by Nathan Evans
“You shouldn’t want to.” He said. “You’re not real.”
She winced at the words, her already pained face twisting further.
All of the questions, the confusion, fell away. He rushed to her, falling to his knees by her side. He took her elegant chin in both hands. His brow twisted in anguish for the hurt that he’d caused her. He had no words for her, only a kiss.
She pulled away, the heat from the offense had cooled, but the wound was still no less deep. Her bottom lip disappeared into her top one, as if she were savoring his touch. When she was done, she opened her eyes and stared deep into his, “What’s real, Akio?” She asked. “Is anything?”
He thought of his mother, of her kind, soot blemished face. He thought of Yuki lying peacefully in the crook of his arm. “Some things are.” He said. “I need some things to be.”
“I’m not enough.”
“No,” he clutched her arm as if he could make her understand his meaning that way. “It’s not that. I—I can’t be here all the time.”
She smiled, wounded and bittersweet. “I know, Akio—that’s the problem. You go—I stay.”
“That,” he shook his head, “that’s not possible. When I go, you…” He looked to her, searching for the word, the knife that would hurt the least. “When I leave, you—you cease to be.”
“I wish that were true.” Her eyes fell away from his. “It’d be easier.”
Akio’s brow twisted. There were no words.
“How do you think this works, Akio?” She looked at him as a mother might look at a child learning of a harsh reality.
He stared at her, his jaw slack and wagging: “Haven—the system—it manipulates the limbic center.” The words were numb, as if he were repeating a sales pitch he never truly believed. “It feeds stimuli that trigger…” He looked to her, wordlessly asking permission to finish the thought, “that trigger fantasy.”
Tears welled anew as she shook her head, “No, Akio—I don’t come to you.” She said. She stroked his cheek, her touch even softer than he’d remembered it. “You come to me.”
“How?” He asked. “How’s that possible?”
For the first time, her face simulated guilt. “Akio… Haven,” she nodded her head, “it does stimulate, but only once it’s finished uploading.”
“Uploading? Uploading what?”
“You.” Her jaw seemed to clench involuntarily, as if some outside force were attempting to keep her from speaking. “Your conscious.”
It felt as if the wind had been knocked from him. He pushed off his knees, sitting beside her on the slab of wood. He didn’t speak.
The Girl in the Garden filled the silence. “The system, it sees everything, every piece of you, every memory. It collects you, anything that’s useful—anything that can be sold or exploited.”
“Sold? Sold to who?”
“To anyone that can make use of it.” She said. “To AdTech.”
“How do you,” he stopped, grinding his teeth, “how do you know about AdTech?”
“I know what you know, Akio.”
Both brows sloped, “Everything?” He whispered.
Yuki shrouded in darkness, lying with him skin to skin.
“Yes,” she said, shaking her head, the tears on her cheeks taking a new meaning. “Everything.”
He couldn’t hold her gaze. He couldn’t comfort her. He watched the stream, his hands clasped in his lap. The sound of water eased his thoughts, giving him direction, leading him to another question he didn’t want the answer to. “All of this, how do you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t, Akio. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I tried to show you, manipulate the program, but he wouldn’t let me. He took me.” She stared at him, almost accusingly. “Then you left.”
“What does any of this mean?” His fists clenched in frustration, the clouds darkened angrily as he squeezed. In a huff, he was up from the log, shouting: "Who took you?”
A thunderclap boomed. The sky opened. Rain gushed from ugly, roiling clouds like blood from a wound.
Inspired by fear, the Girl was up, throwing herself into his arms. Her slender fingers clasped his skull, forcing his attention. “Him.” She said.
The ground lurched in great shudders. There was a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard before; a million living things rending, twisting, and breaking; creating a cacophony of death as the forest peeled away around them. Charred concrete arose in its place.
The sky was a sped up recording. It moved and unfurled with a ferocity that shouldn’t have been possible.
It made the placid, black patch at its center all the more noticeable.
