke legions for the economy. Yet, Germany wasn’t content. They wanted to push science a step further and insert the technology of the service machines into human hosts. I assume you know what became of that.”
I nod, goosebumps spreading over my arms.
Cybernetics.
“The new cybernetic organisms were an extreme success. Anyone could become one for free. They marketed the procedure as a ‘service to the country.’ Morale was back up, and everyone seemed happy. Germany was off their backs; the debt was being paid.
“Until no one else stepped forward to volunteer.
“Half of the North American population had undergone the assembly. Germany noticed a drop in production and came over asking why. They threatened to drop another atom bomb in the center of the country if we didn’t resume payments. By the year 2057, eight years after the creation of cybernetics, every human was required to submit to the procedure.
“Rebels rose up, taking the name ‘Luddites.’ Surely I don’t have to tell you your own history.”
I swallow hard and shake my head. Our revolt failed, because science produced a third type of machine.
Artificials.
“I can see the fear in your eyes,” Eins says, looming over me once again, red eye shining like a midday sun. “You know this part. The Artificials were created, destroying the resistance and pushing what remained of the human race into hiding. Your people became critically endangered, one step away from extinction.”
That was still fifty years ago. The humans have been running from city to city along the tunnels, surviving on scraps and borrowed time. There’s no human alive today that remembers a time when the Artificials weren’t around, a time when we stood a chance against the machines.
Emory’s parents might have, but even Emory can only imagine what it would have been like to hide above ground in the skyscrapers and feel the warmth of the sun on her skin.
“Where do you fit in?” I croak, looking at Eins. This can’t be the end of his story.
“Well, you can’t skip the most important part,” he says, tapping his fingers against the mattress. “I’ll get to my story in a minute. In the year 2077, the Anthros was created. At first, it was a research facility for the cybernetics to find ways to improve their quality of production. German officials oversaw all of the tests, choosing which ones to pursue and which ones to shut down.
“Eventually, the Germans got tired of watching the Anthros. Once the cybernetics were free to explore whatever they wanted in regards to human life, things got much more inhumane.
“You see, the Germans designed the cybernetics with their general hatred of the United States citizens. That hate was engraved into the steel of their brains and coded into their thought processes. Once Germany stopped supervising the experiments, they could torture and breed humans as they liked.
“They can’t feel pity or empathy. They just know that they’re supposed to retain every last human on the continent in order to strip them of their humanity.”
There’s a new emotion playing in the back of my mind.
They can’t feel pity, but I can.
I now understand their obsession with capturing us. It’s in their programming.
Still, anger pushes back the pity. It’s hard to feel sorry for them when they have killed and tortured my family.
My chest caves in as I imagine their faces, and I gasp for air, finding my lungs empty.
I was supposed to save them.
Guilt settles in the base of my abdomen, threatening to empty my blood-filled stomach. I taste copper on my tongue. Faces filter through my mind, emotionless and blank, chained and cuffed, infants held in empty rooms with narrow windows and fed from genetically enhanced gardens.
How many human beings died alone on these hospital beds?
The guilt merges with my rage and I jerk upwards. My back arches away from the bed. Pain spirals up my leg with every jagged movement, but I push up anyway, glaring at the two of them in turn.
Zwei slips off of Knox’s bed, skips over to me, and places a firm hand on my chest. Despite the force I thought was behind my movements, her face remains stern as she presses me back down onto the bed.
“Don’t rip your arms off,” she scolds, patting my sternum. “Too much damage, and Null will just turn you into a cybernetic.”
I lay flat, seething at the very sight of her.
“Can I get back to my story?” Eins asks with a tone of impatience on his tongue. Zwei nods, holding me down. “After the Anthros were constructed, humans got better at hiding. The cybers and Artificials couldn’t locate them because they both lacked the ability to think like humans. They could successfully breed humans, but nature took too long for Germany. They were impatient and resorted to threatening. Luca’s family, the only people exempt from the procedure due to their importance, sought to create the ideal hunting machines.
“So, they designed the Idyllic. Null was the first of our kind--a human being created with machinery that combines humans, cybernetics, and Artificials in a seamless fashion.
