“Henri?” I shouted, “where did you go?”
A spotlight illuminated, bathing a peculiar device ahead of me in a celestial glow. It looked almost like an upside-down table, suspended from the ceiling, with restraints for arms and legs, complete with a collar for the neck. The similarity to the tables downstairs in the A.M.I. was not lost on me.
Beneath the upturned table, positioned on the floor, a single television was covered in grime and dust. I could see little else of the rest of the room, though my eyes were adjusting to the light, as I shuffled forward, unsure if I would trip over.
A box ahead of the screen looked to contain a fan, protected by a metal grid. It wasn’t small, each blade was about the length of my arm and it must have kicked out some fierce wind at full chat. The box alongside the screen appeared to be another speaker, though the fabric of the grill had peeled away with time.
Following the smell of burning engine oil, I found Henri hovering at a control panel in the far corner of the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
His painted-on eyes glared at the controls as though he knew he had to do something but couldn’t recall the first action. A single blue button flashed in the center while the rest remained dormant. I pressed the button.
Light from the television screen radiated onto the metal table suspended above it. A blurred image of a face appeared on the glass, and I drew nearer, curious to see how Mr. Sulloman was fairing in his latest video diary. With the sleeve of my top, I wiped the dust and grime from the surface as the face moved away from the camera.
With his back turned, the man walked toward a single figure slumped in a chair.
The familiar voice, which had resounded from Henri’s casing back in the park, filled the room, though it wasn’t coming from the old hoverbot this time. No, this time it was coming from the dusty old speaker. It was not Sulloman.
“January 3rd. She was right all along. The answer lies in a ‘4D’, experience. I took Subject down to the old labs. Sure, the tech was primitive, outdated, dangerous perhaps, but it worked. This is the key to our success. This will be our legacy.”
The camera cut away as lines of static scrolled up the screen. The image returned, though the man had disappeared from shot, and the ‘Subject’, was restrained in the upturned table device.
“If only the outside world knew. No. I have to forget the name. I have to forget the ties it brings.”
The image skipped forward as more static lines interrupted the image.
“More success means less room… …some do not deserve to be saved… am I doing the right thing?”
As the voice behind the camera skipped between questions and statements, the figure in the device changed with each skip forward of the image. Becoming thinner with each shot, their head dropped further. On occasion, water could be seen dripping from their arms, and other times there appeared to be bandages and rudimentary supports for fingers and toes.
“I am doing the right thing. I have to be. For him… … Subject is responding well to the treatment. The burns will heal.”
The image switched to the boxed fan, though here it was pristine with a deep gleaming shine to the blades and the grid was absent.
“I call them experience blocks,” the voice declared with pride, the room filling with the sound of the fan firing up, spinning up to full speed.
“We will get our confession soon, I am sure.”
Pained screams filled the air.
“No! Not another one. Not again. Please!”
Chapter 25
But you can call me H.E.N.R.I.
“What was it?” Michael asked, as I followed Henri back into the corridor.
“Nothing much,” I replied. “Just some old stuff, hard to see, lights weren’t working.”
“Oh,” he responded, dejected, peering around me, as I pulled shut the door. The control panel light switched to red, and Henri scuttled off toward the end of the corridor, against the direction indicated by the green arrows painted on the floor.
“Wait up,” my little brother shouted, stepping forward to give chase.
“I wouldn’t worry. He’ll stop at the next door, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Henri,” my little brother declared with sincerity, as the release of the lock echoed about the corridor.
The old hoverbot scuttled forward, approaching the next door and waited. The light on the control panel turned green, and my little brother reached for the door handle.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Opening the door for Henri.”
“Right,” I responded, unsure, as Michael pushed open the door.
“Go on, Henri, it‘s open,” my little brother explained, pointing into the room, though the old hoverbot did not respond. “Look, open,” Michael declared, as though he was talking to a dog. “I’ll show you,” my little brother remarked, stepping across the threshold and into the room. “See, open.” Michael slapped the palm of his hands against his thighs, trying to beckon the flying tin can forward.
“I can hit him if you like,” I jested, my little brother ignoring me, instead growing more desperate to coax the bot.
I rolled my eyes and stepped past the bot into the room. “Come on you flying idiot, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave--”
The door slammed shut.
“What the--”
The light on the control panel switched to red.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I remarked, dropping my head with a heavy sigh.
“Look at that!” my little brother gasped.
Lifting my head, I saw him pointing at a strange looking fixture in the corner of the room. Like some bizarre concrete art piece, it looked like a large, long desk with a sloped top and square holes underneath.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Look,” Michael remarked.
“At what? What am I looking at?”
An image on my visor flickered. Dials, controls, knobs and buttons flashed across the surface of the concrete art piece. Though they were generated using a 16-bit system, the similarity of what I thought it might be became apparent.
“Is that the--?”
“The control panel from the power plant?” Michael replied, finishing my sentence.
