In the near future, a brilliant mind will unexpectedly emerge into the world - a mind that will surpass the smartest men and women of our history.

A mind that will usher in a new era of humanity - conceived by man and born from technology.

On this day the world will never be the same. Civilization will advance exponentially. New technologies will be unlocked faster than we can understand them and our new creation may become our master, or our replacement.

In the middle of the Nevada desert, underground tribes fight each other for their own supremacy and survival, unaware of the world above or the nature of that world’s threat. On the other side of the country, a young video game programmer gets into trouble with the law and is sent out-of-state by his negligent father. Meanwhile, in the shadows, powerful figures make a grave decision that will change everybody’s lives forever.

Unauthorized reproduction of any or all parts of this story is prohibited. This story is the intellectual property of its author as recognized by International Copyright Law.

Some elements of this story are based on real persons, places or things and as a result are the copyrighted or trademarked property of their respective owners. They are only a part of the story as a

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental.

Prologue

THE STILL SILENCE in the cold, sterile, barely-lit maintenance room had been disturbed by the sharp reverberating crash of a metallic object that fell from its resting place on a stainless steel shelf. The object crashed onto the hard concrete floor half a dozen feet below. The contents of the object spilled to the floor - mainly dense cylindrical objects that rolled further and further away from their point of origin.

The instigator of this disturbance, a third-generation dweller of this merciless place named Adam, glanced anxiously at his bounty as it rolled away from him. He quickly looked back to the entrance to the room, expecting the noise of rival inhabitants as they made their way to the previously-locked treasure trove of supplies and sustenance.

Long before Adam’s time, the depot was teeming with activity and life. Food, tools, materials and accessories were brought in and shipped out on a daily basis. Then one day the supplies stopped coming, and so did the workers that maintained the depot.

Adam never could get a straight answer as to how or why anyone inhabited this place. All he knew was that nobody who lived here had ever been on the other side of these walls.

Still it made no difference. Everything the inhabitants needed to survive and prosper were within these walls. It was just a matter of finding them, figuring out how to obtain them, and keeping them safe from the others.

That final point was not always a concern. Before Adam’s time everybody here worked together to accomplish a common goal.

Everybody had a unique purpose, a niche. They passed on their experiences and expertise to their descendants, and they in turn taught each other what they knew until finally it seemed everybody was skilled in everything.

Suddenly the common goal was replaced by factional prosperity. Instead of working together so everybody would thrive, factions misled factions.

Some were led to find supplies, only to return to their factions with poison. Incorrect access codes were given to entire factions to seal them from the rest of the depot - they would eventually starve to death. Worst of all, some factions succumbed to overt, violent attacks on other factions.

This is what Adam was awaiting now. There was no mercy anymore. The maintenance room he infiltrated was in the third-subbasement, five storeys below where his own faction took refuge. He was in hostile territory.

It was by accident that his faction’s architect, Archie, even located this undiscovered supply room via lost blueprints. And it was a matter of time before their hacker Cobe discovered that the room was magnetically sealed, and subsequently disabled the Mag-lock remotely via the depot’s security station on the second floor.

Adam had experience with picking locks so the final barrier to his entry was not difficult to overcome. However, he had no experience when it came to self-defence, and he would be easy prey for the others.

As he remained crouched just metres from the entrance, he frantically thought out his options: Should I grab what I can and leave? Should I barricade myself in? What if they wait for me outside? What if they know another way in?

Abe was the oldest member of his faction - the only one old enough to remember what happened before the supplies stopped coming. Therefore he was, in a way, the leader of the group. He was very detached, and reminded everybody that all forms of attachment were to be avoided.

Such is the bittersweet truth of the present: Nobody is unique - we are all expendable.

From the distance beyond the doorway Adam could see approaching lights and hear the arrhythmic footsteps of limited mobility. Once again Adam poured over his options and came to a conclusion.

Immediately shutting the door, Adam locked it and jammed the lock with a scrap piece of metal he had found lying nearby. With the help of the heaviest objects he could find he barricaded himself inside.

Hoping that the others would abandon their search, Adam chose to find a secluded spot in the underground room and bide his time. The others would only try for so long before abandoning their efforts to seek out more practical options, presumably.

Beyond the door Adam could hear his predators trying to open it, but unable to turn the handle. Something hit the large steel door repeatedly, leaving dents on the other side for Adam to see.

Then he heard distinct conversations from beyond. It was a sublevel dialect, but not that different from his own. He could understand every word.

“The lock has been jammed,” a more effeminate voice replied, “There is no EMF signature around the door.”

“Confirmed: Hostile intruder present,” came a final, very low, throaty voice.

“We must intercept before they deplete our supplies,” the second voice added.

A faint tapping noise came from the door, and the final voice reported, “Door is steel, tempered; activating plasma cutter.”

Instantly a bright flame shot through the door, arching upwards, then laterally, then back down to create a makeshift hole for the others to breach.

Adam knew the barricade wouldn’t hold. All he could do was grab whatever he could and do whatever he could to survive. He found a heavy metal pole and raised it above his head, preparing to fight off whatever came through.

As the final cut was completed the severed portion of the door was pushed inward, moving away the makeshift barrier that Adam had erected.

As the barrier stopped moving Adam ran for the door, charging at his would-be attackers, when suddenly an erratic, electronic noise pierced his consciousness and left him writhing on the ground.

Then a bright, blinding light filled the room, followed by the effeminate second voice from before: “Hostile is third-generation, an Adam model. Excellent condition.”

The light died, and it took only a moment for Adam’s vision to adjust to the sudden change of light. He could see the faint glow of infrared LED’s surrounding the optical sensors of the intruder.

The head was humanoid in shape just like his, but the resemblance ended there. The torso was supported by two narrow tank treads, and the torso itself was merely an array of parabolic dishes, antennae and visual sensors.

Adam’s vision began to blur and distort. His limbs seemed to move without reason and his hearing was filled with erratic beeps and clicks. Adam was completely helpless.

“Hostile has reached stage-four A.G.I., too mature to reformat. Suggest confiscating for recycle.”

The treaded machine with the effeminate voice moved away from the door, and a much-larger, two legged figure entered the room. Its red, glowing optics glared menacingly at Adam, contemplating his fate.

“Confirmed,” the machine replied in the low, throaty voice, “terminating hostile.”

With that the bipedal figure raised its right arm, and its wrist-mounted plasma cutter ignited into a sharp, blinding flame of blue and white. With deliberate movements the menacing figure approached Adam, grabbed his head with its left claw and brought the plasma cutter to his neck and severed it from the rest of his body.

In his final moments all Adam could recall was Abe’s lament about how everybody dies before seeing blue for a fraction of a second - before losing all function.

A hundred miles away, on the edge of civilization outside the Nevada desert, the video feeds from hundreds of hidden, electrically-shielded surveillance cameras within the depot were monitored and scrutinized by scientists, programmers and mechanical engineers. The demise of Adam was watched with child-like enthusiasm as the plasma-cutting android severed his arms and legs. It then grabbed Adam’s head from where it dropped and placed it inside a compartment within the tank-treaded observer unit.

Two more smaller bipedal machines entered the room - both looking identical to Adam - and grabbed the remains of Adam’s body and brought them further into the subbasement.

The display of autonomy excited and frightened the young scientists. Merely two years ago the machines had just learned - by themselves - to differentiate between life-giving power cells and fatal magnetized capacitors that were disguised as power cells.

Now they had adopted audible language skills and learned to interact with (and manipulate) their environment. They had learned the art of espionage, warfare and more importantly, learned to develop and program their own “children.” But the scariest thing of all was what a second-generation machine named Cobe had just accomplished. This milestone needed to be addressed immediately.

A young programmer named John poured over the hundreds of scripts that had been remotely copied from three of the fifty machines “living” in the depot codenamed The Vault. What John found had astounded him.

He grabbed his hard-line phone and dialled his superior. His superior answered, and John urged him to come downstairs.

Ten minutes later a rotund, bespectacled, balding man emerged with a giant thermos of warm, flat Coke. He was very unhappy to be disturbed.

“The Vault’s reached another milestone, Cam - particularly Cobe,” the young programmer reported as he searched the specific event in Cobe’s log.

“Whatcha got for me then?” Cameron grunted sceptically as he approached John’s station.

“Yesterday there was a spike in scripts being compiled into Cobe’s command tree,” John replied. “At first I thought he was just learning another skill from a fellow bot until I read a report from Observer Four that the EMF protecting a restricted zone was disabled.”

John skimmed through the thousands of lines of code added to a new script to emphasize what he was telling his superior. “Cobe reverse-engineered the Vault’s internal security systems. The project’s been compromised, Cam.”

Cameron grunted. “Actually, I think Cobe just proved the project a success,” he said. “This means he’s now stage-five. The Board’s gonna want to play this out.”

John stared at his superior in surprise. “I don’t think you understand, Cam. Cobe can shut down the whole security grid and teach the other bots how he did it. We need to pull the plug on this before they find out how to exit the Vault.”

Cameron took his frameless glasses from his face and wiped them on his shirt. After half a minute of self-deliberation he finally spoke. “I’ll call a meeting with the Board, see what they think. In the meantime, keep a close eye on the Vault. Do not commence a recall without my say-so, ya hear?”

They won’t like what I have to say, Cameron thought. Actually they’ll love it. They’ll be too blinded by dollar signs and military contracts to realize what the dangers are here.

One

The digital video cameratook several seconds to warm up as Thomas Jennings - or T.J., as he preferred to be called - took one final look at his homemade map with his friend and would be co-star, Steve. They had decided on the route together, both for difficulty, excitement, and re playability for the mass of viewers that had subscribed to their channel on YouTube.

Both friends were athletic, but Steve was slightly larger in build and height. The difference was negligible when it came to what they had planned to do.

“Now remember, Teej,” Steve said, “the fourth building is one storey lower, and the fire escape is directly below the edge. The roof is very narrow, so you need to roll backwards or you won’t catch the ledge.”

Steve pointed at a rectangular shape on the map that was about the width of his pinkie finger as he issued the last-minute warning. “And remember, that huge gap in the hallway is three floors down.”

“Fourth building; three floors down; got it.” T.J. finished up the last of his bottle of water and strapped the miniature camera to the side of his head. “And all the cams are in place?”

“Yep, I’ll start them recording once I’m ready,” Steve worked with a special-effects company that T.J.’s father’s company, Chaotic Entertainment, often subcontracted for motion-capturing. Steve borrowed fifty mo-cap cameras and had them strategically placed in various locations throughout the course he and T.J. had planned out. Steve also had a cousin who was a network engineer, so he could have all the cameras activated remotely.

Since the company that Steve worked for did not know of his uses for a hundred-grand worth of special-effects equipment, Steve was meticulous of the details.

“Now remember,” he said, “some of the cameras are on the floor, so watch your step and don’t slip!”

“Don’t worry about it,” T.J. exclaimed, “after this run, you can buy your own cameras!”

He adjusted the camera that was strapped to the side of head and looked at his friend, “How do I look?”

“Like a fuckin’ geek!” Steve joked. He then folded up the map and headed for the door leading to the staircase back inside. “Five minutes.”

“See you on the ground, bud,” T.J. spoke to Steve’s back as he left the rooftop of the twelve-storey apartment building that would serve as the start of the course. The two long-time friends had spent the last hour going over every single detail that may be overlooked.

Before every run, T.J. liked to replay in his head all the major scenes in his life that got him there. He would remember how his mother and father would endlessly fight with each other over Thomas keeping his mother’s last name.

But before he was a teenager that was never a problem. In fact his father was never even in the picture at the time. T.J.’s mother hated his obsession with computer games although he never knew why - living in Brooklyn, video games kept him off the stoop and out of trouble.

His mother encouraged him to get into sports but he didn’t like to share the glory with his teammates. He always thought of himself as a typical cocky Irish boy. His favourite event in gym class was the obstacle course because he was naturally lanky and agile.

He was always completing the courses way ahead of everybody else. By the time he was twelve he saved up enough allowance money to convince his mother to let him purchase his own computer. And then he taught himself code.

Within a year he started making his own modifications to popular computer games, and sent copies of these mods to his favourite developing company in Manhattan, Chaotic Entertainment. Once his mother found out she reluctantly expressed how proud she was of her smart, ambitious son, and told him about his father, Alfred Mason - the founder of Chaotic.

The charming, rich, eccentric genius that convinced her that he loved her, and then denied everything when she became pregnant. She showed T.J. a picture of his father, and he secretly determined to bring the jerk back into their life to make up for leaving them alone all this time.

So one day, when he was sixteen, he took the subway down to Manhattan and entered the offices of Chaotic Entertainment, determined to confront his estranged father. As he entered the main lobby he was stopped by a mature, pretty secretary in her forties who asked him what his business was there.

He told her that he was there to talk to Alfred Mason - his father - and that his mother was Theresa Jennings, and how he left them alone so long ago.

Thomas knew from the picture his mother gave him that he was a spitting image of his father: same round nose; same blue eyes; same hairline; same eyebrows. His mother hated his love for video games because he looked exactly like his father, especially in front of a computer.

After he told the secretary of all this, she began to look pale and extremely furious. She stormed away from her desk and through a giant pair of oak doors. Beyond it he could hear a man and the woman shouting, screaming, and cursing at each other. It didn’t occur to T.J. what was happening until he looked at the secretary’s desk and read the nameplate:

T.J.’s thoughts were interrupted by the chime on his wrist watch. It was show time. He walked to the edge, stared down to the narrow alleyway over a hundred feet below, took in a deep breath and slowly walked backward twenty paces.

Unknown to T.J., the red recording light in the camera strapped to the side of his head was on. Steve was in position and recording everything. As if on cue, T.J. bolted forward in a burst of speed with eyes focussed on the ledge of the rooftop.

He mounted the ledge with one foot and leapt with tremendous energy across the ten-foot expanse between the hundred-foot-tall building he had just left and the just as-tall building he would land on. He kept his eyes focussed on where he would land on the second rooftop, never even paying attention to what may be in the alleyway below.

As he hit the second rooftop he continued running without pause. The point of this show was agility, so when he noticed a four-foot-high air conditioner between him and his next “leap-of-faith” he laughed at himself at the thought of running around it. Instead he ran straight for it, jumped in the air and spread his legs apart as he planted his hands on top of the condenser and “leap-frogged” over it.

Steve must have expected this, because T.J. noticed a camera in the corner pointed directly at the condenser. T.J. smiled to himself as he sized up his next leap-of-faith.

When he scouted his run he assumed the next two buildings were attached by a catwalk at some point because of a rusted network of iron bars that were constructed above the hundred-foot drop between the buildings. The bars were high enough to jump up and grab, and for T.J. to swing himself across the alleyway, which was exactly what he intended to do.

He reached the edge of the second rooftop and jumped with his hands extended to grab the first lateral bar six feet above him. He grabbed the first bar and while suspended above the ground far beneath him, he swung himself forward, released the bar and extended his upper body forward to grab the second bar four feet away.

As he grabbed the second bar and swung himself forward to make his final flight to the third rooftop he felt the bar give a little. Trying not to panic, he flung himself as far and hard as possible, and as he let go of the bar he sensed it finally breaking and falling to the ground beneath him. He knew he would come up about half a foot short from the other ledge, so he angled his feet towards the face of the incoming wall to absorb the shock, and aimed to grab the top ledge as he connected with the wall.

His split-second decision cheated death as his gloved fingers made purchase with the ledge and his feet absorbed the shock that would have knocked him unconscious and sent him plummeting to the ground. But he was hanging in mid-air, and he needed to regain his strength before hoisting himself up.

Meanwhile, a hundred feet below him he heard the iron bar impact with thick glass. What he did not know was that the glass belonged to a police car’s rear window, and its driver - standing outside smoking a cigarette - looked up to see a man scaling the wall and hoisting himself up.

T.J. didn’t want to stop. He prided himself on the authenticity of his runs so he glared at the camera that was positioned to capture his landing, gave it the finger and kept running. The building he was atop of now had a penthouse that raised one storey above the rooftop, so he would need to get to the roof of the penthouse to reach the next rooftop. And he already had his route planned.

A six-foot-tall chain-link fence separated the penthouse from the rest of the roof; running towards a three-foot-high wooden box placed against the fence he jumped on top of it and cleared the height of the fence in one extra jump. As he connected with the ground he fell to his knees and rolled into a somersault to maintain his momentum and keep from hurting himself.

T.J. had planned on climbing the gas pipe that snaked its way to the penthouse’s rooftop, but as soon as he stood upright he saw a large, shirtless man in the window shouting angrily at him and running for the patio door. T.J. ran across the property to climb the other fence and had just crossed it and exited the patio when the man came out brandishing a wooden baseball bat.

Paying the man no more attention, T.J. surveyed the rooftop for another way to climb the penthouse, and with a devilish grin he found it.

Just suspended above the city streets, adjacent to the penthouse was a giant billboard. T.J. ran up the gridiron catwalk behind the billboard, timed his footsteps, and while looking where he would put his feet he jumped in the air and ran two paces along the back face of the billboard.

On the second step he looked toward the penthouse wall and on the third step launched himself off the billboard and grabbed the edge of the penthouse rooftop eight feet above the base of the building’s roof.

While T.J. hoisted himself up to the penthouse’s rooftop, the angry owner of the penthouse was on his cell phone to police, reporting an attempted break-and-enter.

Meanwhile, half a block away Steve was in his apartment watching the online stream from his video cameras to keep an eye on T.J. to make sure he stayed on course and didn’t kill himself. From the corner of the vision in the penthouse camera Steve watched this unexpected twist as T.J. literally ran horizontally along the side of the billboard and launched lunged towards the wall of the penthouse.

“Holy shit,” Steve shouted to himself in amazement, “that was just like the Matrix!”

T.J. walked to the edge of the penthouse and looked down at the next building across the six-foot wide alleyway. As Steve described to him, the next rooftop was one floor below the penthouse. And because of a mass pile of junk and scrap near the closest edge he only had a six-foot clearing to land on.

The fire escape on the other side was marked by iron bars that were bolted to the edge, so T.J. knew exactly where he needed to duck and roll. His parkour training made him realize that jumping forwards was out of the question - he would need to execute a barrel-roll to keep from breaking his ankles, and if he couldn’t grab the ledge he would roll right off the building to his death.

He understood now why his next leap-of-faith would need to be taken blind and backwards. He would need to land with his back facing the fire escape so he could roll backward and grab the ledge so he could stop moving laterally and fall straight down to the fire escape.

Taking a deep breath, T.J. turned his back to the ledge, spread his arms out as if on a crucifix, and looked to the overcast sky above as he whispered a silent prayer. He inched his way back until only the front half of his running shoes were still on the ledge and the rest of his body was suspended over a hundred feet above a shadowy alleyway.

When he finished his prayer, T.J. looked at yet another camera observing him through its lifeless eye, and stared straight into it as he bent his knees, rolled his feet backwards and vaulted away from the building into void space.

As he jumped into the unknown behind him he felt time slow down. When he disappeared from the camera’s field-of-view beyond the ledge above him he tucked his legs into his chest, turned his head to see what was coming, put his arms above his head and braced for the impact of the hard pitch and gravel rooftop.

Across from the fire escape Steve had planted another video camera. He watched from his computer in his apartment as T.J. cleared the pile of scrap, connected with the rooftop and rolled onto his back and over the edge of the building while grabbing the edge of the rooftop.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.” Steve cringed as he saw T.J.’s body roll over the edge while he grasped onto the ledge of the rooftop to stop his lateral movement. But instead, the momentum caused him to swing back towards the building like a pendulum and slam his body into the brick wall.

T.J. had the wind knocked out of him. In shock, he released his grip of the ledge and fell to his hands and knees on the fire escape just a few feet below him. In an attempt to regain his composure for the camera that he presumed was hidden somewhere, T.J. got back up to his feet and brushed imaginary dirt off his shoulder. In a final statement of defiance, he brought his right hand into view of the camera that was strapped to the side of his head and produced the middle finger.

“I hope you got that, you son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself while thinking of Steve. As he made his way down the fire escape he recalled the instruction he got from Steve: “Fourth building, three floors down.”

As he ran down the fire escape he counted down three floors and noticed a bare hole where a window pane used to be. He grabbed the top of the threshold and swung himself through the opening into a dilapidated, rotting hallway.

As he ran through the narrow hallway he noticed a ten-foot-long hole in the floor twenty feet ahead. T.J. took note of the condition of the hallway - black mould spotted the walls and ceilings; bare holes exposed plaster, wood framing and electrical wiring; the atmosphere of the room was thick and dusty. He also noticed a giant hole in the ceiling directly above the approaching chasm. In the ceiling was iron piping for the sprinkler system.

Only slightly worried that the wall might cave under his force, milliseconds before reaching the giant hole he hopped towards the wall on his right, connected with his right foot and launched himself off the wall and up towards the pipes in the ceiling. He grabbed the dusty pipe and steadied himself.

His launch left him suspended a quarter of the way into the hole. Looking down, T.J. could see the hole continued all the way down to ground level, and at the bottom was a large pile of loose bricks. Putting one hand in front of the other he crossed the large, deep expanse and flung himself back to the solid floor.

T.J. was not OCD, but because of how thick and damp the dust was on the stained, carpeted floor - and after observing the patches of black mould on the walls - he decided to simply land on his feet and fall to one knee instead of landing and rolling to maintain momentum. No way that shit’s touching my hair, he thought.

He continued running, planning to run down the stairwell at the end of the hallway. He turned a corner and was ten feet away from the staircase when he saw a police officer exit the stairwell and stare right at him.

T.J. had to think fast. He kicked in an apartment door to his left - the closest one to the staircase - and ran into the run-down dungeon-like confines of a bachelor apartment.

He planned on going through a window and trying to climb to the stairwell window. But he quietly blessed his luck when he saw a hole in the wall leading into the stairwell that was large enough to dive through.

