by Tex Leiko
“Why would I understand? Because I hold a black license? Because I kill others to make a living? Did you even bother to investigate who my clients are, or did you just see that I hold a license on the application and assume I was a mass murderer and that was how I managed to amass my large sum of credits?”
Brian choked on his bite and proceeded to speak, spitting chunks of it in her direction. “I’m so sorry, did not mean to offend, all I meant was—”
“That I am some soulless killer who could use your company’s services to create cover for myself as I slip into an innocent’s home and slaughter him or her like a sheep? I take no offense to what you think and say; you have a right to be ignorant and I, for my part, accept that you are. What I am offended by, however, is that you spit your food halfway across the table at me.”
“Sorry,” was all he could manage to say as he wiped his mouth with a tablecloth.
“I am sure you are, Brian, but right now, I really don’t care. I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, pushing her plate of food away.
“Sorry, again. Please tell me, how can I make it up to you?”
“Go pay our bill and take me home. I really can’t stand you and don’t expect to have any dealings with you other than professional ones from here on out, but a girl has needs.”
“Okay. So you are saying that I haven’t lost your business?”
“Not yet,” she huffed, annoyed.
Brain stood from the table, and found the waitress to pay. As he walked back to the table, he couldn’t help but notice that Crimson had downed both of their drinks.
“Thirsty much?” he asked playfully.
“Yeah, are we ready? Let’s go back to your place.”
* * * *
Max didn’t know what to do with himself. Crimson had gone and he was full of energy. His lab looked awesome, but he didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know what Crimson wanted him to work on exactly, or else he would have started.
He was hungry, but he didn’t care about food. He had an impulse raging in his brain stronger than any legitimate physical need. Feed me. It seemed to repeat in his brain. I don’t want to! Max kept fighting back as he trembled and sweated.
He spotted a pharmaceutical locker on the far end of the lab and decided to investigate. Red, red, orange, green, yellow, black, tan, brown, brown, red! Where? Where is blue? Why no blue? Why, why, why, why, why, why?
It hadn’t been this bad since he’d quit three years ago. You knew what you were doing; you’re a doctor. You know your enhancements make you more prone to addiction. What the hell were you thinking, asshole? That I hate you! I hate you, Max! You destroy everything! You destroy everyone! Crimson doesn’t like you. She doesn’t even need you! She needs your brain, ignorant little addict, you should die already.
Max began to cry and convulse. He hated that he craved the serenity boosts so bad. It came in waves. He wanted them; he didn’t. He hated that they controlled him so strongly, and not at all. He couldn’t choose when he craved them; he couldn’t choose when he didn’t.
It was a true addiction. He really wanted free, but he knew the only thing that could heal him was time. Sure, they can make us immortal these days, but they can’t fix addiction. Maybe I should have gone into research. I wish I had never studied medicine! I wish I had gone anywhere in life except the path that would lead me to this.
Max voluntarily convulsed on the floor as if he was trying to expel demons from his body. It was more than a tantrum a three-year-old would throw. Max knew what he wanted. He wanted freedom from slavery to chemicals. He’d had it. For three short years, he had been completely free, but one freak occurrence, one that wasn’t even that big of a deal, had slingshot him back to this.
He rolled over to the metal pharmaceutical locker, sweating and writhing in both physical and emotional pain. He began to pound his head into the locker with a vehement rage.
He bashed his head into the metal one time and felt his skull absorb the blow with a large hematoma swelling under the skin. He fervently smashed his head a second time into the locker with all of his force. His vision dimmed and he heard a ringing in his right ear.
Once more. That’s all you need to be free, Max, that’s it.
He paused and choked. He started crying even harder than he had been. He could barely breathe through the tears and gasps. He wasn’t crying from the physical pain he had dealt himself. He was crying because his mind was drawn to Crimson. What if she does care about me? Even if it is just as a friend? Just a fellow soldier for a good cause? What if? What if nothing…
A third tempestuous slam; it was hard. The metal rang out; his neck made a cracking noise. He had slipped a disk in between his fourth and fifth vertebra that would be a constant source of pain and aggravation. He had also caused a concussive fracture to his skull. His skin split open and his hematoma ran down his forehead into his right eye.
He couldn’t see out of it anyway because of the swelling around his retina caused by his first blow. His right eye was most certainly swelling; he could feel it. He convulsed a few more times before dragging himself to a position on all fours. He hit the floor eight times with both fists as hard as he could. His knuckles were already swelling and would cause him horrible pain in the morning.
Finally, he stood on both feet and faced the locker. He kicked it as hard as he could. Still, his chest heaved as he sobbed, grabbing for air between whimpers. His lips quivered and snot ran down his nose. Blood and tears fell like rain on his shirt.
No sense in crying about spilled milk all night; time to get to work.
Max reached into the locker. Yellow, non-addictive stimulant, like caffeine but stronger. I need to calm down, but maybe this will focus me and I can do something useful for a change.