“It sure looks like it,” I responded.
“Why is it here?” my little brother asked.
“How should I know?”
The image flickered on my visor as I turned to scan the room. My eyes refocused on the image of Michael and me standing before the control panel. I shook my head to clear the image, though it remained, as I drew nearer with my hand poised.
“It’s a mirror,” I declared with relief.
“A mirror?” my little brother asked, looking up from the control panel.
“Yeah.”
“Why is there a mirror here?”
“I don’t,” I paused, tapping the glass with my fingers, “I don’t know.”
“Hey, look,” Michael declared, prodding at the concrete desk. “Ow,” he shrieked, his finger bending against the concrete surface. “What are you doing?” my little brother asked, turning to face me, as I placed my hand onto the glass.
“I can see something,” I replied.
“Your stupid face?”
“No,” I turned to face him, “thank you. There’s something on the other side,” I explained, returning my focus to the glass. “Looks like controls, and a chair, or something like that. I think Henri’s in there.”
“Sure,” Michael replied, his skepticism unwavering.
“No, I’m fairly sure he’s in there,” I insisted, stepping back from the glass, scanning the surface of the mirror, checking around its edges.
“What are you doing now?” my little brother asked.
“Trying to work out how we get out of here.”
“It’s probably something to do with this big flashing blue button,” Michael replied, his hand hovering over the concrete desk.
“Do not press it!” I demanded.
“Why?” he replied, withdrawing his hand.
“Just don’t,” I instructed. “Not until I’ve worked out what’s going on here.”
Reaching forward, Michael stamped his hand down onto the concrete surface. The lights in the room extinguished.
“What did I just say--?”
“Subject must be unaware they are in a simulation,” the familiar voice boomed into the room. “Must break them in. Let the truth dawn on them. Show them their past, but not all at once. Can’t jump to the back of a book and expect the subject to understand what is going on.”
I spun toward the mirror as a figure, illuminated by a light behind, glared back through the glass, his features indistinguishable.
“Sometimes we must take Subjects beyond the event in question. Sometimes we find the answers past the first couple of chapters.” He paused. “Sulloman continues to bring me videos of the technology of others, demanding I replicate their work with just seconds of footage to go on. I’ll never get this right. It feels fraudulent, deceitful, disrespectful to him and his memory, but you, Subject, you have done well. You have completed your tasks.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, stepping closer. “What do you want from me?”
“I have something for you,” the figure explained, “a gift for all your hard work.”
“I don’t want your gift,” I snapped.
“It’s something I have been working on for a long time.”
“Well, keep it.”
“It’s a breakthrough in the latest hover technology. My only regret is that I cannot share it with the world,” the voice paused, taking a drag from a cigarette, “though that will come, in time.”
“I said keep it.”
“It’s been so lonely working here,” he explained.
“Can’t you hear me?” I screeched.
“But not anymore.”
“Why? Because I’m here to torment?” I spat.
“I have created a new unit,” the familiar voice remarked, “a robot.”
“Well, I don’t want it.”
“A robot with one purpose, to connect with the subjects; a persona for them to interact with. Something to hear their secrets. Something to hear their,” he paused to take another drag, “confession.”
“Just let me go,” I screamed.
“A robotic interface that listens, a robotic interface you can connect with. I built it for you, Subject.”
“Just let me leave.”
“I call it, the Human Emotional and Neurological Response Interface unit, but you can call him H.E.N.R.I.”
The sound of glass shattering filled the air. The lights flickered once again, and the dust from the broken mirror filled the room.
“What did you do?” Michael asked, shielding his face, coughing and spluttering.
Swirls of debris and shards of glass swirled like a storm gathering beneath the old hoverbot. A bulb behind him burst, showering his casing with sparks of molten filament and more shattered glass. I glared at Henri, waiting for us in the other room, hovering in place of the familiar figure once stood there.
“At least we can get out now,” Michael remarked, spitting the glass dust from his lips. “Come on,” my little brother demanded, stepping over the broken glass toward the room once hidden behind the mirror.
“You carry on,” I instructed, “I need a word with our friend here.”
“What?” Michael replied, “Henri? You need to speak with Henri? But, here’s right here. Just say it.”
“Oh, Little Brother, I do not think you want to hear what I have to say to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Or, rather, I should say, what Henri has to say for himself.”
“What are you talking about?” my little brother asked, his brow furrowed as a look of utter confusion took hold of his face.
“Tell him, Henri,” I insisted, stepping closer to the old hoverbot, “tell him why you exist.”
The flying tin can hesitated.
“But,” Michael interrupted, “he--”
“Ah,” I replied, holding up my index finger, “wait. Tell him, Henri.”
“To serve you,” the old hoverbot replied.
“To serve?” I asked. “What is your purpose?”
“To listen. To connect. To interact. To hear--” Henri stopped, dropping a little, and rotated.