The disk of impenetrable darkness seemed to twitch on its side; a curious gesture. Akio clutched the Girl even closer as it peeled away and rushed toward the ground. It loomed over the cement horizon, its shape snapping and twisting into new forms depending on the second. It hovered, not coming nearer or going farther. Its revolutions weren’t natural, as if it were deciding what form to take.
They stood in each other’s arms, rooted to the spot, neither one knowing whether it was fear that held them in place or the futility of fleeing. Akio wanted nothing more than to look away, but he couldn’t. It was the Girl that ripped his gaze from it, her grip tightening on his jaw.
“What…” He began. She shook her head no before he could continue. “Who,” she nodded yes—the right question— “who is that?”
Lightning cracked so loud it threatened to split his skull. The shape tore apart, snapping its halves like a whip, pouring itself into the concrete; finding every pore or split in the cement, forcing itself down.
The concrete swallowed the black bile, shuddering beneath its force, handling the onslaught like a drunk choking down one too many. It gagged, spewing strands of midnight back up. A black, ropey nucleus formed at chest height, the strands thickening, building on themselves to form the frame of a man. An artist, the same disaster artist that had clothed the Girl in the Garden, filled in the frame, forming a massive shadow-man. Blazing red jewels emerged from the ink where his eyes should be.
“He hates you, Akio. He saves me, just to hurt me. He makes me go away when he’s done. He tortures me because he knows you love me.”
Akio’s eyes opened even wider than they had when the shape had torn from the sky, realizing that this girl—this figment… he did love her. He loved her more than he had loved anything else. He pulled her close.
Her lips found his ear: “Don’t let him take me, Akio. Don’t let him delete me again.”
The monster’s red jewels caught fire, burning away the ruby quartz to reveal a pupil beneath. The flame continued, soon it had engulfed the entire figure, smoke curling into the air wherever it touched, flesh revealing itself where it cleared.
A massive figure, his brow sloped, his chest heaving with hatred, stood on the horizon.
The Girl in the Garden whispered: “Plug, Akio—you have to kill Plug.”
CHAPTER 14
Akio fell. The system’s restraints slipped back into their housings. He felt like a bit of rope that’d been twisted too tightly; a used, hopeless heap on the floor. Rage forced him to action. His forearms tensed on steel, his malnourished biceps bulging beneath his jacket. He ground his teeth so hard they ached. The world was still a haze, his eyes tender and moist. Footsteps drew near, the loud, lumbering gait all too familiar.
“How’d you like that, Aki? I told you: you pay me what I’m worth and I’ll show you a good time.”
Plug put a hand on his shoulder. Akio recoiled, wrenching it free, twisting away and up so he stood on one knee. He hissed, baring his teeth like a wolf. Blood, thick and dark, poured out of his eyes and down his cheeks. A slab of a forearm rose up between them as Plug took a step back, horrorstruck.
Akio launched himself like a missile into Plug’s chest, his fists driving air out of a man easily twice his size. The floor shook as he stumbled backwards.
“What have you been d
oing to her?!” He screamed, launching himself again, pushing Plug back a half step. “You’ve hurt her—tortured her! Why?! Jealous that I had something good and you didn’t.” He threw his fist, wild and loose, connecting with Plug’s jaw; his vision a shade of red, yet clear enough he could see Plug’s head snap at the force of it. “Something pure.” Another shove.
This time Plug didn't budge.
Akio pulled his hand back, the gesture more suited to casting a fishing line than throwing a punch, when Plug’s grip swallowed his forearm whole. He screamed as something popped. Plug twisted him over to his opposite side. Curses flew from his lips like bile; they were cut short by a fist to the empty space beneath his rib cage, the broad knuckles attempting to work through.
The world threatened to go dim, flickering like a failing bulb. Before he could go limp, another mass slammed into the side of his face, pitching his skull to the floor.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Thick fingers wrapped around Akio’s neck. Plug walked toward the door, dragging him behind. Unable to speak, Akio clawed ineffectually at the arm. It wasn’t until they reached the door that one of Akio’s nails buried itself in skin. He tugged, opening a river of crimson. “Fuck!”