He pulled out an awareness boost. Dosage on all boosts were the same; a typical dose was point one of a cc. Most syringes were multiple-use and held ten doses. This one still had seven doses to dispense. He stuck the needle in his arm and pushed the plunger without hesitation.
A smile widened across his face as the feeling quickly overwhelmed his body. That’s better, time to get to work.
* * * *
As they walked back to Brian’s place, she could tell he was feeling awkward. He had displayed complete ineptitude. She wanted him to feel inadequate and weak. She wanted him to know his place, and to have no doubt that she was only going back to his place for her primal urges to be satiated.
“So, who do you kill then? If you don’t mind me asking?” Brian asked hesitantly, his body language completely awkward.
“Oh, so now you want to do your homework? Don’t you think you should have done that before I came to the office? Don’t you think you should have done that before dinner? I gave you a whole day to prepare.”
Brian was quiet, staring straight at his feet as he walked.
“I blew it with you, I know. It is just that the company pawns so many of the small timers off on me. I used to be an engineer. I maintained the machines, but it seemed like too much stress. I applied for a position as a sales rep and they gave it to me, but I feel like they give me all the small fry accounts. The one time novelty buyers, you know? So I didn’t do my homework on you.
“Do you know how many people have passed through my door carrying a black license? More than I could count. I’m sorry, I looked at your application; you looked the same as the others. I’m sure that’s the only reason they passed you on to me. Sure, you have a large fortune, but so do a lot of other assassins.
“Killers don’t buy sunny days, typically. They buy the weather they need for one job that will cover them, then usually we don’t ever do business again. Either due to death, or they quickly realize that fog, rain, wind, whatever they order, didn’t help them that much. You talk like you are going to use Barometrics services a lot, but I still doubt it. I’m sorry, but history has proven you to be false already. So no, I didn’t do my homework. I am sorry, but now I am curious. Who are your clien
ts; who are your targets? Enlighten me.”
“My clients are the families that other license holders have ravaged and stolen from. My targets are assassins, typically big names with even larger reputations and egos. I do a little information gathering. I find out what families they’ve robbed from. Then take about a hundred payments on the same target and go in for the kill.
“So, in the field that I’ve chosen to pursue, every advantage matters. I will use your services more than once. What I need will be different each time. So start treating me like a good customer and we won’t have any issues. And let’s be clear about one thing. I kill the bad guys; I’m not one of them.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. My apartment is up ahead,” Brian said, and pointed to a rather bland building.
The rest of their walk, which was six more blocks, was awfully awkward. Crimson began to think he had only pointed out the building so soon to avoid further conversation. As they walked up the staircase to his doorway, she shot him an evil smile, one that spoke more synonyms than Brian even knew for “seductive.”
“It’s on the fifth floor,” he said in a tone that almost sounded guilty.
“Let us both hope my night isn’t a waste,” she said as she leaned in on him and bit his lower lip. “Or else I might have to make you scream from more than pleasure.”
Brian didn’t say anything back. He could do nothing but breathe heavy, hot air into Crimson’s face as he pushed the button for the elevator. It was there before he even realized it. Crimson was still sucking on his face and now she was scratching the back of his neck.
She shoved him inside the doors and they began to close while she was still standing in the hallway glaring at him lustfully. Brian cast an eager glance, as if he was worried she was going to leave him in the elevator longing. Before the doors closed shut, she darted between them and clung onto Brian’s body.
“Miss me much?” she asked as the doors closed and the elevator sounded a ding.
“I thought you were going to leave me with blue balls,” he said sarcastically, trying to make a joke.
“If you disappoint, I’ll leave you with none.”
* * * *
The SCARA type articulated robotic arm sat in simple complexity upon the mounting pedestal before Max. He knew the arms weren’t hard to come by, but they were certainly expensive, so naturally, he was having difficulty understanding why anyone would purchase twenty of them to have in their home.
They ranged in sizes, pairs; the largest could assemble a military tank down to the smallest pair that could assemble nanobots smaller than legal, by both the laws of the affluent governments and the corporations that truly ran them. For this first construction, he would only need to use six of the twenty pairs he had at his disposal. They were beautiful, majestic, and Max had finished programming the last of the pairs that he needed.
As he laid the parts on the assembly line, his mind began to go wild. I know she’s going to love this! Oh she will be so impressed. She has no idea my level of brilliance. If a scientist and a research doctor she wants, that she will have. If she needs a fierce warrior and protector, she shall have that too. Oh, I can’t wait!
Max double checked his calibrations as he walked up and down the assembly line. His high from the boosts was still well in effect, and was causing him to sweat more than he should. He was already a hyperactive person in general, which was one of the reasons he’d become addicted to the serenity boosts so easily.
He should have been shaking too bad to get any work done, but he overrode the impulse he was sending subconsciously with his conscious thoughts. He felt as if he could do the work of a hundred people himself, and with the robots helping, a thousand.
His checks were all complete, the parts he needed all on the line perfectly. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the beautiful machines work intricately to his exact commands. As he pulled the switch, he was amazed at the precision of such arms. He had seen them used in college and was even trained on how to program them some.