The cop ran into the bachelor apartment just in time to see T.J. dive head-first through the hole and into the stairwell the cop thought was secure. As T.J. kissed his teeth at the stupidity of this would-be pursuer, he struggled to his feet and started running down the stairs.

Back at Steve’s apartment, surprised by the appearance of two patrol cars on one of his cameras, he became frustrated when T.J. ran off course. The only indication of T.J.’s whereabouts came from his head-mounted camera.

Steve and T.J. had a backup plan though. In the event that T.J. needed to abandon the course he was to take the back alleys directly to Steve’s apartment building where he would wait for him at the delivery entrance in the alleyway.

At this point the photo shoot was effectively over, so Steve shut off every camera except for T.J.’s head-cam, and the ones inside and around the condemned apartment building, hoping to capture more action. After a series of mouse-clicks, he hopped out of his cushioned computer chair, ran out of his apartment, leaving it unlocked then ran for his building’s delivery entrance out back.

T.J. began to feel dizzy from the continuous cycle of running down half a flight of stairs, jumping down the last half, spinning around, and doing it all over again - especially since he would do this twice for one floor because of the spiral staircase construction. He had just completed his twelfth circuit when he reached the third floor and heard another police officer barging into the staircase from the main floor.

Despite the fact that he was trapped, T.J. still thought about the YouTube video, and kept it in mind when he hopped the final flight of stairs to the second floor. He ran down the hallway for the large gaping hole, fell to his butt with his legs extended out in front of him and did a baseball-slide directly into the hole.

He landed feet-first into the pile of bricks and allowed himself to fall forward beyond the pile and barrel-roll back into running stance. The cop at the entrance of the staircase on the main floor turned to the sound of scraping bricks and saw a man running down the hallway towards a cracked window.

As he shouted at the man to freeze the man jumped, twisted in mid-air so he was facing the cop but flying backwards. And with a smirk, T.J. flashed both middle fingers at the cop before smashing through the window and landing flat on his butt into the alleyway beyond.

The viewers are gonna love that shot, T.J. thought to himself in triumph. He quickly got back up to his feet and ran deeper into the alleyway.

T.J. knew the show was over. He couldn’t run the course anymore because of the police. Nevertheless, the chase was just another challenge to him. He didn’t fear being arrested as much as he feared having anybody of lesser training catch up to him.

So he kept running. He passed by dumpsters and jumped over garbage cans on his way through the dark, long alleyway. The police were in pursuit - two beat cops were wheezing as they sprinted behind him. Up ahead an eight-foot-high wooden fence offered an adequate obstruction.

As he sized up his approach he moved closer to the wall on his left and ran as fast as he could towards the corner of the fence on the right wall. He jumped at the wall, and with his right foot planted against it, launched himself at the fence, grabbed the top and swung himself over.

The area behind the fence was completely closed off. There were no exits except for a steel door without a doorknob. He heard one of the cops on the other side of the fence command the other one to give him a boost. T.J. frantically scanned the walls for any hint of escape.

The walls were bare, with no windows below the third storey. There were no fire escapes. The only thing he noticed was a medium sized iron pipe that left a gas metre on the ground, went up six feet, made an abrupt ninety-degree turn until it reached a corner of the enclosure ten feet away and then climbed its way up thirty feet to a low rooftop.

It’s my only chance, T.J. thought to himself. He ran at the gas metre and used it for leverage as he jumped to grab the horizontal section of gas pipe. He shimmed his way over to the corner where the gas pipe began to rise up.

As he reached that junction of pipe, one of the officers fell over the eight-foot-high fence and stared at him as he began to climb the side of the building like a spider on a single strand of web. T.J. climbed so fast that he was on the rooftop and out of sight in fifteen seconds.

When T.J. reached the rooftop he wanted to rest for a few moments and let the rush of adrenaline subside, until he noticed a network of elevated catwalks on the rooftop that worked its way down to yet another alleyway. He knew the police would be coming for the next alleyway, and grudgingly got back up to his feet and began running down the catwalk into the alley.

Just down the street, Steve stood by the back entrance to his apartment, impatiently waiting for T.J. to run through the alley towards him, but so far no sight of him. Wondering what the holdup was and anxious to see more action, he grabbed his smart phone from his back pocket and scrolled through his menu.

He opened an application that allowed him to view his computer’s desktop from his phone. And in a few seconds Steve was watching T.J.’s head-cam from his phone.

It was like watching somebody else as they played a first-person video game. T.J.’s arms were swinging wildly in and out of view while the backdrop of really tall building scrolled past at high speed.

T.J. was running through an alleyway, and he was almost home free! T.J. could see Steve’s alleyway across the street on the other side of the congested noon-hour traffic.

As he ran for the street he saw a patrol car cruise by. He knew he couldn’t afford to wait for the traffic to stop. As he neared the street he felt time slow down again, and he felt as though everything was a dream.

He reached the curb and spotted a yellow cab out the corner of his eye moving into his path, and jumped in the air to slide across the hood. He ducked into a barrel-roll to cross underneath the trailer of a U-Haul van. Traffic on the opposite end of the road came to a halt, and he cleared the U-Haul and began running again.

He was almost there. He could see Steve standing in the alleyway, holding the rear-delivery door ajar, trying to behave surreptitiously while waiting for his pseudo-fugitive friend to reach the safe zone. T.J. set foot on the sidewalk, and as he neared the alleyway he could sense a large figure running toward him on his left.

He looked over to see a burly cop lunging at him and tackling him to the ground. He hit his head on the ground and felt dazed as the cop pressed his knee into T.J.’s back, cuffed his hands behind him and lifted him up by his arms.

While being escorted to the parked patrol car a few store fronts up the street, T.J. looked back into the alleyway in time to see the back door to Steve’s apartment slam shut. A couple of minutes later, the red light on T.J.’s camera went out. Steve cut the connection and began editing the video of what he felt was possibly the greatest police chase ever recorded, while T.J. was read his rights and driven to the nearest precinct to be charged and processed.

Two

Adam’s separated body parts were dragged into the barely-lit boiler room that was situated in the third subbasement. Isaac, the treaded observer unit that carried Adam’s head, led the way for the two child units that dragged Adam’s remains.

The children’s optical sensors were not equipped for the darkness of the corridors, so Isaac’s infrared LEDs guided them. The dismembered Adam’s optics were equipped with IR-LEDs, so they would be removed and given to the children. The rest of his body would be used to replace severed limbs, and the torso would be preserved for the next generation to come.

Fenix, the leader of the family, followed behind to make sure the children didn’tstray. Often times they would drop the body parts and play with whatever grabbed their attention - closed doors, tools lying on the ground, a burst water main. Fenix would swiftly knock the stray child over with his leg and order it to complete its task.

Nevertheless, the children’s lack of attention was necessary, and Isaac and Fenix understood this - they were learning to interact with their environments. With each new experience - whether it was learning to open doors or how to use various tools, or even the harmful effects of water - they would mature and become independent when the older generation died out - Survival of the fittest.

Isaac stopped at the locked entrance of the boiler room, and as previously learned, the children stopped with Isaac. Fenix moved to the front of the line then approached the small keypad and raised his left claw to the keypad and announced in a dark, throaty emulation of a voice, “Ready.”

On Isaac’s torso, two parabolic dishes on either side of him rotated to aim at both children. Their audio receptors were disabled and only received static noise while the electronic keypad chimed different notes in response to the code inputted by Fenix. When he was finished, the dishes on Isaac returned to their original positions and both children’s hearing was restored.

It was accepted long ago that children were too immature to be trusted with sensitive information. Some had betrayed their factions and became spies, while others were captured and secrets were extracted from them during reformatting. It was also known that the children recognized patterns very easily and would associate the numbers on the keypad with their assigned tones. Therefore the children’s exposure to everything was strictly controlled.

With the door to the boiler room unlocked, Fenix twisted the large knob on the door and it automatically swung open. Isaac entered first, followed by the two children and Fenix. Fenix pushed the door shut and it automatically locked. There was a single bare light bulb in the centre of the room, just between two giant water boilers. A network of custom-made pipework snaked throughout the room and ended at various locations. In between the boilers lay a pile of rusty scrap metal - discarded pieces of spare limbs that had been deemed unusable. On the left side of the room was a row of work benches with various tools scattered on them. On the right was a row of computers with a workbench between them. At the far end of the boiler room - on the other side of the boilers - were a number of crippled inhabitants. Some were amputated, and some were deaf, blind, or paralysed.

The adult inhabitants were the only ones left functioning. The inhabitants that were considered toddlers or children were powered down (effectively comatose) to prevent them from maturing without full functionality. It saved supplies but often times when the children reawakened their memory would be corrupted and they would behave extremely unpredictably. Sometimes it was best to recycle a child that was damaged, and some factions did just that. Isaac and Fenix, however, welcomed this unpredictable behaviour. And Fenix in particular refused to kill a child.

The two children who carried Adam had went to the back of the room and carried over an adult unit that was missing both arms. The laid it on the work bench to the left. One child handed Adam’s left arm to the other, who then placed the arm beside the damaged adult and said, “Task complete.”

“Negative,” Fenix replied. His red optics watched as the children pushed the arm closer to the adult, looking at each other for instructions.

The armless adult turned its head to the children and said, “Complete your task. Repair me.” The children grabbed the arm at the same time and started hitting the adult=s open socket with it, trying to jam the arm in place.

“Stand by,” Fenix instructed. The children stopped and looked at Fenix. Isaac rolled over to both children and a pair of protruding barrels stuck out from the torso and aimed at both of the children’s necks. From each barrel, a pair of electrical wires launched out and attached to the children with low power magnets.

After the wires made contact the children shook violently for a couple of seconds as the carrier signal from Isaac passed through the magnets. When they stopped shaking, the children immediately worked together in unison to position the arm, grab all the appropriate tools, make the appropriate adjustments, connect the appropriate wires and finally, insert the arm into the adult’s socket.

Through both children, the effeminate voice of Isaac reverberated, saying, “CMOS BIOS Test.” The adult dweller began to rotate its new arm and clench its new fist, and then it replied, “Hardware integration successful.”

The wires that connected Isaac to the children and gave him full control over their body functions fell to the ground and slowly retracted back into the barrels.

“Complete your task,” Fenix commanded. The children then set off by themselves to attach the second in the way that Isaac had just taught them.

Fenix and Isaac moved away from the work benches and toward the computers on the opposite end of the boiler room. The compartment in the centre of Isaac’s torso opened, and Fenix grabbed the severed head of Adam and placed it on the single work bench between the two computer terminals. One of the barrels on Isaac’s torso aimed at Fenix’s back and fired the pair of magnetized wires. In total control of Fenix’s body and able to see everything he could, Isaac activated Fenix’s wrist-mounted plasma cutter and reduced its BTU output to a minimal level, suitable for the delicate task at hand.

The cutter was brought to the base of Adam’s head and was used to cut along the circumference. Fenix’s left claw then removed the upper half of Adam’s head to expose an array of microchips. With surgeon-like precision, Fenix’s talon-like digits removed several of the chips then began removing the small infrared LEDs from around Adam’s optical lenses. Once Adam’s head had been emptied of all the important objects, the useless shell was tossed into the pile of scrap parts. Fenix walked over to the computer on the left side of the bench; the case was open, so Fenix used his cutter to carefully weld the microchips into various spaces within the computer.

When Fenix was finished he powered up the computer. The monitor was blown out but Isaac could connect to the computer wirelessly. The magnetized wires from Isaac fell from Fenix’s back and snaked their way back inside Isaac’s barrel. Fenix then turned around to see the children standing before him, awaiting further commands after finishing their first repairs on a dweller.

“Stand by,” Fenix ordered. He approached one of the children, opened the top of its head with the plasma cutter and started to burn makeshift holes into the child’s faceplate just above the optics. He grabbed a tiny infrared LED and inserted it into of the several holes. Through the opening in the top of the head Fenix used his plasma cutter to weld the LED into place. He continued this process until all the holes were filled and then used his plasma cutter to weld the top of the head back together.

While Fenix repeated the process with the second child Isaac used his connection with Adam’s circuitry via the computer terminal to stream through billions of lines of code that Adam had compiled in his lifetime. Much of it was encrypted and only accessible by a code-breaker, but most of it was “cooked” - converted into a language that nobody else but Adam could decipher. But Adam’s most recent memory

By the time Fenix finished with the second child Isaac had disconnected from the computer - he had extracted all that he could from Adam’s memory stream. Isaac then aimed his parabolic dishes at the children and emitted a signal. The children’s new infrared diodes began to flicker on and off, stimulating the new circuits within the children’s heads, teaching them how to use those circuits. After a few seconds the LEDs remained on - the children learned how to control them. They began wandering into the darkest corners of the boiler room, analysing everything they could never see before.

“A second-generation architect model located undisclosed locations in various places. A second generation code-breaker model learned to manipulate electromagnetic fields through an encrypted computer terminal.”

One of the children found an electrical switch and flicked it up and down repeatedly, causing the single light bulb in the room to flash on and off.

Fenix turned towards the door and started walking as he replied, “Confirmed. New objective: Locate hostiles for observation,” then opened the door, exited the boiler room and waited for Isaac to follow. Isaac commanded the repaired adult unit to follow while the children stayed behind to use Adam’s legs to repair another adult. The children set to work while Isaac and the repaired adult followed Fenix even deeper into the subbasement.

Meanwhile, back at the building complex a hundred miles away where John the programmer first alerted his superior, Cameron, to the new activity in the Vault, John watched one of his several computer monitors as millions of lines of code scrolled down his screen. Observer-Four had just learned about Cobe and wanted to capture him and steal his programming.

John whispered a silent prayer, hoping that Cameron would call him on his landline and give him the go-ahead to issue a recall before it was too late. He stared at the phone hanging on the wall beside his desk, knowing he would never get the call.

He contemplated issuing the recall order himself but immediately decided against it. The Board invested billions of dollars into the project and millions more into security background checks on anybody who knew about it. The Board and his company knew every aspect of his life - where he lived, where his family lived, his health concerns - he was sure they were even aware of the illegal content on his home computer.

Everybody waited for the results from the Vault project, and it seemed like every occupation known to man had a stake in its future - all branches of the United States military; many world-renown universities; Silicon Valley, of course; even the Surgeon General. The President of the United States was secretly keeping his eye on the project as well. If all of that interest and money were to be wasted by one single programmer without anybody’s authority that person would most certainly be arrested and probably be prosecuted for trumped-up terrorism charges. Rubbing his eyes in frustration John just sat at his computer and waited for the inevitable disaster to occur right before his eyes.

Three

T.J. sat motionless on the bare, rusty metal cot in the claustrophobic confines of his concrete holding cell in the basement of the NYPD precinct in Brooklyn. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there for, but he was sure it was almost midnight. There were no windows or clocks around to determine the time of day. Every time he saw an officer coming around to do his rounds he would ask for the time, but the officer would usually either ignore him or come up with some witty remark as, “Time for ya to shut up!”

He stared at the wall across from him, reading every piece of history left behind from former prisoners. Names were everywhere, and not a single one did he recognize. He had studied the wall for so long he virtually memorized every person who was labelled a rat and every whore’s phone number that had been put on display for a good time.

T.J. began to wonder how people could live like this and when he would ever get out of jail. When he was first booked in the sergeant at the desk left a voice mail for his company’s lawyer, Lawrence Goldblum. Of course, Larry was his father’s lapdog, and his father probably said, “To hell with that boy.” If his father had any love for him at all he never showed it.

He thought back to that day eleven years ago, when a sixteen-year-old T.J. stormed into the lobby of his estranged father’s company and inadvertently told his father’s wife that he had another son. After Jessica Mason finally returned from beyond the giant double-doors she didn’t even bother to give T.J. a second glance before passing him and exiting the building.

T.J. walked to the doors, opened them slightly and took a peek inside. Across the room he saw an older, clean-cut version of himself behind a giant desk; T.J. walked inside. The giant office was full of video game memorabilia. Life-size models of heroes from some of T.J.’s favourite video games populated the room. Many of the heroes stared just above the double-doors, brandishing their trademark weapon of choice whether it was a bloody chainsaw, a shotgun or a prison shank. Posters littered the walls and at the very back wall was a gigantic black banner that contained three words in bold white lettering:

The office was a gamer’s wet dream. As T.J. approached the polished oak desk the man behind it turned away from him in his executive swivel chair, stood up and with his back to T.J., poured himself a double-shot of whiskey from the dry-bar behind his desk. He finished the shot in one gulp then poured another. With the shot in hand he turned to look at the boy in his office from behind his swivel chair. He told the boy to have a seat, and T.J. complied.

As this man, in his Eddie Bauer button-up shirt, swished the brown liquor around in his shot glass and considered the boy in his office, T.J. observed the nameplate on his father’s desk - Alfred T. Mason. He wondered if the “T” stood for Thomas; he would find out later that it stood for Timothy. He remembered every word that was spoken that day - he would never forget.

Alfred was the first to break the awkward silence. “You know, in twenty years of marriage, she has never spoken the way she did to me just now…” He turned his chair around and dropped his average sized frame into it. “…Ever.”

“Maybe you should have told me about her,” T.J. replied defensively, “or better yet, you should have told her about me.”

“I don’t even know you, kid. Your mother and I were finished long before you were born.” T.J. straightened up in his chair and shouted, “You walked out on us! You knew I was around and you left!”

“I offered money, I offered to pay for your schooling and put her in a nice home, but she refused it! She wanted me to leave my family for her - my wife and kids!” Alfred downed the shot of whiskey he had been nursing and continued, “She wanted me to ruin my family’s life for her, to destroy my marriage. She knew I had a family that I loved and cared for but she still tried to keep me to herself!”

T.J. scoffed and blew air out of the side of his mouth in disgust. “Oh please! You lied to my mom. You told her you loved her then you ruined her life!”

“And what about me?!” T.J. began to shout again, “You just don’t give a shit about me?! Didn’t even bother to get to know me?!”

“And have my wife find out I had a child with another woman? Like I said, kid, I have a family to protect.”

“Yeah well, we’re your family too. You better remember that, Alfred!” T.J. then stood up, walked out of the amazing office and slammed the office doors shut behind him. Alfred began to call his mother after that - at first to blame her for giving their son the idea of confronting him in front of his wife. A few years later, after Alfred and Jessica had a quiet divorce, he called to offer his estranged son a job in the company.

The giant iron-bar door to his cell slid open and an officer told him he was free to go. He picked up his property from the booking sergeant - his shoelaces, a belt, his diamond-studded earring, and the miniature camera that he had strapped to his head earlier. He climbed the stairs to the main floor and then from the main lobby exited the police station.

As he walked down the steps to the sidewalk he saw the company lawyer - Lawrence Goldblum, esquire -standing in front of an all-black, four-door Cadillac that the old man (as T.J. called his father) used as his limo. Larry stood beside the trunk of the car and glared at T.J. as he opened the rear door and ushered T.J. inside.

As T.J. bent down to enter the car he threw his plastic property bag onto the far seat behind the driver and opted to close the door behind himself rather than let Larry close it. Larry walked around the rear of the car and entered the back seat on the driver’s side. He pushed the property bag to the middle seat. As he closed the door behind him he stared at the contents of the bag and noticed the digital motion capture camera.

“Do you know how much that cost, Tommy?” Larry asked. T.J. hated how everybody on his father’s side - from hardly-known acquaintances to the old man himself - called him “Tommy” or “Thomas.” They strictly refused to call him T.J. and felt that, given the successful life he had now, that he should adopt his father’s last name. He never would, and everybody wrote him off as an immature, ungrateful, spoiled mama’s-boy for not wanting to continue the Mason legacy. He just chose to honour the parent that had actually raised him.

“Yeah, I know how much it cost,” T.J. answered with a bit of an attitude. “And don’t worry about it, it’s not yours.” The car entered traffic and T.J. took note of the time on the dashboard up front: 6:08pm. He had been in jail for only five hours.

The company lawyer grabbed the camera out of T.J.’s property bag and began to examine it. On the underside of the lens casing he noticed the engraved name of a special-effects company that the old man often did business with.

“You know,” Larry said, “these childish skits are not going to make you successful, and they’re already getting you in trouble with the law.” Larry removed the camera from the bag and placed it in his lap. “And they’re likely to cost your father money.”

T.J. smirked and exclaimed, “He can bill me! And how do you know I won’t be successful? You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“You run around like some has-been action hero, climb fences like a child, and jump off buildings like a junkie. It surprises me that anybody that’s even intelligent enough to operate a computer could find your behaviour amusing.”

T.J. asked sarcastically, “Say, didn’t our company make a video game like that?” The sarcasm was lost on Larry, “Yes,” he said, “but we don’t break any laws making them! You’re lucky your father and the police lieutenant are friends, or you’d still be in jail while your so-called-friend,” - Larry lifted the camera up for emphasis - “capitalizes on your incarceration.”

“It doesn’t take a big-shot video game boss and a bookworm lawyer to realize they can’t keep me in jail for a B&E that didn’t even happen,” T.J. shot a look at the camera, “when I have the proof it didn’t.” Lawrence spoke slowly, “You broke into an apartment building - that’s break and enter. Then you ran from police which, last time I checked, is still a serious crime. And you have video evidence of both crimes!”

The lawyer let this revelation sink in for a few moments then pulled an air plane ticket out from a pocket inside his suit jacket. “There’s a convention in Las Vegas- the Intelligent Gaming Expo. You’re going to represent our company. Take your laptop and some clothes.”

He handed the ticket to T.J. and continued, “The expo’s tomorrow at the MGM Grand, it will last for two days. Your plane leaves midnight tonight.”

Larry then handed him a hand-written note that explained the times and locations, including suite reservations at the MGM Grand. “Knowing the way you are,” Larry said, “the accommodations are booked for five days. We’ll be expecting you back by Thursday night.”

For the rest of the ride to his one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, T.J. just stared at the notes and written instructions. He realized for the first time since his run the gravity of his actions and how much trouble he could have gotten into. He began to resent the fact that the two men he most hated were the only reason he was free. He also knew this convention was just a way of making him disappear for a while.