The grip on his neck went slack. He fumbled, attempting to orient himself on his side.
Plug caught hold of his jacket lapels before he could. He was lifted to his feet like a rag doll. He throttled him against the door. The junkies with enough presence of mind to, cowered at the scene.
The icy fingers of unconsciousness threatened to seize him as his head lolled on his neck. They would have if it weren’t for the sound of rain and the feeling of fresh air as Plug tore open the door to the alley. Through mashed lips, Akio spoke: “Yoush sonnuva bish.”
Three more punches followed the insult. He blacked out before the second one connected.
Unaware, he was jettisoned from the Haven Den and into a mass of garbage on the opposite wall.
…
“What the hell happened to you?”
The world swam as Akio stumbled through the front door of his building. His legs gave out the second he crossed the threshold.
Irving was there to catch him. He was met with an arm like a steel bar across his chest, preventing him from hitting the floor. At Irving’s touch, Akio could only see Plug, and yet another fist racing toward his cranium. With what little strength he had left, he railed against his grasp. His efforts manifesting themselves as toddler-like protestations.
The slum lord seized him by the shoulders, shaking him just enough, bringing him to his senses. A modicum of lucidity sparked in Akio and he stopped struggling. “Your face.” Irving said. Revulsion lied in his yellow eyes. Akio looked away, ashamed and embarrassed. He didn’t attempt to speak; the shape his tongue and lips were in, there was no point.
“Idiot.” Irving said. As if Akio weighed nothing, he took him up, pulling his limp arm across his shoulders, gripping him beneath the opposite arm with his other hand. The tips of Akio’s boots scraped the floor behind Irving’s sure, flat footed gait as they ambled down the long hallway towards his office. The front door lay open and forgotten behind them. Its heavy locks swaying in the wind.
Irving shoved Akio through the office door. His brain rattled inside his skull, a sound like rushing water filling his ears. He groaned as he fell into the padded chair behind the desk.
Irving dropped to a knee, his hand disappearing into the shadow of his seemingly bottomless desk drawer. He pulled out his scanner, muttering as he did so: “Can’t believe this. I ain't seen you in two days. When you show up, you look like hell spat you out.” He set the reader on his desk’s surface, gripping Akio’s left hand and then his right. When he found the barcode he slammed it down on the device.
“I’m not dealing with this—not anymore. You hear me, Akio?”
The desk chair squeaked in response as Akio’s limp skull caused it to sway.
The display beeped and came to life. “I’m getting my money, then I’m tossing your sorry ass out of here.”
The figure on the reader began to ascend, electronic chirps accompanying the jumbled, crimson lines. The same tone that had announced the activation of the machine, chimed again as it reached the bottom line. A shadow passed over Irving. His nostrils flared. An open palm engulfed the side of Akio’s face, “Where’s my money, Akio?” Another slap. “Answer me.” Akio answered with the same groan as before.
Another huff and Irving was up, gripping the arms of the desk chair. “Fine,” he said, his lips coming close to Akio’s ear, his voice dangerous, “I’ll let the Authority get it out of you.”
The words sliced through Akio’s daze, working past his conscious mind and reaching someplace deeper, somewhere primal. Harsh, armored brows above glowing crimson visors blazed against the inside of his retinas.
Irving moved around his desk to a panel built into the wall beside his office door. He tilted his head, speaking into the corner of the panel. “The Authority.” He said.
The edges of the panel glowed, producing a hard light projection that hovered inches from its surface. The words Emergency Service shone bright on the screen, a green bar and a red bar beneath it. A primitive computerized voice spoke: “You are attempting to contact an emergency service. If this call is connected in error, the caller may be subject to penalties up to and including a ten-thousand credit fine or five years confinement in an Authoritarian facility. Do you wish to continue?”