“To hear what, Henri?” I demanded, as my little brother again tried to interject. “Tell him, Henri. Tell him. To hear what?”
The old hoverbot stopped his rotation and held his position.
“Tell him, Henri!” I shouted.
“To hear your,” a pause, “confession.” The old hoverbot scuttered forward toward the door as the control panel turned green.
“What’s a confession?” Michael asked.
“It’s the reason we’ve been dragged around this whole facility. There is no Gate 13. There is no way out of here. It was Henri’s job to distract us--”
“That is incorrect,” the old hoverbot replied, coming to a halt.
“Excuse me?” I snapped.
“Gate 13 is present.”
“Oh really?” I respond, with lashings of skepticism.
“It is my protocol to take you there,” the old hoverbot remarked.
“Yeah, sure, of course it is.”
“It always has been,” Henri replied, proceeding toward the door. “Our creator made me promise to take you there.”
“Our creator?” I asked, struggling to contain myself as I forced the burning rage within me into my clasped fists. “Was that the figure behind the glass?”
With his eyes on me, Michael opened the door and the old hoverbot scurried out.
“You want my confession?” I shouted after them, as my little brother followed the bot out into the corridor. “I’ll give you my confession. It’s my fault we’re here. It’s my fault we’re in this mess. It’s my fault it exploded. OK? Happy now?”
Michael glanced back at me.
“Did you hear me, Henri?” I hollered, stepping into the corridor. “I said, I confess.”
The old hoverbot scuttled through the open gate and turned the corner as Michael broke into a jog to catch up with him.
“Henri!” I shouted, “Can you hear me? I’m giving you my confession. You’re meant to be listening to me. I’ve confessed, you can let me go.”
As I gave chase, I glanced toward the bars across the window beside me. Three pairs of red eyes glared back, and I dropped to my knees to get out of sight, a curse slipping my lips.
“Shh,” Michael hissed, placing his finger to his mouth, crouching near a barred staircase.
“Havoc bots,” I whispered, pointing up toward the window, as my little brother nodded, pointing to the door at the end of the corridor.
“The staircase,” I mouthed back, Michael shaking his head, miming the action of pushing at the gate.
The green light illuminated on the control panel near the door at the end of the corridor, and Henri moved closer. Michael reached up and turned the handle, dislodging the brittle plastic tape.
“Wait,” I whispered, crawling nearer.
Complaining on its hinges, the door crept open, as my little brother, on his hands and knees, forced it, crawling out onto the balcony, leaving a trail in the dirt and debris littering the floor.
I followed him out.
Clatters and bangs resounded about the facility, emanating from the floor below, as a gentle whirr of motors charged the air, like a throng of wasps filling the nest. I peered over the edge.
Swarms of Havoc bots were patrolling the floor, peering into every room and place. Emitting a blue light, they pulled open the doors and charged inside while three hovered near the rusty platform and the dust scattered by its fall. More were gathered around the gate of the room showcasing Sulloman’s video diary, and I could make out some of the televisions, the message ‘KEEP GOING’, flickering on their grime thic
kened screens.
The smell of burning engine oil filled my nostrils as I felt Henri scuttering overhead, ruffling my hair, charging his way along the balcony.
All movement stopped below us, and the Havoc bots paused in their positions. I drew closer to the edge to see what the white orbs would do, as countless pairs of red eyes flicked to my position. A curse slipped my lips.
“Go!” I screamed, pushing Michael forward as I scrambled to my feet, my little brother stumbling forward, trying to gather his steps and momentum. “Go, go, go,” I demanded, pulling him up by his A.M.I. jumper.
A white orb flashed past my face, leaving inches to spare, slamming into the metal gate of one of the cells beside me. The plastic casing cracked, though the gate seemed unphased. The Havoc bot crashed to the floor, as another struck the rusty metal bars of a cell ahead, missing the back of my little brother’s head by a narrow margin. I heard more clattering behind me, each bot seeming to misjudge the space.
“Keep going,” I yelled to Michael, as Henri scuttered toward the end of the balcony, the thong of electric motors intensifying beneath us.
I shielded my eyes as another white orb slammed into the railings beside me. It bounced backward and fell from view.
“What’s wrong with them?” Michael screamed, turning his head toward me.
“I don’t know,” I shouted back, “it doesn’t matter. Just keep going.”
Reaching the end of the balcony, Henri turned back to face us.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I declared in disbelief. “Don’t tell me this is a dead end,” I cried, as a blue light engulfed Henri’s casing, the old hoverbot ascending with ease to the floor above.
“Can I do that?” Michael asked, amazed and enthused.
“I don’t know,” I replied, skidding to a halt behind him as we reached the end of the corridor, my little brother taking up Henri’s former position.
“Not now,” I replied, pulling him by his arm to the staircase alongside us.
“But--”
“Yes, move your butt! Go!” I screamed, as together we charged up the steps to the top level of the facility.
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