When they reached T.J.’s building Larry put the camera in his jacket pocket. “I’ll make sure this gets back to where it belongs,” he said. “You just pack, and make sure you’re at the airport before midnight.”

T.J. grabbed his things and exited the car. The rear car window rolled down behind him. “You can charge the cab ride to the company account,” Larry called out. “Please don’t try to run all the way there!” And with that the Cadillac drove away. He watched it turn the corner; his eyes captured the car’s license plate:

As the car disappeared from view T.J. entered the brownstone which he lived in. He checked his mailbox and found nothing inside. He then walked up the three flights of stairs to his apartment on the top floor. He unlocked and unbolted his door and entered the open-concept, loft-like, one-bedroom apartment.

He flipped on the light switch and watched as the impressive dwelling was completely illuminated. From the entrance one could see the kitchen, living room, and the short hallway leading to the bathroom and his bedroom. The kitchen had black granite counter tops and stainless-steel appliances that looked almost too large to fit through the narrow corridors of his building. The living room took up the rest of the living space - a large black leather sofa rested along the kitchen’s breakfast bar. Opposite the sofa was a forty-inch LED flat-screen, and surrounding the room was a surround-sound home theatre system. In one corner, beside the glass sliding doors that led to the balcony was a computer situated on a corner desk and a closed laptop in front it.

The coffee table was littered with remotes, crumpled paper, marijuana paraphernalia and video game controllers. On an average work day he would come home, finish an A.I. script that he started at work, fill up his pipe, and have a toke on the balcony. For the rest of the day, he would either indulge in his love for video games or bring to life new ideas that his enhanced train-of-thought would have developed for enhanced Artificial Intelligence.

T.J. was the senior A.I. programmer for his father’s company and he was a perfectionist. He was never satisfied with how advanced a script was - it was always predictable somehow. He wanted to develop an A.I. that could scare the hell out of someone because it did something that nobody ever thought was possible. It was because of his persistent ambition that Chaotic Entertainment went from a twenty-man team in rented office space to almost twenty offices around the nation.

He turned his computer on and as he waited for it to load he packed a bowl, grabbed the black Bic lighter from the coffee table and went to the balcony. He stared out over the railing at the busy street below, brought the pipe to his lips, put the flame from the lighter to the bowl full of sticky, crystal-laden buds and took in a full breath of thick, hot smoke.

He held his breath until he felt he would faint then exhaled what was left of the unabsorbed smoke while staving off a coughing fit. Within thirty seconds he felt as though his brain had shifted gears. Awesome, and as-of-yet unclear ideas rushed through his mind for developing a new A.I. script, based on his experience with running the course just hours earlier. He rushed back into his apartment while the ideas were still there and wrote them on a pad of paper.

Once his creative genius was exhausted, T.J. went to his computer and opened his media player. As he was about to choose a song he remembered the conversation with Larry the Lawyer. He remembered the fact that he nearly got slapped with felony charges for the run. He grabbed his cell phone and dialled up Steve. When Steve answered, T.J. was so high and angry that he couldn’t organize his thoughts into proper sentences.

“God dammit you fuckin’ idiot! Fuckin’ stupid course!” T.J. ranted, “I almost fell off a fucking roof, and actually fell off another fucking one!”

“Then you got me runnin’ through mould and bricks and runnin’ from the fucking cops…” Steve tried to interrupt again, “…I-“

“…Then you watch me get body slammed by a fucking cop, and that’s after a fucking cab almost hit me!”

T.J. brought the phone directly in front of his face, “And a fucking truck!”

T.J. finally was speechless. The phone was silent for a moment, and then Steve continued. “And, we just got another five-hundred subscribers. T.J., this is it! By tomorrow our video might have a million hits. We’re gonna make money, man!”

T.J. ran to his computer and went to their YouTube channel. The new video, titled “Free-Running from the Police” played back the harrowing fifteen-minute run. At the bottom of the video T.J. stared in amazement as the view counter neared 500,000, and at the bottom, thousands of comments were posted in just less than six hours.

T.J.’s anger died out and was replaced with ecstasy. He dropped the phone and ran around the living room, cheering and howling in victory. When he settled down he picked the phone up from the floor.

“Pack your bags and be at La Guardia by ten, we’re going to Vegas for a week!”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll clear it with the old man, he’ll clear it with your boss. Just be there at ten!” Without waiting for a response T.J. hung up.

He knew the old man wouldn’t like it, but Alfred would rather fork over the extra cash and pull a couple of strings than risk his bastard son going rogue. T.J. sent a text message to his father explaining the additional money that would be charged to the company. He then went to his computer and highlighted the media player that was still open. He put on an old Rage Against the Machine song to blast throughout his whole apartment as he went to the bathroom to get a shower.

By the time he had finished, dried off and left his bathroom the apartment was submerged in a classic bridge by Nirvana. He began to pack two giant suitcases with impressive, expensive suits and classy dress wear. A slow song from Live came on, and T.J. decided “Run to the Water” did not fit his mood so he grabbed his cell phone, opened up his Vectir Remote app and used it to change the music on his computer. Once he found a more appropriate song from the Black Keys he checked the flashing notification on his phone and found a new text message from the old man:

“Oohh, I’m so scared!” T.J. muttered to himself sarcastically, and then he continued to pack.

T.J. reached La Guardia airport at 10:15pm, paid the fare for his cab ride and entered the lobby. Standing there waiting for him was Steve and his own luggage. As T.J. approached Steve he noted what he was wearing: khaki shorts, blue T-shirt, sneakers. He looked like he just came back from an afternoon jog.

T.J. asked, “You know we’re going to Vegas right?” He then said sternly, “In First-Class!” Steve looked at him wide-eyed, “Now you tell me!”

Steve grabbed a suitcase and ran for the nearest bathroom. Ten minutes later he retuned looking just as classy as T.J. They both wore black trousers with a black jacket and dress shirts with the top two buttons undone. T.J. wore a light blue shirt and Steve wore light grey. They walked up to the security checkpoint where a large fat man stopped them. Their luggage was put onto a conveyor belt to be x-rayed after T.J. removed his laptop.

The security guard asked them all the standard questions: Did you pack the luggage yourselves; do you know what’s in them; did you leave them alone at any time? Finally they were ushered through the full-body scanners. Another security guard watched his computer screen as 3D models of T.J. and Steve’s naked bodies were rendered for the guard’s scrutiny. Unbeknownst to the two travellers, the two guards had a wager as to which one would be larger Abelow the belt.@ The man behind the computer screen smiled as he realized he won the bet.

Their luggage was transferred to another conveyor belt and sent to the cargo hold of the Boeing 757 they would be boarding. They waited in the terminal for twenty minutes before they were allowed to board First-Class seating. They took their seated and ordered drinks for themselves - Steve ordered a Tom Collins, while T.J. had a Jack-and-Coke. By the time the plane started moving they had both finished three drinks each.

As the plane taxied onto the runway Steve began to question the details of the trip. “So your dad’s paying for all of it, right?” he asked.

“That’s right,” T.J. answered. His eyes were fixed on a sexy, fit blonde in a miniskirt a couple of rows ahead.

“It’s a video game convention. It’s for the company.” T.J. turned his attention back to the blonde in the miniskirt. The plane picked up speed as it prepared to take off.

Steve became frustrated by T.J.’s cryptic answers, “And that means what to me?” “You’re coming with me to the convention.”

“Your dad’s gonna be there?!” Steve looked around the first-class cabin frantically in a futile attempt to find an escape, until he looked out his window and saw the runway gradually disappear under them in the night.

Four

The quiet, still landscape of the Nevada desert had a peaceful, sterile quality to it in the twilight of the early night hours. At the edge of the desert, just between the barren landscape and civilization, a single black stretch limousine sped along the solitary stretch of asphalt that contrasted with the dead nature that surrounded it. Inside the limo sat five men in business attire: black jacket, white shirt and black tie. Of the five men, three were hired mercenaries, armed with silenced .40- calibre SIG Sauer pistols hidden under their jackets, and all three wearing hidden Kevlar vests. One of these men sat in the front passenger seat beside the unarmed driver while the other two were in the back, separated from their counterpart by an opaque, black divider.

Flanked on either side by his hired protection sat a man in his mid-sixties - a man whose bodyguards only know him as Cyril. Cyril just stared at the ten-inch LCD screen that was integrated into the backside of the front seat, watching a digital map and GPS display of their progress through the desert. As they approached their destination, the cryptic old man checked his Bulova watch for the hundredth time that trip: 9:07pm. Good, he thought, right on schedule.

As they rapidly approached their destination, Cyril felt the limo slow down. He looked through the tinted windows as an armed guard in desert-camouflage fatigues left a security booth to speak to the driver. After a brief exchange, the guard waved to the booth and the two twelve-inch iron rods that were protruding from the road in front of the limo sank into the ground to allow the vehicle to carry on. The old man continued looking through the window on his left as they passed through the checkpoint to the other side of a thirty-five-foot-high chain-link fence that surrounded the complex they had just arrived to.

The limo passed by several building before slowing down and stopping in front of a modern-design five-storey building in the centre of the complex. Both rear doors and the front passenger door opened, and the three hired guns exited the limo. The man known as Cyril exited via the rear passenger door, and then all three doors were closed by the mercenaries as Cyril approached the entrance to the large building. The mercenaries waited outside to ensure nobody else entered. A middle-aged black man met Cyril inside, shook his hand, and thanked Cyril for coming at such short notice.

“Good, let’s get this over with,” Cyril said. They walked through the low-lit corridor together to a single elevator that was already open and awaiting their arrival.

The two men exited the elevator on the fifth floor and entered another long, low-lit corridor. They walked to a door labelled “Meeting Room.” Standing in front of the door was another guard in army fatigues, holding an M16 assault rifle. The middle-aged black man nodded to the guard and he stepped to the side. The man then pulled a key card from his jacket pocket and inserted it into an electronic card reader above the door handle. The red LED switched to green and he opened the door. He ushered Cyril into the large, windowless conference room.

The tables were set up into a “U” shape with the opening facing an eight-foot LCD display that was built into the wall. A table placed against the adjacent wall contained a laptop that was plugged into the wall by a series of cables. Standing in front of the laptop was the bald, fat man with glasses who supervised the project he was about to talk about.

Sitting around the giant “U” was the other fourteen men and women who made up the Board. In front of every Board member there was a nameplate containing each person’s respective alias. Given the sensitive nature of the project controlled by this company that each member generously invested in, it was agreed years ago that nobody would use their real names when dealing with company matters. Though many of the Board knew each other personally, everybody respected the confidentiality of the company - they had to.

On the right side of the “U” Cyril found his nameplate and sat behind it. On the opposite end, the middle-aged black man sat behind a nameplate that read “Cobalt.” Cyril took a sip from a glass of water beside his nameplate and watched the fat man up front as he stood upright and turned around. He poured some warm, flat Coke into the lid from a giant grey thermos, downed the Coke in one gulp and cleared his throat.

“I thank you all for coming,” Cameron said. “As you know, as Chief Operations Officer of the Vault Project, it is my duty and responsibility to inform all of you of any significant changed or imminent dangers related to the project. I appreciate that many of you were greatly inconvenienced to be here, and I assure you that these matters are well worth the inconvenience. With that said, I’ll get straight to the point.”

Cameron pressed a button on the wall and the eight-foot LCD flickered on. On the screen were 3D models of various robotic forms. Cameron continued speaking:

“Two years ago, the Vault Project was initiated to determine the capabilities and capacities for Artificial Intelligence. The capacities of intelligence were divided into a scale from one to five and defined as Artificial General Intelligence, or A.G.I.

“The first level was basic functions - similar to a new-born infant, the program learned to develop motor skills and used associative-learning to determine abstract concepts. This is how the programs learned to ‘feed’ on power cells and avoid ‘poisons.’

“The second level is the development of an ‘artificial toddler,’ which is where the project began.” Cameron pressed a button on the remote he carried, and the 3D model in the middle of the screen enlarged to fit the whole screen.

“The first bots - these plasma-welding androids - were implemented with stage-two A.G.I. after the construction of the Vault was completed. Fifteen of these droids were produced. They had learned by themselves the difference between ‘food’ and ‘poison.’ They also had to learn by themselves how to use and control their own plasma cutters and where to refill their oxygen tanks, and they had to learn how to communicate with others.

“The next level was that of an ‘artificial child.’ Here they develop and improve on abilities they learned as ‘toddlers,’ and they also develop what we call a ‘morality matrix’ - their version of right and wrong. We found that many associations they had made in their environment affected their judgment in the future, and in the end many of the bots stopped working together and formed factions, or ‘families’ within the Vault. Each family has different politics on everything, from territory to destroying undeveloped programs - the robot version of killing children.”

Cameron pressed another button and the 3D model rescinded to allow the others to be in view. “The fourth level,” he continued, “is that of an ‘artificial adult.’ At this level, the program has developed its morality matrix to its maximum level, and many associations its programming had made prevent further learning. For the longest time this has been the apex of A.G.I. - a plateau that we could not surpass. At this point we started introducing variations of robotic forms.

“The plasma-welding droids learned through its ‘childhood’ stage that the plasma cutter can be used to damage other machines. By the time its programming had matured, a machine could then defend itself with it. At this present time, only three plasma-welding droids still exist. The rest of the Vault is populated with different models, housing unique abilities.”

Cameron pressed a button, and a single 3D model came into focus. The model was aerodynamic in shape with four horizontal rotor blades surrounding its chassis. It looked like a remote-controlled quad copter.

“Our first model to be introduced was small, lightweight and agile. It has telescopic cameras to produce enhances images on very small objects from moderate distances. It also has a built-in sonar system to generate a detailed memory of its environment. By design it’s meant to create diagrams or blueprints for other bots to decipher. We call it an Archie model, short for Architect.”

Cameron pressed a button and the flying craft shifted from view, followed by a machine on tank treads - its torso covered in parabolic dishes and antenna arrays.

“This next model was introduced originally for our benefit,” Cameron explained. “It’s an observer unit; with this unit we could run remote diagnostic checks on other machine and make modifications to their programming without ever setting foot inside the Vault. However, once their intelligence level matured they learned to use these abilities to harm other programs, copy and upload pre-existing code into other machines, and physically control other bots.” Cameron switched the view to a humanoid robotic form that stood on reverse-jointed legs that were similar to a cat’s.

“I’ll get to the other model we introduced in a minute, but first I wanted to talk about this one. There are currently forty of them in the Vault, and we did not introduce them. These models were designed by the machines themselves. They have motor skills identical to a human, and their inverted legs give them the speed and agility of a cheetah. They’re only two-thirds the size of an adult human, but they’re as strong as an Olympic bodybuilder. In every aspect they are superior to us: strength, speed, dexterity. They can master physical skills in moments that would take us years to even become proficient in.

“Their only downfall so far is their lack of ingenuity. They can learn to grab a metal pipe and kill you with it, but they can’t learn complex tasks without it being pre-programmed, or through extraneous trial-and-error. Even learning to operate a firearm can be challenging to them. Regardless, we call these models Adam - short for Advanced Dexterity and Movement.”

Cameron pressed another button and the screen filled with a still shot from a security camera. “What you are about to watch occurred twelve hours ago. Keep in mind this is all learned behaviour, we had no influence in any way.”

Cameron stepped to the side so the sixteen board members could have a clear view of the LCD screen. He pressed a button and the video came to life as Adam opened a door and entered a room. The machine climbed the side of a tall shelf and started rummaging through containers until one fell to the ground. He stopped for a moment, and then barricaded the door.

“This Adam model is in hostile territory and prepares for an imminent attack,” Cameron explained. Suddenly a bright light flashed through the door. “A plasma-welding droid is breaching the barricade,” Cameron explained again.

On the screen, the Adam model picked up a metal pipe and ran at the door. Suddenly the video feed filled with static, and Adam fell to the ground.

Cameron explained, “An observer unit is emitting an Ultra-High Frequency signal which interferes with electronics.” Then a bright light white-washed the feed. “Most bots are equipped with Infrared LEDs to see in the dark. The observer unit is using its own LED s to blind Adam and search the room for more intruders.”

When the screen cleared the observer unit filled the doorway. It then rolled backwards to make way for a plasma-welding droid, who walked in and cut Adam into six separate pieces. Two more Adam models entered the room and carried off the body parts, and the four machines left the view of the camera.

Cameron walked back to the mouth of the “U” and continued talking, “As all of you already know this has been going on for a year now. The body parts will be taken back to their ‘home’ and used to repair others. What is concerning to us is the actions that led to this specific event, and where it took place.” Cameron pressed a button and a blueprint of the large facility came into view then zoomed in to the southeast edge.

“This camera was located in a maintenance room three storeys below ground. In this room is a service hatch that leads to a maintenance tunnel with a ladder. Beyond that ladder is a manhole that exits the facility.”

Cameron looked at Cyril, “That’s correct,” he said. “The entire inside of the maintenance tunnel is filled with water that can be drained by electric pumps in case we ever needed to re-enter the Vault. As well, all restricted zones are sealed with magnetic locks and a network of copper mesh is installed within the wall that generates an electromagnetic field. That would disable any machines that try to break in. That’s where our final bot model comes in.”

Cameron pressed a button and a large, army-green machine came into view. Its massive torso was supported by four spider-like legs. It had two arms, with two sharp objects below them that looked like pincers, and it had two heads.

“This is Cobe,” Cameron said, “a machine that has just one purpose: code-breaking. With any other machine it can take a substantial amount of time and repetitive trial-and-error to compile a program from watching another machine, but none of them can ever view the actual code, learn its meaning and create its own unique variation from scratch. They just don’t have the intricate knowledge of language that we do.”

Cameron pressed a button. On the screen, the model of Cobe disappeared and the screen filled with lines of odd-looking symbols and characters.

“When a program utilizing A.G.I. learns something and stores it in its long-term memory, it is interpreted based on associations unique to that machine. It is impossible to reverse-engineer. In programming lingo, they call it ‘cooked code.’ This also means it’s impossible for other machines to understand code because it doesn’t align with their preconceived associations, and that’s where Cobe comes in.

“Cobe is basically two separate machines in one. Like twins, they are identical in everything except their own associations. Therefore they work together to develop programs that are understandable to both halves, and receive identical results. Cobe is designed to reverse-engineer programs and create his own. It took Cobe over a year to accomplish this, and he did it.” Cameron took off his glasses and pressed another button. The lines of indecipherable character all converted to readable code.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Cobe has reached stage-five A.G.I. He is, in essence, an ‘artificial scientist.’”

The silence from the board was replaced with mutters of congratulations and victory. Cameron continued, “However, this success may be a problem, because Cobe reverse-engineered the Vault’s security systems.”

The voices stopped as Cameron spoke on, “With the help of an Archie model, Cobe found the hidden maintenance room and remotely disabled the EM-Field and magnetic locks. It’s safe to assume he’ll learn how to activate the water pumps as well. What’s worse is one of the observer units from a rival family found out what Cobe has accomplished, and now intends to steal his programming. If that happens, it’s plausible that the observer can transfer the programming to every machine in the Vault, and all fifty of them could find a way out.”

Cameron pressed another button and the code on the screen was replaced by a time line, beginning twelve hours ago at 0900 hours Mountain Time.

“The video feed I just showed you started at nine o’clock this morning. The observer in the video became aware of Cobe twenty minutes later after downloading Adam’s short-term memory, which was not yet cooked by Adam’s unique filters. One hour later another Adam model was destroyed and its body was used to rebuild a replica of the first Adam in the video. As of three hours ago, this replica was sent back to where Cobe resides to obtain intelligence, access codes, and routes of infiltration.”

Cameron switched off the LCD screen. “A war is about to take place in the Vault. It needs to be stopped. If those Adam models reach stage-five A.G.I. we will most likely fail a physical confrontation against them.”

A chorus of low laughter began to echo throughout the room. A four of the sixteen Board members were military brass, and others were computer programmers.

The middle-aged black man whose alias was Cobalt said, “I’m pretty sure three dozen pipe wielding robot children would be no match for our men in uniform.”

Cameron looked at him, “There’s enough equipment down there to create a crude death ray, and the Vault itself is close to another secret research facility.” Cameron referred to the secret testing site that the public knew as Area-51. The laughter stopped. “If a machine learned to crack our security systems - and the Vault’s systems are state-of-the-art according to military standards - imagine what they can do with whatever else is being developed in the desert.”

Another Board member - the President of an antivirus company whose nameplate read Orion - spoke up, “Is there any way to upload a virus to this observer unit that would prevent him from accessing Cobe?”

“We already thought about that,” Cameron explained. “As I said, his programming is too mature to introduce any new programming. Without being able to decipher his associations it will be impossible. Also the observer would be aware of any interference we cause - it might even sever the connection entirely.”

“All information we receive from the observer unit is intercepted without pinging the source. Incidentally, this also means we can’t verify that the data is completely accurate.” “Can we download Cobe’s software and disable him?” Cyril asked.

“That would require verification from the source that every byte of information is accurate,” Cameron replied. “Cobe would be aware of it and most like upload a false drive. Even worse, it could actually use the connection to steal data from us.”

Cobalt then made a suggestion: “Then our best bet is to enter the facility and extract Cobe.” Everybody in the room looked at Cobalt as he continued, “We disable the other machines remotely to ensure zero human casualties.”

“That’s not possible,” Cameron interjected. “All of the Adam models were made by the machines - they have no remote connection to us. Basically, we have no control over eighty-percent of the Vault’s population. And even if we did disable the rest, the Adam models might… well… panic, I guess. They could be extra aggressive to anything they encounter.”

Everybody returned their attention to Cameron as Cyril spoke up, “So there is no contingency?” “There is one,” Cameron said, “We conduct a full recall - the entire facility is subjected to an electromagnetic pulse. Every machine will be disabled and all programs irreparably erased, including Cobe.”