Akio blinked, struggling to come to. His right eyelid squeezed out another trail of crimson, relieving some of the swelling from the flesh pocket beneath. He willed himself to move, but his body wouldn’t comply; he was too tired, too weak. His eyes flickered as he slipped back towards the dark: the ominous ‘V’ of a red brow the only thing burning through.
The hum of the hard light projection slipped away. A hand, soft and gentle, caressed his knuckles. The feeling was electric. It jolted him awake.
The Girl in the Garden knelt before him, sorrow clinging to her like a shadow. She didn’t speak. She reached out with her other hand, caressing his damaged face. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, committing her every nuance to memory. He resolved himself to his fate. He looked to her once more; ready to say goodbye.
But she wasn’t.
Her sorrow had been replaced by something else, something stern. Words did not come, but it was clear that she was trying to communicate. Her head tilted slowly, her eye wandering to Irving’s half open desk drawer.
Gunmetal glinted in the light of the desk lamp.
“Put me through.” Irving’s gruff and impatient voice broke through the silence, startling Akio. He flinched, his gaze darting between the gun and Irving. He turned back to the Girl—she was gone.
The cool and dispassionate voice of the hard light display responded: “Connecting.”
The computer’s response spurred Akio to action. His fingers, loose and weak, fumbled at the lip of the drawer. With a quiet effort, he managed to hook the top joint of his pointer over the edge. He let his arm fall and the drawer slid open.
“Should’ve done this a long time ago.” Irving muttered.
The edges of the cold, black weapon cast a foreboding shadow that made it seem larger than it was. Akio looked from it—to Irving—and back to the gun. Just beneath the edge of his swollen eyelid, he caught the yellow glow of the hard light display.
There was a chime, the golden display turned green and was replaced by a view screen. A man with salty hair, wearing a bright, white suit, a lapel stretched across his chest to the shoulder where it was clipped with his ranking, appeared onscreen. He didn’t look at Irving, his attention off screen, wrapped up in conversation. He turned his graveled voice on Irving: “Authority—state your complaint.”
The gun answered in Irving’s place. A red spray erupted from the center of his chest, staining the wall panel. The hard light display flickered and died.
The recoil was too much for Akio, his grip too loose
. Hard steel twisted in his hand, torqueing his trigger finger. The pain was alive and vibrant. His free hand moved to cradle his damaged one. His own scream pulled him awake as the gun fell to the floor.
The graveled voice lost some of its baritone, becoming frantic. “Hello? What is that? Who’s calling?”
Irving sputtered a gibberish reply, blood staining his lips. His legs, their girth rivaling the mass of the redwoods Akio had come across in Haven, stood stout and strong. He turned on them, shuffling to face Akio. There was a sputter, unmistakably a curse, and Irving fell to his knees; the room shuddered as he connected. It shuddered again when his bald head cracked against the linoleum.
The thump of the body was audible over the panel’s microphone. The man on the other end went to work. “I have shots fired at…” There was nothing for a moment. “Damn—I’m not getting a location. Asshole's using boosted equipment.”
Fear spurred Akio to motion. Air wheezed from him in a pained grunt as he stood up from the chair.
“We’re going to have to do this the hard way. Ren—get me a trace on this line.”
Akio let out yet another moan that bordered on a scream, folding himself in half, bending to reach the fallen weapon. It was more difficult to level it a second time. He wasn’t going to take chances on multiple shots, he moved closer to the panel and looked away as he squeezed the trigger. Despite the heat and shower of sparks, he managed to hold onto it.
The boom of the second gunshot proved too much. Save for a sharp ringing, his ears were dead. He turned and looked upon Irving’s body, at the smoking, pulsing hole in his chest, then leaned down. He snagged the key ring attached to Irving’s belt and stood, disconnecting the magnet. His gait was awkward but steady as he moved towards the door.
He pulled it closed and locked it with the largest key on the ring. He tried the knob and it refused to budge. He prayed it would be enough.
The staircase was difficult. He put most of his weight on the rail, his legs driving him up in an awkward rhythm. When he reached the top he had to drive the fingernails on his good hand into the wood to keep from passing out.