“We have human passions and your ability to reason. We feel emotion at inhuman levels, driving us to complete our missions. We hold a lifetime of knowledge with no foreseeable end.
“From the cybernetics, we receive our mechanics. Our bodies are reinforced with metal, vital organs protected by unbreakable casing. Our skin is threaded with hidden synthetic fibers, making us flame retardant and bulletproof.
“Lastly, from the Artificials we received our inhuman strength, speed, and endurance. We have their heightened senses. Unlike the Artificials, though, we aren’t controlled by the panels.”
“How are you controlled, then?” I blurt, blinking at him.
“Nanotechnology. Tiny little machines inserted into our bloodstream.”
“How many of you are there?” I ask, feeling a little braver since he didn’t motion for Zwei to stab me for speaking out.
“I was the second Idyllic to be created,” Eins says. “Null was the first of our kind. He’s the grandson of Luca Fischer himself. I was created shortly after, followed by Zwei.”
“You speak a different language, though.”
“I speak an infinite amount of languages. It comes from my library of knowledge. Our language of choice happens to be German, because that’s where our great creator comes from. You’ll understand later.”
I nod, trying to decipher the other questions jumbled in my throat.
“Since you keep your brain, do you remember being a human?”
Zwei pokes my nose, speaking up before Eins can answer.
“Of course, we do. I remember the day the Luddite attacked me and drove a knife into my skull like it was yesterday. He drove the wretched thing through my face, leaving me to die in the street,” she tells me, hands shaking.
“And I remember the day my own mother abandoned me on the edge of the river, half-dead from the infection that took my eye. Humans aren’t perfect, Eden. If anything, our memories drive us to destroy them.”
The fact that he calls me by my name sends a cold chill across my body. I shudder and clench my hands into weak fists. My heartbeat pulses in the soft skin of my palm where my fingernails dig in.
That answers Knox’s questions. I’m going to remember every moment of my life in vivid detail. Instead of forgetting the horrors of the past few weeks, my brain will instead twist them into railroad nails, driving them into the weak spots in my spine and forcing me to see things in a new light.
Zwei’s attacker probably wasn’t actually a human. When you’re attacked, the mind creates war
ped memories of dramatic proportions. The day my parents faced the machines serves as a perfect example. The memories left behind consist of screaming, the hum of paralyzer bullets, blood dripping through the manhole above, and the shuddering of my entire world as the building overhead crumbled like a cracker in the hand of a child.
I’ve forgotten what they were wearing and what they told me as they shoved me out into the alley away from the machines. My mind picked the scarier things to keep alive and haunt me with.
If Zwei was really attacked, her subconscious molded the memories into whatever it wanted like a demented plastic surgeon.
Likewise, the fog of Eins’s memory blinds him. His mother abandoned him for a reason that stands too clear in my unswayed mind. She left him behind to protect everyone around him from infection. With medicinal supplies impossible to come by, she had no choice.
Even worse, she never returned to the safety of human grouping.
She was already exposed to the infection.
Eins thinks she left him to die, but she separated him from her unavoidable death as well.
How will I remember my time as a human? Will all of my happy memories morph into nightmares, blood scattered across snowy landscapes, and bodies burned in tiny fires? Will my mother’s singing voice become nothing more than a siren’s scream that lulled my father into the streets overhead? Will Cyrus’s rescue morph into him leaving my parents behind to die?
The door beeps, sucking in a strong gust of air before it slides open.
Eins and Zwei turn to face the open door, hands falling to their sides. Their backs straighten into firm lines, vertical one hundred eighty degree climbs.
The man standing in the door takes up almost every inch of the space. His broad shoulders graze the frame and pull the white t-shirt he wears tight against his chest. Through the thinning fabric, his tensing chest muscles show. The curves of his abs press into the fabric, gleaming polished silver in the white light of the assembly room.
His right arm hangs limp at his side, made entirely of scratched and dented steel. Wires tangle in with springs, hydraulics, rods, and pipes. I find his other arm, which greets me as wholly human--all flesh and bone as far as I can tell.