There was a quiet echo of disapproval among the Board. Cameron continued, “We now know stage-five intelligence is possible, and we know a model identical to Cobe can accomplish it in a year. In an isolated, controlled environment, we can recreate our successes two years from now with minimal risk.”

“Provided we write-off every contribution we have made to date…” Cyril interjected. “It’s either that, or risk a potential catastrophe that we are not equipped to handle, sir,” Cameron rebutted.

After a moment of silence Cameron was asked to wait outside while the Board made its decision. Cameron complied, and the Board was left to its deliberation. Cameron went down the hall to another meeting room. This room granted access to a balcony where he could look down to the three hired guns five storeys below who waited out front. No vehicles were parked out front of the entrance - all of the vehicles were parked across the complex, away from each other so the drivers would not know who was here. Cameron took out a pack of Camels and brought one of the cigarettes out of his half-empty pack and lit it.

He knew the Board would not authorize a recall. He knew the military brass would assure the Board that they could handle a mission into the Vault - that they would have the element of surprise. They would convince the Board that they already had equipment and weapons suitable for this scenario, and that they would send the best-of-the-best to retrieve Cobe.

Finished with his smoke, he flicked it over the railing directly over the mercenaries while quietly hoping that the butt would land on one of their heads. He returned to the entrance of the original meeting room, where the armed guard out front informed him that the Board was ready for him. Cameron entered and stood before the sixteen investors who controlled the company - and his life - knowing that whether or not he liked their decision, or even if it was right or terribly wrong - for his sake and his family’s, he would have to obey it.

Cyril spoke for the Board: “Mr. Hicks, we thank you for bringing this information to our attention. There is not a single individual here who feels inconvenienced by these matters, nor do we feel you have wasted our time.” Several of the members nodded their heads in agreement. “In fact, this is arguably the most valuable meeting to be held since your initial proposal of the Vault Project.

“We share the same concerns as you for the containment of the project, as well as the possible disastrous outcomes that may occur from a breach of containment. Indeed, when the project began, not one of us here expected that machines could behave so unfailingly human. The fact that they will arbitrarily destroy one another, and are even capable of tactical espionage, disturbs us.”

Cyril took a sip of his water and continued, “If the stage-five achievement were to be shared among the Adam models we would recognize that the results would be disastrous. In that event we would authorize a recall without hesitation. Obviously, this is not the case.

“Only one machine has this unique trait, and it is not designed for combat. Since ninety-five percent of the Vault’s population have never seen a human being we have the greatest tactical advantage over them. And since billions of dollars have been invested to produce only one successful candidate, we cannot afford to destroy it.

“Therefore, it is the unanimous decision of the Board to decline the recall order, and proceed with a military extraction of this Cobe model by Special Forces, with an electronics expert as an attached specialist. Once Cobe is removed, further consideration for the Vault Project will be decided.”

There was a moment of silence as this information was processed by Cameron. Finally he was dismissed by the Board. He grabbed his laptop, disconnected it from the wall, left the secure, windowless room and went down to the elevator and through the low-lit corridor to the exit. Cameron checked his cell phone - it was nearly quarter to ten, and there was no cell phone reception in the desert. He opted to return to Las Vegas and go home to his wife before returning to the complex the next day to observe the military operation.

As he left for the parking lot the three mercenaries outside stopped him and informed him that he would be remaining at the complex for the next twenty-four hours to brief the extraction team. John, the senior programmer, had already been intercepted on his way home and was being escorted back. He was told that his wife would be contacted and an excuse would be made for the all-nighter. She would be told that, at the very least, he’d be home tomorrow night.

Cameron didn’t believe them, but he had no choice but to comply. He returned inside and went to the basement where the Vault was remotely monitored. He awaited the Blackhawk helicopters that were already en route from Nellis Air Force Base that would bring forth the first humans that would enter the Vault in over eighteen months.

Five

At three o’clock in the morning the barren, moonlit expanse of the Nevada desert drowns in a perpetual silence that even death would envy. So silent that the Blackhawk helicopters approaching in the subterfuge below radar coverage could be heard a full mile away from the Vault as the intermittent chopping noises from the propellers melded into a low din. The second helicopter trailed behind just a mile away, approaching the same destination but for a different purpose - it was a sky-crane, and its crew consisted of the pilot, a loader, and two demolition experts.

The first helicopter carried a larger load: six members of the Special Forces Operations Division - Delta Force - and an electrical engineer that would be attached to their mission as a specialist. There wasn’t much talk aboard the first chopper - their mission was clear. They had been briefed for four hours on the layout of the Vault and the unusual nature of the inhabitants.

The squad leader, Captain George Taylor, was very uneasy about the whole mission. The only thing he knew for sure was that nobody really knew anything about the Adam models because the machines built them independently. So he understood why he was ordered to capture one and bring it out of the Vault, but that was his secondary objective. The eggheads and nerds back at the complex would study the machine and learn everything about how it functions, but that would do his squad no good. The primary objective was time-sensitive and he needed to accomplish it with no intelligence on potential threats. His seven-man team needed to capture a seven-hundred-fifty-pound robot that now ran the entire facility’s security systems.

The handful of programmers and engineers at the briefing tried to assure them that since the machines had never encountered humans before, that they would have a strategic advantage. Captain Taylor saw from the look in the eyes of each of his men that they were all thinking the same thing: These civvies don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about! Physically, it was easier to kill a man than to destroy a machine. These machines would not appreciate the sanctity of life, and would never feel remorse if any of Taylor’s men was killed. The machines had the true advantage.

Still, he had trust in his specialist - a young mulatto that had been with the project since its inception named Jefferson Smith. He helped design the first two generations of machines inside the Vault, and had designed an inventory of electromagnetic-pulse grenades that he was confident would be their ace-in-the-hole. He had also made it clear to Taylor’s men that explosive-tipped ammunition would be the most effective inside the Vault.

It was Jefferson’s part of the briefing that brought back the confidence in the faces of Taylor’s squad. Jefferson stated a concern, however, that the EMP grenades could inadvertently trigger a ‘recall event’ - whatever the hell that meant - so he would only have three brought along to be used only as a last resort. He also advised that flash-bang grenades would not stun the machines, but would permanently destroy their optics and blow out their auditory receptors - it would still blind and deafen them.

With his knowledge and expertise Jefferson made the perfect candidate for a specialist attachment. Even on the way to the Vault he could command confidence amongst the men with his solid stare - he was not afraid, and it wasn’t because of blind arrogance. As the helicopter reached the unmarked sewer drain that laid two-hundred feet southeast from the dusty, ominous, windowless, two

storey-high concrete walls that signified merely the above-ground portion of the Vault, Taylor’s earpiece came alive with final instructions from the complex.

“Delta-Six, Juliet Charlie; the observatory is empty, proceed single-file to ladder. Operation STRING-TUNE is a go.”

Back at the basement of the complex John and his co-workers - under the supervision of an army colonel and his lieutenant - observed every camera in the Vault and the Delta squad’s progress. The restricted maintenance room (designated ‘the observatory’) was vacant of all machines, and the underground cistern that housed the ladder to the maintenance room had been pumped dry of all its water. John silently watched the streams of code that were intercepted from Cobe’s log to determine if he was aware of any changes; so far, nothing yet.

The Blackhawk hovered waist-height above the ground just feet from the sewer entrance. One by one, the members of the Special Forces squad jumped off the chopper, assumed a crouching-guard position around the helicopter, and then jogged single-file to the clandestine entryway as soon as the helicopter retreated.

“Copy Charlie: STRING-TUNE is go; we’re out front the observatory,” Taylor said into his headset. Jefferson lagged behind with his escort, Lieutenant Sheppard - a short, stocky bulldog of Irish descent. The squad descended the forty-foot ladder and entered the dark, sterile maintenance room where less than twenty-four hours ago the whole mess had occurred. The steel door that secured the room had been cut through, and several large objects had been pushed about so that there was barely enough room for Jefferson and his escort to squeeze inside.

A barrel-chested juggernaut with sergeant’s chevrons that everybody called Eggs took point with his M4A1 Carbine rifle, and watched the entrance as Taylor made one last transmission: “Juliet Charlie, Delta-Six; the observatory is secure, proceeding to concert hall. Clear to flush the toilets, over.”

“Roger, Delta; time is zero-three-one-five hours, telescopes are fixed. The maestro is still asleep. Toilet will be flushed in two-zero seconds. Radio silence; out.”

With that the maintenance hatch above them shut closed, and they could hear the rush of water through hidden pipes as the cistern was flooded, sealing them inside. The squad members activated the attached flashlights on their rifles, and Eggs and a second man approached the opposite corners of the doorway and peered past each other’s corners.

“Move out,” Taylor ordered. Eggs took point, turning his corner to the right and moving ahead cautiously as he swept his flashlight ahead of him. Three more squad-mates followed, followed then by Captain Taylor, Jefferson, and Lieutenant Sheppard.

The only noises Jefferson could hear within the bowels of this robotic stronghold were the muted din of high-voltage wires and the stirring noise of steam pipes. The only sounds of life came from the hardened soldiers ahead of him, and even then they continued on without conversation and with light footsteps. The only light in the whole Vault seemed to come from the soldier’s gun-mounted flashlights.

Jefferson began to feel anxious. He knew some of the Adam models were equipped with infrared LEDs which granted them limited night-vision. And since they were a little more than half the size of him they could easily be hiding in any dark corner, waiting to pick them off one-by-one, without a trace.

The witnesses back at the complex a hundred miles away watched the security monitors with suppressed anxiety. Everything was pitch-black. The only light they could see emanated from the soldiers flashlights or from the invisible light rays from the machines. So far, they saw no machines near the soldiers.

Eggs approached a steel door that housed a small stairway to his right. He tested the handle and found that it was unlocked. He held his left fist in the air, ordering the squad to halt. He took up position in front of the door as a squad mate stood beside it. With his left hand the squad mate turned the door handle. With his rifle aimed at the breach in the door, he slowly opened the door and peered inside.

“Clear,” he whispered. He waved his hand straight forward, commanding Eggs to take point and ascend the stairs. The squad followed suit while Eggs cautiously ascended the gridiron spiral stairs, practically walking backwards as he aimed towards the upper tier of the staircase. They ascended two levels to the first sub-basement, but the remaining tiers of stairs were destroyed.

Eggs stopped at the top of the staircase and aimed at a doorway straight ahead. He held his fist in the air to halt the squad then pointed upward to direct Taylor’s attention to the missing tiers above. Taylor aimed his light upwards; he could see two storeys of closed doors, but no grid work of stairs.

“They did this,” Jefferson whispered, referring to the machines. “And they disabled the freight elevator in the warehouse. Now there’s only one way in for them to defend.”

“A staircase across the Vault, but they would expect intruders,” Jefferson explained. “If we can get to the freight elevator shaft without activating the elevator we should be okay.” Jefferson and Sheppard moved ahead of Taylor, while Taylor ordered another man to keep six. Eggs and two others cleared the doorway then Jefferson directed Eggs how to reach the warehouse where the freight elevator could be accessed.

The squad exited the staircase and turned left, proceeding down a long, narrow corridor similar to the one two storeys below only in dimensions. The walls were black with exposure to fire and smoke. Overhead pipes were severed and hanging off supports at dangerous angles, letting out slow streams of water and hot steam. The floor was flooded in an inch of water, and strewn about were bits and pieces of machine parts.

John watched the squad’s progress with increased anxiety. He knew this particular floor was a mechanized kill-zone, with consistent clashes between rival families over ownership of the warehouse. There were no cameras in the stairwell so he couldn’t understand why they didn’t just choose to simply take the stairs to the second floor. He knew the only other closest way upstairs was through the freight elevator in the warehouse. He checked the warehouse camera and saw a half-dozen Adam models roaming about in the very dim light of the warehouse, their infrared lights piercing the darkness like stars in the night sky.

He was unable to warn the soldiers. They were underground, and the conductive mesh built into the thick, concrete walls of the Vault would block any radio communication. The entire Vault was accessed

by a single satellite in geosynchronous orbit above the Nevada desert. The security system was physically hardwired to a single dish in a recessed alcove on the Vault’s rooftop and the machines were accessed via hidden low-frequency antennas throughout the Vault. There was no way to contact the squad without alerting every machine in the warehouse that they were about to enter.

Eggs stopped at the double-doors that Jefferson directed him to. He stepped out of formation to face the double-doors and stumbled over something just below him. He inadvertently stomped his foot on the ground as a reflex to prevent himself from falling, splashing oily water everywhere. Everybody stood deathly still, not even daring to breathe. The only sound anybody could hear now was the constant dripping from a water pipe fifty feet behind them.

A Latino soldier between Eggs and Jefferson named Guzman pointed his flashlight at Eggs’ feet, revealing a steel, oval-shaped object about half the size of a grown man’s thigh. Attached to it was a long steel bar with a parallel hydraulic piston with a steel plate connected to the bottom of the piston. Slowly, Guzman shifted his light towards the other end of the oval piece of metal and revealed the torso of an Adam model. It lay on its back motionless; the grill that resembled its mouth - a protective cover for a speaker, in reality - was rusted from exposure to water; one of the small cameras that acted as its optical sensors were shattered. Its body was splayed out like the deceased victim of multiple gunshot wounds.

Eggs looked at Captain Taylor, who in turned slowly approached the powerless machine, and as he did he heard a bang on the double-doors. The squad, startled, aimed their rifles at the door but stayed silent. There was a series of scratches and bang on the door. Eggs removed his finger from the trigger guard and lightly pressed down on the trigger, prepared to spray through the door. Taylor saw this, and whispered to him to hold fire. Suddenly muffled voices came from the other side of the door.

A low growl demanded, “Advise of your intention,” followed by a voice higher in octave that seemed to originate from directly behind the door:

Taylor looked at Jefferson. For the first time since he met him, Jefferson looked afraid. Jefferson grabbed one of his electronic grenades and clutched it with both hands. Why is he so afraid? Taylor wondered. The banging and scratching continued for a few seconds then stopped.

The second voice again: “Door is locked; recommend breach to locate source of noise.” “Negative; complete your task,” was the response from further away.

The squad held their collective breaths for a moment then Jefferson slowly walked over to Taylor’s side and whispered in his ear, “There’s a plasma-cutting droid in there.”

“They all have the same voice. He’s the biggest threat to us. Don’t let him get close.”

Taylor looked back down at the machine Eggs almost fell over. One of their objectives was to capture one. It was obvious that a gunfight would be unavoidable, and as soon as it started they may leave no more machines in good enough condition to be studied. Despite his best judgment, he ordered the Corporal who covered their rear - named Staacman - and the Latino soldier Guzman to grab the machine and - with a third soldier named Hiller acting as their point man - they took it back to the sewer entrance two storeys below. Jefferson handed Corporal Staacman the electronic grenade he clutched in his hands. Then Guzman grabbed the machine’s arms, Staacman grabbed the legs while their point man Hiller led the way with his gun-mounted flashlight.

Lieutenant Sheppard - once again at the rear of the squad - watched the small detachment as they re-entered the stairwell and disappeared out of view; Guzman released one of the arms to close the door behind him. Once the detachment was out of view Taylor signalled Eggs with his left fist and thumb pointed toward the door. He opened his fist, fingers spread, and Eggs nodded.

Eggs moved to the opposite end of the double-doors across from Taylor, shouldered his M4 and grabbed a flash-bang from his vest. With one hand on the door handle he took the grenade in his right. He opened the door slightly, pulled the pin from the grenade and rolled it as far as he could into the warehouse and shut the door. He grabbed his rifle and prepared to breach.

The noise of the cylindrical object rolling on the floor distracted a few of the children as they averted their gaze to it, contemplating where it might have come from. The more mature adults- including Enoch, their leader - looked at it briefly and turned away, deeming it unimportant. It was for this reason alone that after the room filled with a bright light that they were still able to see. As soon as the bright flash of light occurred all Enoch could hear was a brief occurrence of distortion as his auditory receptors were blown out. He looked over to the children; some waved their arms in front of their faces while others ran in random directions towards nothing. Some even ran into the steel containers that were stacked up to the ceiling throughout the warehouse.

At the far end of the warehouse a set of double-doors abruptly crashed open, and a pair of bright lights obstructed Enoch’s vision. However, he could see flashes of fire bursting from behind them. As the flashes of fire erupted, there too were flashes of fire erupting on the bodies of the children who would fall to the ground, lying still with their infrared LEDs flickering off. The others who were not blinded scattered to various hiding places within the warehouse. Enoch did so as well.

Eggs and Taylor stopped firing. They had shot down all of the machines in sight but they weren’t sure if there were more. The two of them stepped cautiously into the warehouse while Sheppard and Jefferson watched, waiting for them to clear the giant room. Side-by-side, Eggs and Taylor scanned the hidden corners, the rafter-high stacks of steel boxes, the rafters in the ceiling - everywhere and anywhere. The machines they had shot were still smouldering from the explosive rounds the Delta squad used; none of them showed any signs of… life? Taylor caught himself thinking.

They heard clicking noises of metal on metal above them. They looked up to see another Adam model climbing along the side of a large steel box. Without wasting any time they fired at it, but the machine reacted quickly to the beams of their flashlights and launched itself off the side of the box towards a stack of boxes across the warehouse. Eggs and Taylor tried to follow it with their gun-lights but lost track of it. They stood perfectly still, refusing to move until they could reacquire their target.

Jefferson felt extremely uneasy. Of all the machines he noticed on the ground, none of them were the plasma-cutting droid he had heard. He grabbed another EMP grenade and fumbled with it. Jefferson and Sheppard heard a series of metallic clicks and splashing water behind them. Sheppard drew his gun light toward the noise and saw almost a dozen Adam models advancing on them, slowly trudging through the water.

Sheppard opened fire and Jefferson ran behind him into the warehouse, yelling at Taylor, “We’re surrounded!”

Eggs shouted, “Use this!” He grabbed a flash-bang from his vest and tossed it to Jefferson. Jefferson dropped his EMP grenade and caught the flash-bang with both hands. Coming up behind Sheppard, Jefferson pulled the pin to the flash-bang and threw it into the dark corridor and grabbed Sheppard’s shoulder to lead him into the warehouse. Sheppard turned and ran inside but tripped on the EMP grenade Jefferson had dropped onto the floor. He fell to his back. Jefferson tried to shut the door after Sheppard fell, but it was too late.

The deafening explosion from the detonated magnesium inside the grenade destroyed the audio receptors of the advancing machines, and the bright flash destroyed the optics of most of them. But the explosion - contained and amplified by the steel structure of the warehouse - stunned all four men, temporarily blinding and deafening them with a powerful ringing in their ears.

Jefferson, disoriented and losing his equilibrium fell to his knees then to his side as he held on to the sides of his head. Sheppard, already stunned from his sudden fall, writhed on the ground as he tried to contemplate what had just happened. Taylor fell to one knee, holding the rifle in one hand and hitting the side of his head with the palm of the other, trying to muster some reaction from his ringing ears. Eggs remained standing - his willpower and obligation to his falling squad overcame his lack of equilibrium.

Unfortunately Eggs was still deaf and couldn’t hear anything around him. A large metal claw grabbed the M4 rifle out of his hand and sent it sliding across the gridiron surface of the floor. In the same second the claw grabbed Eggs by the neck and lifted him off the ground, holding him eye-level with two pairs of menacing, red-glowing optics. Eggs grabbed frantically at the claw that was strangling him. His vision blurred from the impeded blood flow to his brain, but he could still see the bright blue flame that ignited near the left side of his face. The flame immediately lowered beyond his field-of-view, below his neck.

Eggs gnashed his teeth from the agonizing pain as he felt an intense heat inside of him from the plasma cutter burning right through his chest cavity, though bone and through his heart and his lungs - as Enoch moved the cutter laterally from right to left, cutting Eggs in half.

Taylor stared in utter disbelief as the lower half of his point man fell to the ground. Intestines spilled to the floor from the lower half of Eggs’ body, coating the machine’s feet in crimson and rust coloured matter. The pungent smell of fecal matter, and the strong copper smell of blood saturated his nostrils, and he snapped back to reality as the seven-foot-tall monstrosity crushed his dead point man’s neck like a soda can then threw his lifeless body in Taylor’s direction.

The machine stared at Taylor and pointed at him as it slowly advanced. The ringing in Taylor’s ears subsided, and he could faintly hear a low growl coming from the machine in front of him: “Unknown model, relinquish your weapon. This is your final warning.”

Taylor snapped back to reality. He remembered his rifle. He raised it and opened fire. The explosive rounds impacted but the machine continued to advance, completely unaffected. Taylor straggled backward toward Sheppard and Jefferson who were now just getting back up.

Sheppard looked back at the massive droid, and just as he drew his gun to open fire he heard the double-doors behind smash open. He looked around and saw a group of Adam models struggling over each other to enter the room. Sheppard turned his body around and fired at them, blasting several in the torso, forcing them back. But all that did was clear the way for the rest.

Sheppard struggled to his feet and retreated while firing. Taylor shouted at the top of his lungs as the plasma-cutting droid wrenched his rifle out of his hands and grabbed his neck. Sheppard turned around, desperately trying to figure out how to help his squad leader when one of the Adam models hiding up on top of the steel boxes jumped down onto him and grabbed his arms. Another machine entered the warehouse through the double door and grabbed his legs - they had him subdued.

Jefferson felt the final EMP grenade on his belt with his hand. There was no other choice. He grabbed the grenade as Taylor’s torso was melted through by the plasma cutter and as Sheppard’s limbs were broken and crushed, and as even more Adam models swarmed Sheppard and tore away the flesh from his face with their claw-like hands. Jefferson pulled the pin and released the spoon. A soft, high pitched whine came from the grenade as it charged up.

All the machines in the room paused and glared at him. Immediately, six Adam models lunged at him and Enoch advanced towards him. Suddenly Jefferson felt a shockwave through his hand then his Arm, and then he felt his heart skip a beat as a massive migraine pierced his brain. The grenade emitted an electromagnetic pulse. One of the Adam models that had lunged at him suddenly let out a loud burst of static noise - as did all the others - as the EMP completely erased the machines’ memories, depleted their power supplies, blew out their auditory receptors and their speakers, damaged their optics and ceased all motor functions.