The rest of what he had learned about using them had been from the interface in moments of boredom back at his clinic. The robotic arms were beautiful in his eyes as they maneuvered their one hundred or more joints precisely to his very exacting commands. He could see them taking shape, his children of the mind. Sure, people had dreamt this dream before; however, he re-imagined it.
I’m not sure why she had those components laying around. I sure hope she doesn’t mind me using them. Of course she won’t once she sees what I’ve done. Oh so lovely, I like them more than the originals… I really hope she isn’t mad at the expense I’ve already accrued, and it isn’t even the project she wanted me to work on. Oh well, what is done is done.
What’s she going to do? Fire me? Kill me?
Max began to giggle vigorously in almost a maddened way. As his work completed before his eyes, his giggle turned into a thunderous laugh. He was happy and also slightly unnerved they had come out exactly as he had intended. He felt proud, almost as if he were a parent.
Well now, there is only one thing left to do.
He removed his new creations from the assembly line and set them on a workbench as he began to reprogram the robotic arms again. This time, his calibrations were more precise, more demanding. This time, he would require arms that started at the littlest and most precise and go up to the mid-ranged size.
Once he was done reprogramming the software on each pair of arms, he double checked himself. Then triple checked himself, and for a matter of safety, checked again. Almost everything was set and ready to go.
Oh, one last thing.
He had almost forgotten to reset the direction of the assembly belt. Once he started it, it wouldn’t have caused any real damage, but it would have made him look like a total fool.
Why would I care? I’m all alone. Sometimes you are such an idiot, Max. No wonder they all leave you no matter what you do! But not this one, not this time. She will be so impressed.
Max picked up his new inventions and carried them over to a mirror. They were perfect, glistening, sleek, manly, and delicate all at once. As he held each one individually, he mapped out their placement with a marker on his skin.
This is going to be remarkable! She is going to love it, I know it. More than a doctor and researcher indeed. I’ve been wasting my brain for too long now.
Max still had a high from the energy boosts he had taken earlier, but they were beginning to wear off and he could tell he was in for a crash soon. He was happy that these boosts were non-addictive. He re-checked his calibrations and tweaked in a few dials until everything was perfect.
After placing his newly crafted inventions in the hand part of each of the larger robotic arms, he walked back over to the pharmaceutical locker. He had left it open and in a bit of a disarray, but he spotted what he was looking for right off. A small, white syringe, a non-drowsy anesthetic that would last about ten minutes. He knew he was going to need it.
He walked over to the starting section of the conveyer belt of the assembly line. His body would pass through all of the robotic arms on the conveyer belt and it wouldn’t be over by the time the anesthetic wore off, but he was confident he could endure it. He stuck the needle for the boost in his arm, but refrained from pushing the plunger just yet.
Holding the syringe in one hand, he pressed the button to start up the assembly line with the other. The arms began ticking and whirring as they warmed up. The belt slowly began to spin, and the computers started clicking and processing the data he had input.
Five…four…three…two…one.
Max pressed down the plunger and laid on the belt. There was no pain as the plasma scalpel sliced off his right arm, and then his left.
* * * *
“My humble abode,” Brain said smugly as he opened the door to his apartment.
Crimson glared at the back of his head. If he could see it, he would know he was in danger. She was annoyed. Not only was he a bad, cocky salesman, but he was
also arrogant about his living quarters. He clearly didn’t quite appreciate that she stood heads above him in every aspect, including financially. If he was trying to impress her, he was picking the wrong things and doing it poorly.
“Oh my, you must make a lot as one of Barometrics’ sales representatives,” she stated in a sarcastic, unimpressed tone.
“I do okay,” he said as he stepped into the apartment. “Even if they do give me all the low level clients; thanks for changing that for me.”
He sounded sincere to her. Perhaps he really was doing all he could. Who cares? she thought. He is still an incompetent buffoon.
“Care for any wine, scotch, beer, well, really anything… Care for something?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen, leaving her to shut the door.
“Sure, why not pour me a scotch and whatever you’d like, big boy? I need you relaxed, no stage fright or anything that might hinder your…performance,” she said, closing the door and slinking over to the couch.
She kicked off her shoes and laid on her back on the couch as Brian brought over the drinks. He had poured two scotches, both straight; his was a triple, hers a double. He sat at her feet as he handed her the glass.
“So,” he began as he started to stroke her calves gently, “what exactly do you have in mind for me tonight?”
She slugged back half her scotch before she answered. It was good stuff, obviously meant to be sipped. “I was thinking you could be my slave?”
“Oh yeah? What would being your slave entail?”
“Well, first,” she began to say, only pausing to drink the rest of the scotch and set down her glass, “it would require you passing the amount I’ve had to drink. What’s wrong? Sensitive stomach?”
He smiled devilishly and drank about two thirds of his glass in one gulp. “Not a problem, mistress. What else?”
It sounded as if he had done this before; maybe he had. Maybe he was used to it. It would explain his competence, always being the slave, never being the one in charge. He tried to wear a man suit, but Crimson knew he was only a weak little boy.