All Jefferson remembered was the Adam model flying at him, arms outstretched, grabbing for him before the powerless chassis slammed into his face and fell on top of him, knocking him unconscious.

John and the others back at the complex were completely unaware of everything. On the warehouse surveillance feed, one moment there was a great flash of light followed by blackness from the security camera’s cornea being burnt out by the flash. The camera outside of the warehouse double-doors showed two of the remaining squad going into the warehouse followed shortly by gunfire in the corridor as Sheppard and Jefferson stumbled inside. Then another bright white flash blinded that camera. A few moments later, every camera on that floor was interrupted by static, followed by a black screen that displayed “NO SIGNAL.”

He could have no idea of the fate of the squad until they showed up on another surveillance feed. In the meantime he searched through several other feeds until he found the three other soldiers in the maintenance room with a motionless Adam model lying on the floor. The Latino soldier was waving his arms in front of the camera, frantically trying to get someone’s attention. John knew what they wanted.

John typed in a series of commands, and a metre appeared on his screen as the water-filled cistern was being drained. The cistern was half-empty when a long-dormant screen began to fill with lines of code. John stared at the screen and knew exactly what it meant: Cobe was reverse-engineering the program that controlled the cistern pumps. John typed on his keyboard frantically as he issued another series of commands, and the cistern - half-empty - began to fill with water again.

“The maestro’s awake; we can’t expose the hatch commands!” John exclaimed. “God dammit, you cancel that order and get that robot out of there! Taylor’s gonna get-“ “Sir, look!” the Colonel’s Lieutenant shouted as he pointed at the surveillance video feed.

Lying on the floor, the invisible light from the Adam model’s IR-LED began to radiate. Suddenly the machine grabbed a thin metal pole that was lying beside it and thrust it into the back of one of the soldiers, impaling him. Before the other two soldiers could realize what happened the machine grabbed the dying soldier’srifle by the barrel, wrenched it out of his hands and swung it at the nearest soldier’s head, striking him. Blood sprayed from the soldier’s fractured skull, and he fell to the floor unconscious.

The third soldier began to open fire, but his reflexes were no match for the agile machine. It jumped in the air and flipped upside-down as its inverted legs connected with the ceiling ten feet above. It then launched itself off the ceiling at the panicked soldier.

The soldier didn’t have any time to react. The machine connected with him and sent him flying onto his back as his head hit the ground. The soldier lay on the floor, completely unconscious. The people in the basement of the complex stared at the monitors, speechless. Moments later a plasma-cutting droid entered the room followed by two other Adam models.

John thought that since the first Adam model did not belong to that specific family that it would be destroyed by the plasma-cutting droid, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, the large machine left the room, and the three Adam models grabbed the three soldiers and dragged them further into the Vault.

John knew the worst had yet to come. These machines from rival families were now working together against a common threat. He didn’t even want to imagine what the machines planned to do with the soldiers that were still alive.

Just then he had a though that scared him just as bad: The machines will know now there’s a world outside the Vault.

Six

The alarm on T.J.’s smart phone rang with its irritating monotone at exactly eight in the morning Mountain Time, five hours after T.J. settled into bed in his luxury suite at the MGM Grand. Considering he fell asleep at six in the morning Eastern Time he did not feel jet lagged whatsoever, but he could only imagine how Steve felt in his suite next door. On the plane T.J. had set to work creating a virtual world to showcase his new A.I. script that he brain-stormed back in his Brooklyn apartment. Steve on the other hand, bored and bereft of any activities, watched the in-flight movie until he dozed off. He was wired when they deplaned, and most likely did not get back to sleep any time soon.

His heart racing from the phone alarm, T.J. bounced out of bed and disabled it; sitting up now only in his boxers, he rubbed his eyes and did a long stretch. Hungry and bleary-eyed, he gazed numbly at his unpacked suitcase resting on a dining chair, deciding whether or not to pull out some new clothes or just wear what he did last night. He pictured himself in a full suit at a video game convention and decided it would look kind of ridiculous - not that he really cared. He decided to unpack a pair of khakis and a light blue button-up casual shirt and after a long hot shower, he got dressed and left his suite.

The hall was empty, and everything was immaculate, from the generic paintings on the wall that imitated famous artists to the deceptively realistic plastic plants on marble stands, everything was spotless. T.J. figured they had just been dusted only moments ago. He walked to Steve’s door and banged as loud and hard as he could. He waited ten seconds and banged on the door again. The door swung open and Steve, half-naked, stood in the doorway half asleep.

“We gotta make sure our station is set up, and I wanna get some breakfast downstairs.” “It’s too early man…” Steve slurred as he yawned, “…your dad probably isn’t even up yet.” “Knowin’ him he is. Now come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

“Why you in such a hurry?” Steve woke up a little bit, but still wanted to get back to sleep. “Trying to impress your dad or something?”

“I don’t care about him, but he might talk some shit about you to your boss if he thinks you made me late.”

Steve suddenly remembered that T.J.’s father had paid for the entire trip. Reluctantly, he backed away from the door and let T.J. inside as he rummaged through his suitcase for his khaki shorts and blue t-shirt.

“Probably ‘til about three then we go back tomorrow night - today’s just a showcase.” T.J. checked his phone for the time - eight-thirty. Should be okay, he thought.

“And then after that it’s basically a three-day vacation?” Steve asked as he began to get dressed in the other room.

“Pretty much. According to Larry’s notes I got a five-grand limit for the casino. Everything else just needs receipts.” Thank God for expense accounts, T.J. thought.

Steve came out of the other room dressed and ready to go. “Sweet, maybe you should save some casino money for a couple of lucky ladies.” Steve smirked as he ushered T.J. out of the suite.

“Fuck that!” T.J. exclaimed, “You can handle the drinks.” Steve glanced sideways at T.J. who continued on, “If you’re lucky, you can handle the kiddie table.”

“Right,” Steve replied sarcastically, “Just don’t come cryin’ to me when you lost all the money.” “You don’t have to worry about that, bud,” T.J. replied as the elevator arrived, “I’d only cry to you if you had money!”

“Maybe you should try jumping from the rooftop to the Sphinx’s nose,” Steve sniped back as they entered the elevator and the door closed behind them.

When they got to the restaurant it was nearly full. An attractive host about T.J.’s age escorted them to a table near the bar. They opened their menus and promptly closed them as they declined any specials the host offered, and they both ordered hot cakes, breakfast sausages and omelettes with a pitcher of orange juice. The juice came almost immediately. While they waited on their breakfast Steve asked about what Chaotic Entertainment was bringing to I.G.E.

“The old man wanted to show the squad-based tactics that our next game is using, but I’m gonna change that. Squad-based A.I. has been overplayed for years now,” T.J. replied.

Steve took a sip of his juice. “Alright,” he said, “so what are you showing?”

“I worked on it last night, but it’s kinda hard to explain. I was thinking about my run yesterday and how easy it was to shake the cops. If they were in shape, and could do what I can they could have followed me easily, or even got creative and ended up ahead of me. The world’s a jungle-gym - they’re just too lazy to climb it

“Now if I took that course, detail by detail, made a map out of it and put some of the old man’s bots in it they’d probably do just as bad. They’re not limited by physical fitness, they’re just not creative enough to make a pathway where there seems to be none.”

“Yeah, but the A.I. doesn’t really do it, or they follow specific paths; you can’t make a custom map and race the A.I. because there’s no challenge. You find a path that the developer never imagined and the A.I. will never use it because it doesn’t fit the path-finding criteria.”

Their food arrived, and Steve went to work on the sausages while T.J. cut up a hot cake and continued talking, “So, using the Euphoria engine from Rock Star Games as a base, I made it so that every object in the game can make a pathway so long as the A.I. can physically reach it. I use a single path-finder node as the end goal, and the A.I. created its own pathways on-the-fly to reach it.”

“What about a dead end then?” Steve asked. “Won’t the A.I. just stop, or jump to its death?” “I thought about that,” T.J. explained. “A simple algorithm to predict routes before leaving a zone should help, but the A.I. will also take any horizontal pathways it encounters and consider it as one zone. If a zone turns out to be a dead end or physically impassable then the bot looks for reachable vertical zones, or backtracks until it finds a new zone. It also tries to ‘see’ the furthest zone from itself and automatically guesses at a specific pathway to there.”

“Simple, whatever the A.I. is chasing becomes the path node.” T.J. took a chunk of his hot cake and chewed on it, satisfied with his own brilliance.

Steve took his glass of juice and gently rocked it about in his hand, watching the thick waves of orange fluid. “Well,” he said, “if it’s as good as you say, maybe I can put in a good word with my boss and we can start developing models for it.”

“Well, I don’t know yet how I want to present it as an actual game…” T.J. took a break from the hot cakes and stabbed his fork into a sausage. He lifted it in the air and paused, “…right now this is just a dream.” He took a bite.

As T.J. chewed, he glanced around the packed restaurant at the hundreds of tourists around him. Table after table sat every walk of class and life. From the old, frail, classy seniors who made it an annual ritual to visit Sin City on a funding of retirement pensions and Social Security cheques down to the loud, arrogant, narcissistic young adults who chose this place as an important stop on a road trip. There were no children in the restaurant - after all, the kids should be in school today.

Steve didn’t notice his friend’s attention being diverted. “Maybe you should include it in the game you company’s developing. Squad-based tactics and free-running? It’s like the video game version of District 13.”

T.J. wasn’t paying attention. He glanced over at the bar and saw two women sitting there, both wearing short skirts and high heels; a blonde and a brunette. Their faces were turned towards the bar, away from T.J. and Steve, but T.J. could see their bodies in profile because the two women faced each other. They both wore white skirts. The blonde wore a light-red, loose-fitting blouse. She was on the left, with her body facing her brunette friend to the right who wore a sleeveless green blouse. He could not see a ring on the brunette’s left ring finger, and since they were both dressed alike, he guessed that both women were single.

“Huh?” T.J. snapped back to his table, glanced at his meal and cut a large piece out of his omelette. “I said you should add your script to the game you’re already developing.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’d work nice,” T.J. said dismissively. He looked back at the women, feeling as if he had seen them before, but unsure about where. He looked down at his plate - it was half-full but he wasn’t really hungry anymore. “Hey Steve,” he said, “how ‘bout a drink.”

“This early?” Steve asked, “Geez man, we haven’t even got to the expo yet.”

“Neither have they,” T.J. nodded his head in the direction of the two women at the bar. Steve looked over indifferently; if he was interested, he did a good job hiding it.

“Your father’s gonna know we’ve been drinking. I’d rather not get in shit when I get home.” “Come on, man, he’s not gonna know!”

“He’s Irish and he drinks more than both of us put together! Of course he’s gonna know.” “Just one drink, man - long enough to get them,” T.J. darted his eyes at the women, “to meet up later.”

Steve took a more direct look just as the brunette turned around. She didn’t notice him, but he noticed that she was, at the very least, looking good from afar. Reluctantly, he put down his fork and knife. “Alright,” he said, “let’s do this quick. I call the brunette.”

“Deal,” T.J. gulped down his juice and stepped up from the table. The two of them walked casually through the throng of tables towards the bar.

As they neared the two women the brunette looked back again, this time directly at Steve, then T.J., and finally back to Steve. She then turned back to her friend with a faint, delightful smile. Steve, liking his chances, approached the right side of the two women on the brunette’s side and stood at the bar. He said, “Hi, how are you?” to the brunette as she looked his way, and proceeded to introduce himself.

On the left side - the blonde’s side - T.J. approached the bar. The blonde did not turn around, so T.J. asked, “Excuse me… is this spot taken?”

The blonde turned to look at him then rolled her eyes and turned back to her drink. T.J. was confused. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe from a house party he had been to. She was acting too cold for them to have just met.

“Sure, we have,” she looked back at him, “You kept staring at me on the plane last night.” Oh shit, T.J. thought, the sexy blonde in the miniskirt!

“Oh, sorry about that, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable,” he said. “Just in my line of work I don’t get much time to see anybody as lovely as you.”

The blonde was not impressed at his attempt at a pickup. “I suppose your job is being a spy, trying to pretend you don’t notice me.”

Clever girl, T.J. thought, just another way of saying, ‘Why didn’t you just ‘hi’?”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Just then the bartender approached the four of them. T.J. asked the blonde if she wanted anything, but she declined. T.J. ordered himself a Jack-and-Coke. Steve ordered a Tom Collins for himself and a Rum-and-Coke for the brunette. Clearly, Steve was doing better than T.J. “So tell me,” the blonde persisted, “what did I miss?”

“Well,” T.J. said between sips, “I wanted to come over and say ‘hi,’ but I was in the middle of a very important conference call.”

The blonde turned her face and took a sip of the clear liquid in her glass as she tried to hide the fact that she was blushing.

T.J. assumed the drink was non-alcoholic. He continued, “My Company has business partners around the world,” it was only half-true. Chaotic had investors world-wide, but it would never be his company.

“And I suppose you’re meeting with them today?” She asked sarcastically - she didn’t believe a word he was saying, especially given how he was dressed.

“Nope; today we’re meeting with the competition,” He gestured to Steve inclusively then took a sip of his drink. “So, what are you two doing here in Sin City?”

“Taking a vacation from guys like you,” she said. She only slightly meant it, but said it playfully. “Ooh, that’s cold! But I bet you don’t even meet guys like me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, darlin’,” he gave her a wink, “’cause I’m not from Manhattan.” “Good, then I likely won’tsee you again,” she said with a hidden smile on her face. T.J. didn’t know how to respond, so he finished his drink then checked the time on his smart phone - it was 9:42. “Well,” T.J. said, “it was a pleasure talking to you, but we gotta get back to business. Maybe we can meet up later tonight.”

“A man can dream…” the woman’s attention was on an LCD flat-screen behind the bar showing a sports cast.

“Well, my dreams usually come true, but I’d still like to know the name of the lady I’m dreaming about.”

“Sorry buddy, it’s time to wake up and go to work.” She smiled at him then dismissively turned back to her friend.

T.J. stood up from the bar and placed a few bills on the stand to pay for his drink. He called to Steve that it was time to go, and after paying for the drinks he bought himself and the brunette, Steve said goodbye and joined T.J. They walked to their original table and laid some money down for the bill. “So, how’d you do?” Steve asked as they walked out of the restaurant.

“Got her home number - says she don’t have a cell. I guess they’re only staying for a few days.” “She’s from Manhattan?”

T.J. shrugged, “Lucky guess.” Just then T.J.’s phone vibrated, indicating an incoming text message. He pulled his phone from his pocket, typed in the password to unlock the phone and went into his inbox. It was a message from his father:

“Well, it looks like the old man won’t be there, and we got an hour to go,” T.J. said to Steve. “Let’s go check the booth and see if it’s ready to go.”

“Sounds good still,” Steve smiled as they entered a waiting elevator and ascended to where the expo was being held.

Seven

“Beginning analysis of non-functioning model.” The children were hard at work on their assigned tasks and completed each one with very little distraction. The attacks from the intruders had given the inhabitants a new sense of purpose. Three of the unknown models had been captured by Fenix and the three children, and their agent inside Cobe’s faction informed Isaac of their plan to search the first sublevel warehouse for more.

Two of the models seemed to function but were not responsive. There was a light rhythmic pounding in their torsos, and their chest plates expanded and lowered consistently as air entered and exited a pair of orifices that protruded from their heads. Isaac presumed that it was some form of ventilation. The third model did not function at all; the metal pole that protruded from the centre of the torso must have caused permanent damage.

It was the fatally damaged model that the children worked on. First they removed the metal pole from the torso and watched as a dark-red fluid flowed from the hole that was left behind. It was thick like hydraulic fluid, but dried very rapidly. As the pool of this fluid grew, the children noticed that the model’s body changed colour from light-brown to pale white.

Unsure of what this meant, one of the children grabbed an arm. It was stiff and required some effort to manipulate. After asking for permission from Fenix and being given it - and with the help of a sharp piece of metal - the child removed the arm from the torso and broke it in half. The child then pulled the severed pieces apart to examine the interior.

“Physical analysis pending,” the child reported, “Model frame consists of hard exterior shell, and soft fluid core.” The child took the forearm into its hand and squeezed until its frame began to crack. Then it released the pressure.

“Model casing consists of malleable covering surrounding bundles of soft fibres. Pressure tolerance is very low.”

The child dropped both pieces of the severed arm and approached the torso. The shape and features were very similar to an Adam model except for the rubbery material of the casing. The hole in the upper torso was filled with the dark-red fluid. The child used its sharpened piece of metal to cut through the torso frame.

The blade cut easily into the soft coating which made very little noise as it tore apart. The frame, however, was designed like a cage and much tougher to cut through. But after considerable effort, the hardened frame behind the soft coating gave way, and the child pried it open, exposing the interior.

There were no metallic objects inside. Everything was soft like the model’s exterior coating, and covered in fluids. The child saw where the mass of red fluid originated - a ruptured container of some sort with several valves attached to it.

“Red fluid appears vital for critical systems,” the child reported, “Possible power supply.” “Expand examination,” Fenix commanded. The child pressed down on one of the two largest compartments in the torso. When the child released the pressure, the compartment assumed its original shape. The child pressed down again and noticed red fluid exiting one of the small orifices in the centre of the model’s face. The child pressed harder, and more fluid streamed out.

“Possible ventilation system located,” the child reported. The child then examined an odd-shaped container in the centre of the torso. The child pressed on it with no reaction following. The child then took the metal shard and pierced the container. It tore open, and a thick fluid with eroded chunks of solid material spilled out.

Isaac recorded the entire procedure from the background while simultaneously tracking the Adam spy model they used to infiltrate Cobe’sfaction. Their architect was already travelling through the facility’s ventilation system to track any more enemy movement while their family’s leader, Abe, and several children descended to the first sublevel to try and capture intruders. The Adam spy already had the access codes to the freight elevator leading to the upper floors and sent them to Isaac. They were almost ready to put their plan into effect of cornering Cobe and stealing his programming. But first, Isaac needed to know more about these new intruders.

“Examine the head,” Isaac commanded. The child stopped playing with the soft, corroded chunks lying on the floor and approached the head of the intruder. Its head was very similar to an Adam model, but there were many differences. The auditory receptors were surrounded by soft, concave materials. The child grabbed the head and began to rub its claw-like digits on the protective cover where the speaker should be. The cover opened, displaying two horizontal rows of small, hardened white objects. The child grabbed the bottom half of the head with one hand, the top part with the other, and opened the protective cover even more, exposing a large, soft appendage inside and a hole that travelled down through the neck into the torso.

“Fuel intake located,” the child replied. It then ran its digits over the protective covering where the optics would be. One of the coverings receded into the head to expose a white orb with a faded dark circle in the centre. The child pressed on the orb with its index digit and the optic depressed. The child pressed harder and the optical orb burst open, spilling out a clear fluid.

“Unknown model’s optics very fragile. Physical analysis complete,” the child reported. “Report findings,” Isaac commanded.

“Unknown model consists of a fragile internal frame and soft protective coating. Model has a fuel intake and internal fluid supply, both presumed necessary. No visible electrical circuits. Model utilizes atmospheric ventilation. No infrared capability observed; no speaker located; software compatibility is unlikely.”

The small ballistic barrel on Isaac’s side aimed at Fenix, and Isaac fires the magnetic connection wires. When the connection was made, Fenix - now under Isaac’s control - approached the functionless model, grabbed the bottom of the head with his its claw and ignited its plasma cutter. Isaac adjusted the cutter’s power to a minimal level and cut along the circumference of the head.

The children learned before never to look directly at the flame - it was too bright for their sensitive optics. Through Fenix’s ultra-violet-coated lenses however, Isaac could watch the intruder models reaction to the flame. The soft-coating bubbled and melted away as the compressed ionized oxygen gas blew right through the hardened shell.

Once the cut was complete all around Fenix tilted the head, and the top half fell to the ground, exposing a large, round-shaped object inside. Its texture resembled a circuit board. Maybe their software could be adapted to communicate with ours, Isaac calculated.

Isaac retracted the connection wires and Fenix brought the head to Isaac. Isaac aimed the side mounted barrel at the round object inside the head and fired. The connection wires penetrated the orb with a gushing noise, and Isaac sent a test signal through the wires. The signal reached the receiver wire with some resistance - the orb conducted electricity. Isaac tried to retrieve an independent signal from the orb to no avail. It must be useless without the rest of the body functioning.

“Repeat procedure on non-responsive unit,” Isaac commanded Fenix. Fenix dropped the head to the floor and it connected with a hollow thud. The orbed dipped slightly out of its protective shell. One of the children approached the orb and grabbed it, sinking his digits deep inside of it while the other child approached the severed body, playing with its limbs. Fenix grabbed one of the two non-responsive units by the head and reignited the plasma cutter.

As Fenix began to cut through the hardened shell to expose the soft orb inside, the non-responsive unit’s protective layers that covered the optics receded, and the optics were visible. The intruder’s optics shifted rapidly within their sockets. It stared at Fenix, then the children, and then darted its gaze around the dimly-lit room as if memorizing the layout.

Fenix immediately noticed a significant difference from this unit’s optics to the previous ones. The optics had a darker epicentre, much darker. The infrared light from Isaac’s LEDs reflected off the pitch black lenses inside the unit’s white optical orb, and the lens grew even wider as the intruder surveyed its situation. The black lens shrunk substantially as the intruder stared into the bright flame from the plasma cutter just above its face. The lenses dilated again as the unit realized the flame was entering the outer shell of its head. The intruder’s torso compressed and expanded in rapid intervals. It was so rapid, in fact, that Fenix could hear it.

The intruder began to say, “Oh my God, oh my God, no!!!” in a very rapid manner. Fenix observed the protective layer on the fuel intake on the face opened and closed rapidly as it spoke. “Model’s fuel intake is combined with auditory speaker,” Fenix advised Isaac.

The intruder continued its rapid rambling, interspersed with calls for help as Fenix removed the top half of its head and dropped the shell to the floor. The orb inside was much darker in colour to the previous one, but then again so was the rest of the unit - presumably from the dark fluid inside. Fenix tilted the top of the unknown model’s head towards Isaac, preparing it for Isaac’s attempt at a direct connection.

“They’re gonna kill me, man,” the model in Fenix’s clutches responded. The voice quivered and wavered in pitch, “They’re gonna kill me!”

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” The third model was gliding its hand along the ground, presumably trying to find a weapon. Its hand brushed along the metal pole that had destroyed the first unit. The children, recognizing the threat, lunged at the hostile unit and grabbed its limbs, subduing it on the ground. The unit struggled in an effort to release itself from the children’s grip, but was unsuccessful.

Finally it stopped trying to escape. “Remember your training, soldier,” it said, “numb the pain and don’t say a word.”

Isaac aimed the side-mounted barrel at the exposed orb and fired. The conductive magnets penetrated the orb and Fenix felt the unit’s whole body jerk and quiver. A strange moaning noise came from the unit as Isaac tried to interface with it. The other unit’s optics opened wide as it observed what happened and once again tried to escape the children’s grasp. Unsuccessful, it stopped again.

The “Guzman” unit did not respond. Isaac was recording electrical signals that were passing through the orb. Isaac concluded that the orb was indeed the Central Processing Unit for the unknown models. Isaac tried to send a signal through the CPU to try and access its motor functions. Fenix felt the unit shaking violently. White foam came out of the unit’s fuel intake and its optics rolled upward into their sockets. The other unit shouted and began struggling harder than ever before.

“Release the model,” Isaac commanded. The children let go, and the unit struck one in the head as it ran towards its shaking counterpart. Fenix let go of the intruder’s head and stepped back. Isaac stopped sending signals to the unit’s CPU and began receiving, hoping to gain more information.

The freed unit grabbed its counterpart. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” it said. “Just breathe. Breathe!” The unit grabbed a small, square object from a compartment in its hind quarter and put it into the Guzman model’s fuel intake.

“Here, bite down on this… bite down on my wallet. You’re gonna be okay, it’s just a seizure. You’ll be fine, just breathe!”

The Guzman model continued to shake violently as the other one rolled its body onto its side with its arms splayed in front and legs bent. “Just breathe.”

The shaking stopped, and the object in the Guzman model’s fuel intake fell out. Isaac had enough information to decipher for now so he retracted the conductive wires from inside the CPU. As the magnets exited the orb - leaving a stain of dark fluid in its path - the unit’s entire body contracted, and it made a croaking noise before lying absolutely still.

“Oh shit, No!” The other unit flipped the motionless Guzman unit onto its back and pressed to of its fingers on the side of its neck.

“Oh God!” The unit interlaced its fingers together and pressed down several times on the still unit’s chest plate. It then tilted the Guzman unit’s head back, covered its fuel intake with its own and blew air into the unit, which was apparent from the rapid rising of the Guzman unit’s torso. After a few more seconds it began compressing the chest again.

It stopped compressing the torso and blew more air into the Guzman unit, waited a few more seconds for the torso to lower, and continued the procedure again.

“COME ON!” the unit shouted, pressing even harder, waiting a lot less time between cycles.

After repeating the procedure several times, the Guzman unit began to expel air forcefully and loudly. The unit that had done the procedure rolled the Guzman unit back onto its side and looked frantically around for something. Fenix began to approach, and the unit jumped between Fenix and the Guzman model.

“Back off!” the unit ordered. “You touch him again and I’ll rip your fucking head off!” Fenix grabbed the unit by its right arm and lifted it in the air. “Threats are ill-advised,” Fenix said. “You are intruders; you will be studied and classified.”

“Fuck you, tin man!” the unit projected fluid from its fuel intake into Fenix’s optics. “You ain’t learnin’ shit from me!”

Isaac had already learned much from this unit’s actions. “Define ‘seizure,’” Isaac ordered. Fenix turned the struggling unit to face Isaac. Isaac noted the unit’s torso was covered by some sort of fabric, with a patch containing a word that Isaac had never encountered before: Staacman - possibly this unit’s description.

“We created you!” the unit shouted. “That’s fucking ‘God!’ We made you, we’re your God!” Fenix ignited his plasma cutter and adjusted it to its maximum setting. The Staacman unit stared into the bright flame.

“What code format does your processor utilize?” Isaac asked. The Staacman unit stayed silent, refusing to cooperate.

A hollow, rattling noise came from the downed unit as it expelled air, “Sir, I don’t want to die down here.” Its voice began to quiver again.

“You’re not gonna die, Guzman. We’ll get out of here.” The unit stared at Fenix. “I need to help him, let go of me.”

“Guzman model was non-functional and you restarted its CPU,” Isaac said. “Model is functioning now.”

“I cannot recover him again; he’s not a fucking machine!” the unit shouted. Isaac could not determine how to convince this unit to cooperate. It had vast knowledge of these unknown models but was very resistant. Isaac could not decipher any of the signals it had received, and it could not send any signals to the unit without damaging it. These units would not cooperate, but they interacted with each other freely.

“Release the model,” Isaac ordered Fenix. Fenix complied, and the unit fell to the ground. It held its arm for a while before grabbing the shell of the Guzman unit’s head off the ground. It then approached the Guzman unit and placed the shell atop the head, holding it in place while speaking.

“Everything’s going to be okay; I won’t let them hurt you again.” It walked around the cramped room, finding piles of metal object and placing them at the unit’s feet.

“I gotta get your legs elevated so you don’t go into shock, okay? Here, take my jacket.” The Staacman unit took off the soft fibre layer with the nameplate and placed it over the downed unit’s torso. It then sat beside the downed unit and they traded conversation.

Nothing more would be learned this hour. It was time to leave the units alone and monitor them remotely via a camera in the low-lit room, and prepare for the attack on the upper floors.

Eight

THE BALLROOM AT THE MGM GRAND was jam-packed with attendees and kiosks from virtually every video-game developer in North America. Entering the hall from one of the four entrances would have a guest being greeted by either a mascot disguised as an iconic video game figure, or a very attractive, scantily-clad woman whom looked like she had no business being at a video-game convention. In some cases, the scantily-clad women were the iconic video-game characters.

Virtually every kiosk had giant cardboard cut-outs of scenery from the video game they were showcasing. In some cases, life-size die-cast models of the main characters were displayed as well. Tourists and businessmen and women surrounded each kiosk as they were shown real-time demonstrations of the game by other tourists who were playing it. All the while employees explained what was being shown on-screen.

The primary theme being showcased today from each company was the video games’ Artificial Intelligence - the integral piece of code that was absolutely necessary to the story line. Every game at the expo had a specific gimmick they were trying to showcase with their A.I. Some games showed how the A.I. could work with the player on a specific task, with the kiosk attendant constantly trying to convince you that this could very well be another human player. In most cases, the A.I. was being showcased as the opponent, with the most common gimmick being how multiple computer-controlled opponents work together in teams to try and defeat the player.

That is why, in a kiosk three-quarters of the way to the very back, next to a fire exit, T.J. decided not to showcase the squad-based A.I. of his father’s game. Instead he set up his own demo of his free running pursuers chasing the player through a complicated city scape that was exported from the company’s demo. Tourist after tourist lined up and tried the demo, frantically finding new and unexpected ways to navigate the virtual city scape in a futile attempt to escape the Non-Playable Characters. Sometimes the bots simply followed the player’s movements before finally catching up to them. Other times the bots took completely unexpected paths and ambushed the players from up ahead. Only a few times that day did bugs or glitches occur, or the computer opponents killed themselves. T.J. and Steve were very satisfied with the audience’s reception.

At the end of their shift one of the programmers from Chaotic Entertainment came to relieve T.J. T.J. told him about the change in showcase. At first his replacement was annoyed about the unauthorized change in plans. But after T.J. explained what it was about, and after seeing the enormously positive reception, he followed suit and showcased T.J.’s A.I.

Steve and T.J. walked around the expo for a bit, checking out the competition and trying out various demos that piqued their interest. They stopped at one kiosk which showcased a hybrid-genre video game. It was a First-Person Shooter/Real-Time Strategy game, where the player controlled a base, gathered resources, built an army and controlled their army through voice commands. Steve and T.J. were

really enthusiastic about it. The young programmer who ran the kiosk finished speaking with a group of tourists and approached Steve and T.J.

They were both playing on separate X-Box One consoles but were on the same team, battling against the A.I. opponent in first-person mode while frantically giving voice commands to various computer-controlled squads.

“It’s too hard to ‘micro’ in first-person mode, though,” T.J. commented. He pressed a button on his X-Box controller to switch to an overhead satellite view to give orders in third-person mode. The young kiosk operator stood beside them. “You know how to assign squad numbers?” “Yep,” T.J. replied.

“After you assign a squad leader you can give that squad ‘control commands.’”

“What’s that?” Steve asked, while still firing away at an enemy squad in the game. “The squad that you’re with - order its leader to control flank.”

Steve gave the voice order to squad one. On his screen, he saw his squad divide into two separate teams. One team ran off to the side and flanked the enemy squad while the team Steve stayed with provided cover fire. “Cool,” he said.

“Now any time that squad encounters an enemy,” the programmer explained, “the squad leader designates a team to flank the enemy based on what kind of cover there is, and the enemy squad’s composition.”

“There’s Recon; Special Ops; Base Production; Base Defence; and Tactical,” the young man replied. “Basically you can have the A.I. control all the strategy and base-building while you just run-and gun and give orders to squads.”

“Spec-Ops squads do hit-and-run raids on enemy bases; they attack resource locations, defenceless expansions and special buildings. They also provide mission support in a firefight if they have specialized units and you order them to cover another squad. Also, they try to assassinate enemy leaders if they have a chance.”

“Wow!” Steve exclaimed, “So you can order an A.I. unit to give orders to other A.I. units.” “Yep,” the young man looked proud of this accomplishment. “We know the first-person aspect can be very distracting. And since a Colonel in real-life doesn’t micro-manage an entire battalion we decided to let the player decide what aspects he wants to control, and which ones he trusts the A.I. with. “Even if you have five human teammates, you can make one squad of all-human players and let the A.I. control the base production. Or each player controls a specific part of the base. Or one player can handle the strategic decisions while the rest control individual squads - lots of flexibility, even without the A.I.”

“Our founder had an obsession with the 1998 version of Battlezone that was developed by Activision,” the kiosk operator explained. “He also attends the Singularity Summit every year.”

“It’s a big meeting of a bunch of scientists, engineers and programmers who get together and discuss Artificial Intelligence, and how to create genuine A.I.”

“Yeah, I guess,” the young programmer spoke with a tone that implied he wasn’t impressed by the idea. Steve and T.J. put their controllers down. T.J. had been assassinated by an enemy Spec-Ops squad, and Steve was killed by an enemy squad that had flanked his own.

“Don’t say anything to my supervisor, but I think those guys are a bunch of nut-jobs.” T.J. looked at him derisively and asked why.

“They have a timetable of when they expect to either make a machine that’s smarter than us, or when they actually become a machine smarter than us.”

“I’m serious, man. Check it out for yourselves; they’re meeting tomorrow afternoon at the Luxor.” “Don’t we need an invitation?”

“You’re an A.I. programmer, right?” the young man asked. T.J. nodded his head. “You’ll have no problem getting in, then.”

“Might as well check it out, Teej,” Steve said. “You might get some more ideas for the game.” “Yeah, you’re probably right.” T.J. looked at the kiosk operator, “Nice meetin’ ya; go check out my demo when you’re done, it’s pretty cool. It’s over at the ‘Chaotic’ booth.”

With that T.J. and Steve left the expo and grabbed some lunch back at the hotel restaurant. They managed to get the same table they had before, which was surprising when they considered how packed the restaurant was. T.J. ordered an Angus burger with a large plate of fries, while Steve ordered fried perogies with sour cream. They discussed at length the video game demo they had spent a good part of the afternoon playing. They were impressed with how fluid the game play and command system were. All the while they subtly scanned the restaurant for either T.J.’s father or the two women they met earlier. T.J. was glad the old man didn’t show up today; he couldn’t stand working alongside him.

When he started working for his father’s company about eight years ago the old man was constantly over his shoulder, checking on his work. The old man demanded perfection from everybody, but he was even more critical of T.J. None of Alfred Mason’s legitimate children took after his line of work - his oldest son became a cardiologist at the Metropolitan Hospital in Manhattan. Alfred’s daughter was a paralegal for some time before getting married and having a baby boy last year. And his youngest son -

who was still five years older than T.J. - made his living on Wall Street. None of them were interested in video games.

In this Alfred and T.J. were alike. And even though T.J. had been modifying video games since he was ten years old, Alfred still criticized his work constantly. The script’s too messy; there are not enough comments; the functions are too complicated, they’re going to be full of glitches. After six years and four successful high-profile releases T.J. was promoted to lead A.I. programmer. But still, Alfred would check his work constantly. He stopped standing over T.J.’s shoulder, but T.J. knew the old man checked up on him through the company’s network servers.

It wasn’t just work that he was criticized on either. For someone who didn’t spend much time personally with his estranged son, he sure knew a lot about his personal life. T.J. was arrested once for possession of a marijuana joint, and ‘Larry the Lawyer’ dealt with the charge and told Alfred about it. Attorney/client privilege didn’t really apply to T.J. when it came to those two, but he didn’t really care. Alfred wasn’t going to fire him over it, and even if he did T.J. had an excellent resume. The old man considered T.J. a liability to the company, but he didn’t want him to work for the competition either. T.J. just couldn’t care less if the two of them got along.

After lunch Steve and T.J. went upstairs to their suites to change into some nice suits for the casino. They both agreed to meet up at seven o’clock and split the five-thousand dollars cash, in case they decided to split up and play separately. They both wore dress pants with button-up shirts - the top two buttons undone. T.J.’s shirt was light-blue, and he wore a black vest overtop. Steve wore a red shirt with a black blazer.

When they exited the elevator and hit the casino floor it was like nothing they ever seen before. Standing on the balcony several feet above the casino floor they could see almost everything. Endless rows of giant, whirring slot machines separated a plethora of gambling tables from a panorama of LED television screens which showed the Vegas odds of almost every sport known to man. Add to this the sea of waitresses, croupiers, security guards and all the gamblers, less than five square yards of floor space were visible to these two virgins of Sin City. The flashing lights and vast space above the casino were so mesmerizing; Steve and T.J. didn’t even know where to begin.

“Wow!” T.J. exclaimed under his breath. He looked to Steve, “Where should we start?” “I say we hit the machines first then head to the tables.”

“Alright cool,” T.J. pulled out his wallet and fished out the company card - American Express, with his name on it. “I’ll go get some cash.”

“Cool,” Steve said, and with that they both headed to the cashier’s cage. T.J. handed the cashier his AMEX to process the exchange, and the young lady handed it back along with two giant buckets full of slot machine tokens.

They walked down to the casino floor and chose a pair of machines near the middle of the third row and started pouring tokens into them. About forty minutes later and halfway through their buckets their luck began to change when T.J. hit a triple-seven. Despite the fact that he sank almost a hundred dollars into that machine he somehow felt he was up. Maybe it was the complimentary drinks the waitresses kept bringing him and Steve, but somehow, in his mind, the math added up. About an hour later they were both out of tokens, and pretty drunk.

“Well,” T.J. said, checking his smart phone for the time, “What do you wanna do now?” “My luck is shit right now, man,” Steve slurred his words, “M-m-m-m-maybe we should sit it out for a bit.”

“Naw man,” T.J. grabbed Steve’s shoulder and pulled him close enough to smell the Jack-and Coke on his breath. “If we stop betting, they stop giving us free drinks!”

T.J. made an exaggerated visual of belching into his closed mouth then rapidly twisted his head left and right, looking for something to do. His gaze stopped on something and his bleary, tipsy eyes lit up a little.

“I got it!” T.J. blurted out, shoving Steve’s shoulder and knocking him off balance, “The T.V.’s!” Steve regained his balance and brushed off his shoulder, “Huh?” he mumbled.

“We’ll bet on a few fights, make our money back, and still get free drinks!”

“Come on; hurry up before we lose our luck!” They squeezed through the sea of people to the sea of televisions showing the fights, championships, tournaments, game and other random things addicts can set odds on and wager their life saving on. A waitress handed them a complimentary shot each while they stared at the hundreds of screens, trying to find something to bet on. It wasn’t easy though - Steve’s vision was blurred and T.J. was slightly cross-eyed from all the liquor they had been fed.

Eventually a UFC fight caught their attention - two rookie fighters making their debut in the octagon prior to the light-heavyweight championship match. They both bet on the underdog, whose Vegas odds appeared to be ‘+240.’ They bet $500 each and went to sit at the bar, while they waited for the match to begin.

While they waited, a waitress came up to them and asked how they were doing. “Just waitin’ for the fight, pretty thing,” T.J. replied.

“Great!” the waitress sounded very perky, “What fight are you waiting for?”

“Great choice, guys! Well, good luck!” She stepped in between them, “Would you fellas like a drink?”

She grabbed two glasses full of golden-brown liquor and ice from her tray. “Here you go,” she said.

They both took a small sip - scotch, hmm! As they nursed their drinks the waitress assured them that she’d be back then went to find other people to inebriate. After she left they drank faster, finishing the scotch in less than ten minutes after she stepped away. With no drink in front of them and no eager waitress to whet their whistles, T.J. finally gave in and bought two Buds for twenty dollars.

Steve exhaled then took a swig of his Bud. “When does the fight start?” he asked T.J. T.J. looked at his phone: 8:50pm. “About an hour-and-a-half,” he replied.

“Who said anything about losing?” T.J. smirked. “Let’s go play poker!”

As they were about to leave the bar Steve nudged T.J. and gazed further down the bar. “Hey,” he said to T.J., “look who it is...”

T.J. looked in the direction Steve gestured to and saw the two smoking-hot tourists they tried to pick up earlier that morning.

After a long day of walking down the Vegas strip and checking out all of the tourist attractions, she wanted to find a spa, relax, and pamper herself. But her best friend Madison was still too psyched to lie around and wanted to go back to the MGM Grand to get a shower, put on some makeup and perfume, and go to the casino. They had spent more than an hour at the machines and didn’t really do much of anything else before deciding to go to the bar and take a break.

The two partiers took turns trading tequila shots as suitor after suitor approached them. A couple of men the two women felt may be worthy enough approached them, but one thought that they were hookers and made three offers - from $400 for both women to $5000 each. As for the other guy, the two ball-busting ladies from New York caught the creep trying to slip something into their drinks. After Madison pretended to go to the bathroom and after a quick word with the floor manager, security guards grabbed the man and took him through the backroom doors. God only knew what happened next. The two women handed their spiked drinks back to the bartender who poured them out and then they ordered two more drinks. She had a Margarita, and Madison ordered a Rum-and-Coke. As she pulled money from her purse to pay for the drinks, the bartender told her that they were already paid for. “Who paid for them?” she asked. The bartender pointed to a folded napkin placed under her Margarita glass.

Curious, she lifted her glass, pulled the napkin out from under it and put the glass down. She unfolded the napkin and held it between her polished, soft yet firm fingertips and read the four-word message that was written drunkenly in pen:

“...And you were in it,” a man said to her right. Startled by the voice by her side, she let the napkin fall back to the bar top and looked over to see the same cocky, hopeless schmuck that tried to pick her up this morning. He looks cuter than he did before, she thought. He smiled at her.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m T.J.” He sat down next to her, bringing over his Bud, and offered his hand to her.

She looked over to Madison, who was already engaged in conversation with the other guy. Madison was excited to see him; after all, Madison was hoping he’d call her after the Vegas trip. Reluctantly, she turned back around to T.J. and gave a light smile. Finally, she gave in and gave his hand one light shake, “I’m Ashley.”

Nine

Cameron Hicks took his glasses off and wiped them on the bottom of his shirt before placing them in his shirt pocket. It had been twenty-four hours since the meeting with the Board, and he had been contained in the Operations building ever since. With no comfortable place to sleep, he dozed off every few hours for about twenty minutes in his second-floor office, as he was about to do just now.

Ever since those three soldiers were dragged off in the third sublevel in the Vault, the project team was constantly scanning surveillance cameras for survivors. The first sublevel cameras were still offline, and there was still no sign of the other three Delta Force soldiers, or Jefferson Smith.

Cameron closed his eyes and tried to doze off; after the soldiers’ capture he was completely restless. When Cobe began hacking the service maintenance pumps for the hidden entrances Cameron was afraid the entire Vault was about to be compromised, so he quietly slipped by the army Colonel who supervised the operation, went to a vacant computer terminal, and opened the recall application. He was about to engage the recall when John the programmer frantically punched in dozens of commands. He unlocked the doors that led to the second floor of the Vault, where Cobe’s faction resided.

The breach in security distracted Cobe just long enough for the Colonel to issue an order to the two demolition experts who held position topside at the main Vault entrance. The original plan was for the demo team to place shaped charges at the main entrance to the Vault after the incursion team located Cobe and brought him to the front door. The demo team had the same briefing as the incursion team, and even though it made no sense how they were expected to bring a seven-hundred-fifty-pound robot to the freight elevator and to the front door. It was no surprise then when they heard the Colonel give a direct order to blast the third sublevel entrance. At first they protested because the incursion team was still down there, until the Colonel told them the team was MIA and that “the maestro’s about to bail the toilet.” That meant that Cobe was currently in the process of hacking the service entrance.

The demolition team sprinted from the main entrance and the landed sky crane nearby, through the two-hundred feet of desert terrain that led to the service entrance. They lifted the manhole cover and found the service tunnel half-drained of water, and still draining. One of the soldiers climbed down the ladder halfway through the cistern, where the water pump nozzles were located. Putting his back against the wall of the confined space, he braced himself on the ladder and waited for his partner to drop the charges down one-by-one. The soldier put the charges in place adjacent to the pump nozzles that were embedded into the cistern wall. He then climbed back out and replaced the manhole cover.

With not much time to waste, they welded the manhole cover in place. By the time it was finished they felt the ground vibrate faintly as the service hatch below began to open. They ran to a safe distance and detonated the charges.

Back at the complex, the Colonel and John watched the Vault’s third sublevel maintenance entrance surveillance camera feed as the screen image rocked violently from the shockwave. Water erupted from the background for a short time, and John watched the system log for the Vault’s security systems and confirmed that the maintenance hatch=s security seal had been activated.

John explained to the Colonel that the security seal was on an independent system that was not accessible by Vault computers. The maintenance hatch was now utterly unusable, but there were still three more maintenance entrances into the Vault - one for each floor except the main one. For now, however, their rooms were still locked and electromagnetically sealed.

As he lay in his comfortable office chair Cameron had his eyes shut for about five minutes. His mind dozed off, and as he slipped into a semiconscious dream he was startled awake by his office landline. Ah, crap, he thought to himself, what now?!

“The Board’s calling a conference,” an unknown man said from the other side of the line. “Two minutes, I’ll connect from here.” He switched on his desktop computer and logged into his account. He activated the webcam and unmuted his desktop microphone. Since the Board members left to return to their respective lives they felt it may raise suspicion to those that were important to them if they abruptly left for Nevada again. They decided this meeting would be done remotely. Cameron opened his Skype account and dialled a secure, online number. This number, in return, dialled a remote server that was created by Cyril specifically for the Board’s use. This server then dialled each Board member’s respective Skype accounts and consolidated their individual addresses into a single signal. All of the members were visible on Cameron’sscreen. Half of them seemed to be alone in the dark, and many appeared to be at home.

Cyril spoke first, “We are aware of the failure. We must now decide our next move.” A middle-aged woman whose Skype handle read Amethyst said, “I think we should try again. At the very least we need to locate the first team.”

“I disagree,” a middle aged Asian man said. His handle read Yumi. “We have no evidence they’re still around, and we’re clearly not equipped for the residents.”

“I’m not leaving them down there if they’re still alive!” the black man called Cobalt exclaimed. “Use discretion online, Cobalt,” Cyril said sternly. “Does the host know when camera functions will be restored?”

“Unfortunately those cameras are useless now,” Cameron replied. “I suspect that our expert used a handheld device that disabled all electronics on that floor.”

“Is there a chance we can get local eyes in that area?” Cobalt asked, referring to an Observer unit. “It’s possible. One of the residents indicated their agent accomplished his task. They may pass by that area soon; we’re keeping an eye on it.” Cameron referred to the Adam spy model that operated

inside Cobe’s faction. It successfully obtained the access codes to the warehouse freight elevator. “Are there any more back doors?” the middle-aged woman called Amethyst asked. “Yes, there are a few more,” Cameron answered.

“I don’t recommend another visit without issuing a recall first,” Cameron advised. “That’s out of the question,” Cyril replied.

“Agreed,” Cobalt said reluctantly. “Our host will transfer the schematics of the A.O. to us. We will arrive at Location One in forty-eight.”

“Inform the Eagle he is to stand by until then,” Cyril ordered, referring to the Army Colonel who supervised the complex. With that the connection was terminated.

Cameron sighed deeply to relieve the anxious feeling in his gut. He knew the Board would send another team in and risk another massacre, but still he could do nothing about it. He got up from his seat, left his office and proceeded down the barren, nondescript hallway to the elevator. An armed guard in military fatigues stood by the elevator with his M4A1 Carbine rifle slung over his shoulder. Cameron showed him his ID badge and said he was going down to the Operations floor. The guard activated his walkie-talkie and informed the basement guard that Cameron was on his way. There were no mistakes to be afforded in the security detail of the complex.

The empty elevator arrived and Cameron entered, pressing the basement button. He was met in the basement by another armed guard who once again checked his ID. Yet another guard stood by to escort him to the Operations room. He followed the guard down the basement hallway to a thick steel door. The guard pulled out a key-card and inserted it into the reader. A green LED flashed briefly as the door unlocked.

Beyond a small catwalk was a recessed floor to a large room. The room’s spacious design was filled by a myriad of computer systems and monitors. At least fifteen engineers and programmers sat behind the terminals, scanning the hundred-or-so cameras in the Vault and monitoring the endless logs from about a dozen machines. Cameron walked over to a far corner of the room, where the Army Colonel was standing over John’s terminal.

“Nothing so far,” John replied. “Those three soldiers were brought really deep into sublevel three, and we still have no eyes in the first sublevel.”

Cameron nodded in acknowledgement then addressed the Colonel, “The Board wants you to standby until they get here.”

The Colonel nodded dismissively then walked over to his Lieutenant and spoke quietly into his ear. Cameron looked at him, unnerved that the Colonel didn’t even acknowledge him, and then turned to leave.

John pushed himself away from the computer terminal and stood up, calling out, “Yo Cam, wait up!” He followed Cameron halfway through the room until they were out of earshot of the military personnel. John demanded quietly, “What the hell is going on?”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” John muttered. “Do they even know what happened?” “They want to recover the bodies.”

“No they fucking don’t!” John snapped. A couple of people overheard him and looked in their direction. John lowered his voice until he was barely audible to Cameron, “You know they’re just going to try again. We need to end this, Cam!”

“Goddammit! You know what will happen if they try again without ordering a recall.” “They won’t risk losing Cobe.”

“Do you really want to put yourself in that situation?” Cameron muttered under his breath. “Think very carefully about what you’re suggesting.”

Deep down John knew Cameron was right. They were being detained on the base until Cobe was extracted and there were less than forty people in the complex. Half of them were military personnel tasked with security detail - none of them would be suspected of tampering with the Vault’s systems. And many of the junior programmers had no access to the Vault’s recall function. In the end, only about five people in the complex had the ability to initiate a recall, and nobody would be willing to take the fall for it. The best-case-scenario would be that person spends several years in jail before going to trial for violating the National Security Act. John’s fate would be much worse, as he was also copying patches of code from several of the machines and taking them home for the last several months. His family would be implicated and arrested as well.

John closed his eyes in defeat. “You have to change their minds, Cam,” he said.

“You think I’m not trying?” Cameron asked. “All they can see is how much money they’re going to lose if we shut it down.”

“This can’t continue, Cam. If Observer-Four reaches Cobe, we’re going to have a problem.” “I know.” Cameron agreed.

“...I know,” Cameron paused a moment; John didn’t know what else to say. Cameron turned and walked away towards the entrance to the room, and John walked back to his terminal. Before he could sit down he glanced at the computer screen and noticed some movement on a security camera feed just before the feed switched to another camera. He switched back to the previous feed, but nothing was there anymore. He opened another window and dragged the video feed over to play back what was recorded. He clicked a button to rewind the feed to the moments before he returned. As he analysed the feed his heart skipped a beat.

“Cameron, get over here!” he shouted. Cameron ran over, and the Colonel left his Lieutenant to look over John’s shoulder. They all stared in disbelief at the still image frozen on the screen with grainy quality.

“Contact the Board right now,” the Colonel ordered Cameron. Cameron ran back out of the room and proceeded to the elevator to get to his office. As soon as he exited the elevator and opened his office he reached the desk and opened his email account to send and urgent, encrypted message to Cyril: One survivor confirmed. Reply ASAP.

He couldn’t tell who exactly it was, but he knew for sure it was human. The surveillance feed showed them walking into the third sublevel maintenance room, looking around with a flashlight, and then running back out almost immediately.

Back in operations, John watched the surveillance cameras for the third sublevel as he tracked the lone survivor’s progress. The corridors were dimly lit, but he could see the dark skin tone of the survivor and non-military fatigues and realized it was Jefferson Smith. He was carrying an assault rifle and slowly following a thick trail of blood deeper into the third subbasement.

Ten

The first sublevel storage warehouse in the Vault was normally a fairly clean location in comparison to everywhere else on that floor. For six months the project staff watched with glee the carnage all around it, and normally ignored it out of boredom. The first sublevel was a war zone in many ways because of the warehouse. Being the largest cache of supplies within the Vault, it should have been no surprise that the Delta Force operatives would have been surrounded like that. But still, they were never prepared for the machines’ inhuman agility - or for the plasma droid.

The hallways entering the warehouse were war-torn by rival factions, and now the warehouse looked just as worse for wear. The large steel boxes stacked to the rafters were dented, scorched and ruptured by stray rounds from the soldiers’ gunfire. The main double-doors entering the warehouse were bent out of shape by the Adam models, leaving a permanent opening. The lights above flickered and pulsated as the charge from the electromagnetic pulse grenade finally began to dissipate - they would be the only thing in that room to return to normal.

On the warehouse floor, several feet from the main entrance, laid almost a dozen Adam models lying in a still pile. At the bottom of this pile laid an unconscious Jefferson Smith, just coming to after one of the machines lunged at him during that horrendous massacre. As he got up he shoved the powerless machines off his chest and looked around for the team.

His mind was filled with fog. He couldn’t remember much of what happened. But as he looked around and surveyed the death around him the memories of what happened hit him as fast and unexpectedly as the machines that attacked him. Over to his left he saw Eggs and Captain Taylor, both cut in half, with their eyes frozen wide open in agonizing screams. Blood from both halves of their torsos had completely spilled onto the floor leaving thick, sticky puddles of crimson with gigantic impressions in the middle where the blood had pooled around the plasma droid’s feet. The plasma droid itself was halfway between the two dead men and Jefferson, lying face-down on the floor from where it froze up and collapsed from the EMP. Scorch marks covered the machine like a camouflage pattern from the explosive tipped rounds that were fired at it.

Jefferson looked around some more and found Lieutenant Sheppard laying close by. Blood had seeped from his ears, nose and mouth. His throat was deep-purple and crushed. Both of his arms and his right leg were broken; his left leg had been ripped off. His equipment was still on him; Jefferson could not see the Captain’s equipment, or Eggs’. He pushed even more machines off of his legs and got up, feeling slightly dizzy. He knew the machines were all harmless now, but he couldn’t help but watch his step as he moved carefully towards Sheppard’s body.

As he crouched down beside Lieutenant Sheppard he gagged at the sight of the bloated, lifeless body and severed limb. He nearly vomited from the pungent smell emanating from the pool of blood and the excrement that was left in Sheppard’s uniform. Jefferson had to look away and cover his face as he gagged, but the stench was too powerful. He puked beside the Lieutenant’s face. He was on the brink of breaking down - he wasn’t trained to survive alone in this place and even if he was, there were no supplies down here that were useful to humans.

Jefferson regained his composure, took a deep breath, and looked back at Sheppard’s lifeless body. He saw the Lieutenant’s M4A1 assault rifle with flashlight attachment, unhooked the shoulder sling and grabbed the weapon. He checked Sheppard’s ammo belt and found two pairs of magazines that were taped together. He grabbed them and placed them in the left leg pocket of his black cargo pants that were given to him by the Delta team. He found a smoke grenade but couldn’t think of any possible use for it down here - he didn’t have a gas mask and was afraid he would just suffocate if he ever used it. He re strapped the shoulder sling to Sheppard’s rifle and placed it over his shoulder.

Jefferson exhaled slowly then stood back up and turned to what was left of Eggs and Taylor. Reluctantly, Jefferson slowly approached Eggs’ upper half of his body, shut his eyes, and crouched down beside the bifurcated body. Jefferson opened his eyes and avoided looking at the mass of blood and intestines below the chest. He searched Eggs’ ammo belt and found a flash-bang grenade. He pulled it off the belt then got back up to check Captain Taylor’s body.

The only thing he saw that could have been useful now was the Captain’s radio headset, but the transmitter was destroyed by the plasma cutter. He froze in place as he stared at Captain Taylor’s face - frozen in a horrified, wide-eyed scream.

Come on man, Jefferson told himself, this is no time to freeze up. Gotta grab what you can and bounce. He turned and saw the downed plasma-cutting droid. He walked up to it and crouched down beside it. He looked over the chassis and took note of the modifications that were made to it.

When the plasma cutters were built they were originally just a series machinery and circuits shaped to look humanoid and held together by an exoskeleton frame. This machine was retrofitted with iron plates covering its torso, as well as the hose line on its right arm that supplied oxygen gas to the plasma cutter. The machines had equipped themselves with armour.

He got back up, walked over to the pile of Adam models, bent over, grabbed one by the head and shoulder and dragged it over to open ground with great effort. This machine must weigh almost two hundred pounds, he thought. He grabbed his new M4 rifle and switched on the flashlight. He aimed it at the Adam model and examined its construction. Some of the Adam models spotted by surveillance cameras were barren of any type of armour plating, but this one was an exception. With an exoskeleton frame made of steel, sheet metal was used to cover the upper torso to protect its circuitry from exposure. Both the frame and sheet metal covering were scoured - presumably to eliminate any shiny gleam from reflections of light. The sheet metal had lettering on it - it was probably an old access panel from a wall mounted circuit breaker. The head was covered in scorch marks from post-production upgrades, such as the additional IR LEDs that were coincidentally made in the shape of eyebrows.

A loud banging noise came from the other end of the warehouse. Startled, Jefferson aimed his gun light at the source of the sound. He saw a closed pair of double-doors, and heard the sound of iron pipes crashing to the floor. Jefferson noticed the overhead lights in the warehouse stopped pulsating and were now fully powered. The EMP grenade was drained. It was time to go.

EMP Grenade! Jefferson thought to himself. He remembered that he had dropped one earlier. He spun around and frantically scanned the area around him with his gun light. He didn’t want to risk another encounter by himself without it, especially against another plasma cutter. Desperate and afraid, he started shoving the Adam models off of the pile to clear the floor, hoping he was lying on it at some point. Shit, he thought, where is it?! It was nowhere to be found. There was a loud bang on the double-doors across the room. Jefferson aimed his gun light over to the doors and saw one of the door handles start to twist.

Jefferson was frozen in place. He didn’t want to leave the EMP grenade; he needed it if he was going to survive. There were still two plasma cutters left in the Vault and the Adam models were too agile for Jefferson’s lack of gun training. The door began to open. Jefferson kept telling himself over and over again: Run, start running, Jeff. Come on, just run! But his legs wouldn’t move. He just kept staring as the door opened.

An Observer unit stood in the doorway. The parabolic dishes on its sides turned towards Jefferson. A cluster of high-powered LEDs on the unit’s head emitted a faint, red glow as it scanned the room and tried to blind Jefferson with no success. Both man and machine stared at each other from across the room. Finally, the Observer unit spoke with an effeminate-sounding voice:

The Observer backed away from the door; Jefferson knew what was coming next. Still aiming his rifle at the open doors, he slowly backed away to the busted doorway, being careful not to trip over any of the unpowered machines behind him. He backed out of the warehouse and saw an Adam model walk through the door just as Jefferson turned to his right and ran as fast as he could through the pitch-black corridor.

Several dead Adam models laid in the corridor, creating obstacles that Jefferson needed to avoid. Dodging stationary limbs and jumping over torsos, Jefferson kept running. Behind him he could hear water splashing as an Adam model chased after him. He reached the door to the stairwell and turned around to see an Adam model running on all four limbs like a cheetah, closing fast. Jefferson pulled the trigger on his M4 rifle and let out a burst of explosive-tipped rounds. The kickback from the gunfire was unexpected and caused his aim to skip up towards the ceiling. A couple of his rounds connected with the Adam model’s head and it fell to the ground, just ten feet from Jefferson. Several more rounds penetrated the water and steam pipes in the ceiling. The pipes burst open, letting out steady streams of water and steam that created a scalding wall between Jefferson and several other Adam models that pursued behind the first.

The group of machines stopped behind the wall of steam and water, standing upright, unwilling to risk their power supplies being shorted out. The machines turned around and sprinted back down the dark corridor on all fours to find another way around. Jefferson opened the door to the stairwell, shut the door behind him, and started running down the stairs. As he rounded the spiral gridiron staircase to the second sublevel he heard a loud crash at the door as an Adam model broke the door open.

Jefferson turned around and fired a three-round burst into the machine. It flew backwards, back out of the stairwell and into the corridor. Jefferson then turned and ran down the stairs. As he reached halfway between sublevel two and sublevel three he heard a noise above him like that of a hummingbird. He stopped and aimed his gun light at the source of the noise. Through the gridiron stairs above him he could see what looked like a remote-controlled quad-copter hovering just above sublevel one. A green laser beam emitted from the hovering craft and aimed directly at Jefferson’s forehead. It was an architect model, and it was acting as a spotter for the Adam models.

He heard a computer-emulated voice from outside the sublevel two doorway say, “Hostile located; approaching sublevel three.” Jefferson had no clear shot at the architect through the gridiron stairway, so he just ran through the third-sublevel door and shut it behind him.

Jefferson jogged through the dark corridor with his gun light aimed in front of him until he reached the restricted maintenance room. He stopped at the door and peered around the corner. No movement. He swept into the room, rifle first and scanned the room with his gun light, looking for evidence of the other soldiers. There was a pool of water about an inch in depth that flooded the room, and it was tinted dark-red, possibly from blood. He spotted bullet casings in the water. He looked up at the maintenance hatch and saw that the red-and-white emergency seal was in place, meaning he would need to locate another restricted zone and hope someone back at the complex would unlock it. Not knowing what else

to do he left the maintenance room. As he re-entered the corridor he noticed a thick trail of blood on the floor leading to the left.

The other soldiers, Jefferson thought, I have to try and find them. The other maintenance

entrances were on the other floors and Jefferson knew he could never survive by himself - he needed the soldiers’ help. He just hoped they were still alive.

Jefferson followed the trail of blood through the dimly-lit corridor, trying his hardest to step as

light as feathers so he could hear the tiniest noises around him. Besides his own breathing he could only hear the thrum of high-voltage electricity circulating through the thick wires above him. He passed by several closed doors, many of which he lightly tested the handle and found most to be locked. The ones that were unlocked he would tap twice lightly on, wait for about ten seconds then slowly open to look inside for either survivors or machines. A lot of rooms were bare, ransacked for anything that was of use to the machines. The ones that were bare or emptied of anything useful he would close the doors, while those that looked untouched he left slightly opened in case he needed to backtrack.

He turned several corners, passing by corridor junctions and opening every door he found along

the way. After about ten minutes of tracking the bloody trail he reached a stretch of corridor where the lights were burnt out. It was pitch-black from there on with not a hint of light beyond. He stopped and aimed his gun light into the void, trying to find any reason not to continue on. His gun light illuminated the end of the corridor, showing a turn to the left about a hundred feet ahead with almost half a dozen doors on either side. Here was nothing lying on the floor that seemed out of place besides the blood trail, which continued past the corner turn.

Still, Jefferson did not want to continue on - the pitch-black corridor gave him a dreadful feeling.

He thought about going back and just looking for supplies, but he needed to see if the soldiers were still alive. He couldn’t imagine being alone in this place and if they were still alive - if they died because he was too scared to carry on then he would not know how to live with himself. He didn’t even know how he could continue by himself right now; he may die down here, alone and afraid.

Jefferson took a deep breath and proceeded cautiously into the void, testing door handles as he

moved along. Every door here was locked, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. Either they were unexplored, or the machines actually inhabited these rooms. Jefferson reached the corner and peered around it, aiming the gun light low to the ground and on the blood trail. Fifty feet ahead he could see an intersection with the blood trail turning right. There were no doors in this corridor.

Okay, he thought to himself, I’ll just look around the corner and see what’s up. Keeping his light

trained on the floor of the intersection he cautiously walked up to it. He reached the intersection and peered around the corner to the right - more doors. He looked down the corridor to the left for anything out of the ordinary. The walls were lined with doors, and the corridor reached a dead end about fifty feet away. The corridor that was straight ahead was barren of any doors, and he could see no end to it. It was an endless darkness - he was glad the blood trail didn’t lead through it.

He looked back through the right-hand corridor and traced the trail of blood with his gun light. It

ended at a door halfway through the corridor to the right. Jefferson hoped somebody was still alive. He ignored all the other doors as he walked swiftly to the door with the blood trail and tested the handle - locked. He saw a keypad next to the door with a glowing red LED above it. Not knowing what else to do, Page65

he quickly looked around him at the other doors. They all had keypads, and they were all glowing red except for the one next door to the left. I’ll check that room, Jefferson thought, but first...

Jefferson inched closer to the locked door and put his ear to it to listen for noises inside - so far, nothing. He lightly tapped out “shave and a haircut” on the door:

Someone’s alive in there! He jiggled the door handle to signal whoever was on the other side to open the door. He heard the door handle jiggle from the other side, but it still didn’t move. Jefferson put his mouth to the corner of the door. “Can you hear me?” he asked in a loud whisper. No response. “Knock if you can hear me,” he said a little louder - still no response.

From around the corner he heard the clicking noise of metal-on-metal approaching the intersection - something was coming. Jefferson stepped over to the next door on the left and swiftly opened it to step inside and shut the door behind him. He held on to the door handle and waited for the adrenaline to subside, listening for more metallic footsteps.

“Shit!” he exclaimed to himself. He realized just how loud he was leaving the corridor. He turned around and scanned the dark room with his gun light, hoping to find a place to hide. The room was very dishevelled, with cabinets removed from cupboards and thrown about. A steel surgical table was flipped onto its side and the ceiling was covered in burn marks. Bits and pieces of iron piping from the ceiling covered the floor, as well as broken glass from fluorescent lighting tubes. A film of white powder coated everything on the floor. From the door he could see nothing of interest, so he walked behind the surgical table to see if there was anything useful and found nothing.

The metallic clicking from the corridor continued and approached the door. Panicking again, Jefferson ducked behind the surgical table and switched off his gun light. Selfishly, he found himself praying that the machine would be going next door for the other person, but he no longer cared at that moment - he just didn’t want to face another machine.

He could hear the handle on the door turn and the door open slightly. Metallic footsteps entered the room, and then there was silence. Jefferson held his breath and his rifle, telling himself he would jump out from behind the table and open fire if he didn’t hear any movement soon. He covered the front of his gun light with the palm of his hand and, very slowly, inched the switch to the “on” position, trying to avoid the quiet clicking noise of the switch. He shifted his weight to his back foot and turned to face the table. Trying to control his breath, he tried to work up his courage and counted down silently from five in his head.

By the time he reached two he heard the metallic clicks again and held his breath. The footsteps exited the room and continued into the corridor. Jefferson waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore then took his hand off the gun light. He stood up, and walked over to the entrance to shut the door again.

When the door was closed he leaned his whole body against it and let out a sigh of relief. He exclaimed, “Oh fuck!” at the same time, his voice quivering from the rush of adrenaline.

“Is someone there?” Jefferson heard a voice in the room from behind him, as though it came from a ventilation duct. He swiftly turned around, startled, darting his gun light around the room. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Over here, the vent...” the voice called back. Jefferson searched the walls and found a vent cover on the right wall near the back of the room, close to the ceiling. He hurried to it and aimed his gun light through the grills, finding nothing. It must be someone from the other room, he thought. “Who are you?” Jefferson asked.

“Eggs, Sheppard and the Captain are all dead.” A moment of silence, then Jefferson asked, “Is anyone with you?”

“We got ambushed at the entrance then woke up in here.” There was another moment of silence before the Corporal said, “They were experimenting on Guzman when I came to.”

Jefferson shut his eyes for a brief moment. He didn’t even want to imagine what the Corporal meant by that. Then he remembered something and his eyed flashed opened: I gave him an EMP grenade, too!

“I know,” the Corporal muttered, sounding defeated. “Do you have any weapons?” “I got Sheppard’s rifle and a flash-bang.”

“Alright, listen: Our door’s locked from the outside, and obviously you weren’t able to open it, which means we need to wait for one of those things to come back and open the door. Then you gotta destroy it and help me with Guzman.”

“Three small ones that looked kinda human. Another one with dishes and antennas all over its body, and a big one with glowing eyes and a flame torch.”

“The big one’s probably bullet-proof, and I only have a couple of magazines.”

The Corporal laid out a plan for Jefferson, and though it posed a great risk to all of them it was the only chance they had of at least two of them surviving. With the plan laid out and agreed upon, Corporal Staacman tended to Guzman by ripping their dead squad mate Hiller’s jacket apart and tying it to Guzman’s head to apply pressure to his skull. He tried to keep Guzman awake and alert while Jefferson opened his door slightly. His gun light was off, and waited for the machines to return.

Eleven

T.J. slowly opened his eyes as he regained the sense of equilibrium he had lost the night before. Lying on his stomach, limbs splayed out from crashing onto the bed and still fully clothed in his black suit and vest, he stared at the digital clock on the night stand as it came into focus: 10:30am. T.J. was hung over. The bright desert sun illuminated his entire room, and it felt as if it were burning a hole into his eyes even though he faced away from the large bay window.

T.J. slowly and begrudgingly got up, feeling dirty and sweaty from sleeping in his suit. He walked to the window with eyelids squinted and drew the curtains closed. He turned around and stood motionless for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted to hop back into bed or go to the bathroom. After a while he decided he would take a nice, long, hot shower to try and feel better. He walked back to the bed and removed his black vest and dress shirt, followed by his shoes, socks and pants.

He walked into the spacious bathroom and laughed derisively at the exorbitant luxury the MGM Grand provided its guests. There were three sinks in the bathroom, but only one toilet; a bidet; a mammoth Jacuzzi-style bathtub and a shower stall. Despite the amenities, there was still just enough floor space to fit a twin-sized mattress. Back home, T.J. wondered at times how the construction workers even managed to fit a bathtub into his own bathroom. He removed his boxers and entered the shower stall. He closed the glazed glass door, turned the hot water valve all the way open and slightly opened the cold water valve.

As he let the soothing heat envelop his whole body he closed his eyes and tried to recall everything that happened last night. He remembered Steve and himself sitting with Madison and Ashley at the bar downstairs, and remembered Ashley mention she had been a physical fitness trainer for eighteen months now. And how after her twenty-fifth birthday last month she decided to take a trip to Las Vegas with her best friend. T.J. told her about his job as a video game programmer, but she wasn’t really interested. She was, however, interested in his less-than-legal hobby of free-running. He told her he’d bring her by the suite to show her a video, though he got the impression that she didn’t believe him about the luxury suite. Either way it didn’t matter; she declined the invitation.

After a few more drinks the four of them went over to the bay of television screens to check on Steve and T.J.’s bet. Martin knocked out Vescarelli in the first round with a roundhouse kick, and Steve and T.J. lost yet another thousand dollars that night. They shrugged it off and their indifference surprised the women. They then went back to the cashier’s cage to get more money. The four of them went to the card tables to play some Blackjack, and with the women at their sides their luck had changed. Doubling their money, Ashley and Madison convinced the two of them to step away from the table and go do something else, so they went to the Crap tables.

After T.J. rolled three sevens in a row the women started betting on the shooter. T.J. was on a roll, and after letting their first bets ride for fifteen more rolls, the women pulled their winnings. T.J. teased them about getting scared, but in the end Ashley gave him a cocky, know-it-all look after he rolled Boxcars and lost all of his winnings.

After the women convinced them to return to the slots the women decided to call it a night. Steve and T.J. walked them to their double-bed room and said goodnight. T.J. managed to get Ashley’s cell phone number and agreed to meet up tomorrow after the convention. Steve and T.J. then headed out to walk the strip and enjoy the lights. After a long walk and a trip to a pizza shop, T.J. couldn’t remember anything except for waking up in his bed.

After a soothing twenty-minute shower T.J. dried off and grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a white muscle-shirt out of his suitcase and put them on. Hung over, he hopped back into bed and turned on the flat-screen LED TV. He surfed through the channels and stopped on CNN. He then picked up the hotel phone to order some room service.

He wasn’t really hungry so he just ordered a pitcher of ice water and offered a really generous tip if they could bring up two large bottles of Gatorade - one green and one blue. As he waited for his Ahangover cure@ he watched the CNN Newsroom after glimpsing the headline - NSA Spy Program Constitutional.

“...United States Supreme Court rules the NSA’s massive spy program as constitutional,” the news anchor said. “After almost five years of controversy, committees, evidence and leaks from NSA whistle blower Edward Snowden, the Supreme Court finally ruled in a split decision five-to-four that, quote:

“’The NSA’s domestic spy program, as practiced, does not infringe on the American citizen’s Fourth Amendment rights to privacy, as the information collected is encrypted and analyzed autonomously for threats to National Security. As a result, any information not identified as “metadata” is not subjected to human analysis or eavesdropping. Thus it is determined that this program is protected by Section 215 of the Patriot Act.’”

The screen turned briefly to a picture of Edward Snowden, “The controversy over the NSA’s spy program created a massive, yet quiet outrage after documents leaked last year about the now operational Utah Data Centre-“ The screen faded to a satellite image of a two-square-mile compound housing three one-mile-long warehouses in the middle of the desert. “- indicated that the complete contents of phone calls and emails from all around the nation were being systematically collected and stored at the massive data storage facility - not just call logs.”

The screen faded to a muted video of a middle-aged, balding fat man in a pressed black suit sitting in a conference room speaking into a microphone with hundreds of onlookers behind him. “In a Senate Committee hearing, the Deputy-Director of Operations for the NSA, Owen Jones, defended the NSA’s use of the Utah Data Centre. The retired Navy Commander argued that having detailed synapses of telecommunications and phrases can help piece together patterns of terrorist activity, and would serve in the defense against future terror plots.

“Director Jones assure the Senate Committee that the information collected was only used to combat threats to National Security, and is not available to state or municipal authorities.”

The screen switched back to a picture of Edward Snowden. “This ground-breaking verdict from the Supreme Court has now re-energized the rallying cry for Edward Snowden’s arrest, with many lawmakers once again labeling him a traitor.”

The screen changed to a video of an elderly Republican Congressman, saying, “Edward Snowden is a traitor to the U.S. and should be tried as one...”

There was a knock at T.J.’s door as room service arrived. He got out of the bed, grabbed his wallet and walked to the door and opened it. He saw a short, young man before him in bellhop regalia, pushing a steel tray that carried a pitcher of water and two large Gatorade bottles - one green and one blue.

“We didn’t have any Gatorade in stock,” the bellhop said, “so I had to go to the corner store.” “Sweet, I really need this. Thanks!” T.J. handed the bellhop a twenty-dollar bill and five singles then grabbed the two bottles as the young bellhop took the pitcher to the night stand and left with the tray. The bellhop closed the door behind him as T.J. walked back over to the bed and grabbed the TV remote. He caught a quick glimpse of the news headline - Supercollider Final Test Run Successful - then started flipping through the channels again.

An hour and a half later T.J. was feeling better, but not by much. His smart phone activated a reminder alarm indicating that the Singularity Summit was starting an hour from now at the Luxor. “Oh yeah, right,” T.J. said to himself. He almost forgot about the “meeting of nut-jobs” the young programmer from the expo spoke about. He went back to his suitcase and grabbed a white t-shirt and put it on along with a pair of running shoes. He then grabbed his credentials for the expo and left his suite to go next door and wake up Steve.

T.J. banged on Steve’s door and waited. Steve opened the door, clearly hung over as well. “What?” he grumbled.

T.J. paused for a moment, unable to think of anything else to say. “Fine, whatever then,” he said reluctantly.

T.J. left the MGM Grand and walked down the strip to the Luxor Casino and Hotel. As he entered the Luxor he saw a black board in the main lobby indicating the Singularity Summit was taking place in an auditorium. He asked a roaming employee where to find the auditorium, and he was directed through the Luxor. As he approached the auditorium he was stopped by a large man in a black suit who asked if he had an invitation.

“No,” T.J. replied, “but I’m an A.I. programmer for Chaotic. Here’s my credentials from the I.G.E.”

The doorman glanced at T.J.’s ID badge and shrugged. He let him through the thick, oak double door, and he walked into the dark auditorium, looking for a place to sit with no luck. The five-thousand seat auditorium was filled to capacity with almost a hundred more people lining the back walls as well. The stage was lined with a dozen guest speakers all sitting behind a podium with a gigantic white screen behind them. T.J. stood along the back wall beside a young-looking skinny kid with thick-rimmed eyeglasses. The kid looked at him; T.J. nodded to him and said, “What’s up?” The kid just looked away, disinterested in engaging in small talk.

Whatever man, T.J. thought. After about ten minutes a man in a black suit came up to the podium from backstage. T.J. then noticed the gigantic flat screens covering the walls that flanked the stage. An enlarged image of the man at the podium filled both screens as he spoke:

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and welcome,” he said in a warm, baritone voice, “I wish to thank you all for your participation, and also the esteemed gentlemen behind me, whose contributions have made this all possible.”

“Each year we reach new milestones with Artificial Intelligence, and I am happy to say that we reach these new developments on par with our projected timetable. So, without further ado, to explain how far we’ve come and where we shall go from here, please welcome Doctor Heinrich Schmutzkoph.”

A round of applause erupted as a man with medium-length grey hair approached the podium. He had a pockmarked face, bulbous nose and very enthusiastic eyes like that of a child receiving praise for their very first recital. He waved to the crowd, alternating hands as he did so. As he reached the podium he brushed down his medium-grey business suit, adjusted the microphone, and spoke enthusiastically with an Americanized German accent.

“Welcome, everybody, welcome!” he called out over the applause. Clearly these people adored this man as he continued to try and speak over their gesture of appreciation.

“Thank you, thank you all...” he gestured with his hands to stop the applause, and it slowly died down. “...Thank you very much! Now please, I’d like to continue while we’re still human!” Polite laughter briefly broke out among the audience.

“My friends and colleagues, this year has proven to be a great year in the fields of robotics and drone technology. I am proud to say that, as usual, we are still on schedule to accomplish the greatest achievement in human history!”

More applause; T.J. heard some people hooting in the crowd. Who is this guy to them? T.J. thought. The blank screen behind Doctor Schmutzkoph filled with a colourful time line dating back to 1950, with checkmarks on every year prior to the present.

“You will remember last year that trial runs were successfully completed on robotic rescue workers - machines that could walk into a burning building, break open doors, use electronic power tools, and even carry unconscious victims to safety. The year before last, the Transportation Safety Authority started using robotic attendants to scan airline passengers for suspicious behaviour, and so far they have greatly alleviated the heavy workload of human gate attendants. They have also reduced waiting periods for boarding aircraft.

“This year the United States Navy has announced the successful integration of unmanned, automated stealth-bombers drones to their Carrier fleets. They are now using Artificial Intelligence to conduct bombing runs, prioritize targeting, and conduct evasive countermeasures.” On the side screens, a rotating image of a futuristic-looking stealth plane filled the screen.

“This is just one of the any examples of self-controlled robots on the battlefield, including the U.S. Army’s use of armed sentry drones in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the self-driving Humvee.” More applause; the side screens then switched back to the timetable. “Ladies and gentlemen, all of these are great and the automation of our armed forces is a tremendous accomplishment. Even fewer of our friends and loved ones need now put themselves in harm’s way! I am looking forward to the complete automation of our front-line warriors. In the meantime, we have accomplished yet another goal on our road to self-sufficient, sentient robotics.”

On the timetable on all three screens, a check mark appeared next to the current year. More applause followed.

“So far, we have made tremendous strides. Many of you have heard of SIRI, am I right? What you may not know is how it truly works...” The screens showed a small globe of the earth with dotted lines connecting orbiting satellites, and dotted lines connected those satellites to cell phones.

“... When you tell SIRI that you want to go out for Mexican food, SIRI tells you where the nearest Mexican restaurants are. What you may not know is each and every SIRI application uploads its interactions with the user to the main servers, creating a database of recognizable speech patterns. “In short, SIRI is an Artificial Intelligence that actually learns the human language as you use it.”

“Video games are the most common examples of Artificial Intelligence, but hardly the most sophisticated. It was A.I. that helped us map out the human genome; it is A.I. that helps CERN complete experiments with the Large Hadron Collider. A.I. even controls the Mars Land Rover because it’s so far away that it takes the rover eight minutes to respond to human controls.

“Machines with Artificial Intelligence make our lives easier and better! Just imagine a life with machines that have real intelligence. Machines that can think, create, and innovate! Imagine the technologies we could have within just five years of the Singularity event!

“Furthermore, imagine a world without hunger, disease or pain! Imagine, some day, we can take everything that is in our brain - our very conscience - and upload it into a computer, or even the internet itself! Imagine true immortality!

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are on the road to immortality, and we are right on schedule!” The doctor pointed at the screen behind him, pointing at the end of the timetable: 2040.

The room erupted in applause as Doctor Schmutzkoph said his thank-you’s and goodbyes to everybody. And a man that sat in the row of seats behind the podium stood up and began to speak. For another two hours the individual speakers behind the podium stood up and spoke about what their respective organizations, companies and conglomerates were trying to accomplish. T.J. found several of them interesting, but not that remarkable. Certainly nothing as ground-breaking as what Doctor Schmutzkoph had proposed. At the end of the summit people started to slowly file out of the auditorium, but many stayed behind, forming small groups of discussion around the room. T.J. left the auditorium and checked his phone: 3:05pm.

Just outside of the auditorium he saw a small group of men talking emphatically. Clearly they were in disagreement about something. T.J. walked up to them, hoping to get in on the conversation. “... I’m telling you Simon: that would not work!” A skinny, nerdy-looking kid in coke-bottle-glasses exclaimed. “Basic is not sophisticated enough to program that type of intelligence.” “You never know, Ted,” the overweight man named Simon replied, “all it takes is one tiny, simple, seven-line function to make the pieces fit together.”

“What are y’all talkin’ about?” T.J. asked. The group stared at him like he was an intruder. “I’m sorry, and you are...?” Simon asked condescendingly.

The group eased up, some of them smiling, and there was a brief acknowledgment of Chaotic’s video games.

“Thanks, appreciate it,” T.J. replied. The circle that the group had formed opened up and T.J. joined them. “So, what’s not possible with Basic?”

“We’re discussing the plausibility of generating a superior intelligence arbitrator to determine laws and moral values in society.” Simon spoke so fast that T.J. was left perplexed.

A short Asian man across from T.J. recognized his confusion and said plainly, “They’re talking about creating God.”

Ted glared at the Asian defensively, “Mock all you want, but the only way to ensure law and order gives freedom and justice to all without prejudice is if you take the human factor out of it.” “And I’m telling you,” Simon continued, “Visual Basic is too simple to create such a complicated conscience.”

“I once tried to program God using JavaScript,” another man said. “It didn’t take.” “Linux and C-Sharp,” Ted added. “I think that would be the best combination.”

“No way man,” Simon rebutted, “you can’t make God out of an open-source application! What’s to stop hackers from patching God?”

“He’s got another point,” another man said. “What if we make the wrong god? How would we even know?”

“I say we just create a dozen different gods and let them all battle it out until there’sjust one left,” Ted joked.

T.J. wasn’t too comfortable with this conversation. He knew they were probably joking but still, he was raised by his Catholic mother and did not like making fun of God like this. “Anyway,” he said, “I gotta get goin’. Make sure to stop by the I.G.E.”

“Hey wait,” Simon said. “A bunch of us are going to get together later on for drinks here at the casino. Why don’t you stop by?”

Man, T.J. thought to himself, those people are weird. T.J. headed downstairs and through the main lobby. He exited the Luxor and walked out into the bright, cloudless afternoon sky. Still, he thought to himself, maybe I can get some algorithms out of these weirdos to use in my next script. He walked back to his suite at the MGM Grand, ordered lunch and watched television. He waited for 7:00pm to come around so he could finish up at the expo.

Twelve

In the dimly-lit boiler room of the third Sublevel the pile of rusted, useless machine parts had grown bigger. At the back of the room, behind the boilers, where the crippled and dismembered units were, the amount of adult active units had been halved. The two children had been hard at work taking apart the undeveloped units to replace missing limbs on the adults. Isaac and Fenix were building an army; it was nearly time to enter the second floor where Cobe resided.

Isaac had retrieved the access codes to the Sublevel-One warehouse freight elevator, and the keypad codes to the security room through the Adam spy they had used to infiltrate Cobe’s family. As Isaac monitored the spy by a low-frequency radio antenna Fenix installed onto it, he learned everything the agent was exposed to.

Isaac learned that more non-functioning intruders were found in the warehouse, but only one was in any condition to be studied - its limbs were damaged, and one was missing. The two remaining intruders had been cut in half. Isaac also learned that they had found peripheral equipment as well, identical to the ones Fenix and the children had confiscated. There was a pair of long, black metallic objects that looked like hollowed-out pipes with attached handles. After the architect model scanned the object and communicated the diagrams to Cobe, Cobe began creating modified diagrams to upload to their family’s Observer unit, Nikola. The Adam spy had no way to determine what the diagrams may have been, so Isaac would need to copy Cobe’s memory to find out.

Among the peripherals they had also found a painted-black steel dodecahedron container. After Archie scanned its physical properties, he communicated to Cobe that the interior of the container housed a battery of power cells connected to a capacitor, which in turn was connected to a thick coil of copper wire spun into a cone shape. There was no load module in the circuit, which meant the object would short

Not immediately recognizing a purpose for this, Nikola had fired his magnetic-connection wires at the object and sent a test signal through the circuit. Nikola used a standard twelve-volt signal to test the circuit, but the “receive” wire had exploded when the connection was complete. The object vastly increased the signal’s voltage far beyond Nikola’s capacity. And given the condition of the Adam models in the Sublevel-one warehouse, Nikola concluded the object created an alternating electromagnetic field. Cobe uploaded instructions to Archie and Nikola who in turn, took control of Abe. Using his plasma cutter, Abe had ripped bundles of copper cable and wiring out of the walls and ceiling of the large forum adjacent to the security room.

The Adam spy watched Abe as he welded the individual cable strands together into a giant copper mesh. Isaac could not understand why, so he and Fenix decided it was time to attack. Fenix took the metal container out of Isaac’s storage compartment and placed it on the work bench between the two computers. The children finished putting together two more adults and turned to the back of the boiler room to grab two more units.

“CMOS BIOS test,” Isaac said to the two repaired adults. They rotated, extended and contracted their new limbs, testing them for any malfunction.

Abe finished welding together the giant copper mesh and ordered one of the adults to stand by as Archie orbited around the unit, taking measurements of its surface area with his sonar array. When the scan was complete, a sound like white noise emanated from Archie as he communicated the measurements and shapes of each surface area to Nikola, who controlled Abe. When the communication was complete, Nikola acknowledged that he received the measurements then had Abe cut out pieces of the copper mesh and weld them onto the awaiting adult. Abe covered the entire model, using a second layer of mesh around each moving joint for complete coverage. The design of the mesh was made so it could cover the adult’s optics without interfering with its vision.

Only Cobe understood the purpose of this copper mesh and he did not explain himself to any of the family. Cobe never communicated much before, but he was even less cooperative since Archie found the restricted zone. Since that event Cobe also began to issue commands to the members of the family, which was unusual since only Abe ever did such a thing. Regardless, Cobe was the only Code-Breaker in the whole facility and he had access to systems nobody else could even locate, so nobody challenged his commands.

It wasn’t just the copper mesh either. After commanding Archie to do x-ray scans on the black metal pipes and after communicating these x-rays to Cobe, Cobe began compiling more construction diagrams to give to Nikola. In the meantime, while Nikola waited for those plans to be completed he continued using Abe to weld copper mesh to another adult that stood by. While Cobe compiled new diagrams for the metal pipes he simultaneously stationed himself by a bank of computer screens and keyboards. He hacked the source code for the security systems, looking for more hidden zones.

Unbeknownst to Abe, Archie, Nikola or Cobe, one of the adult Adam models had left the security room for the main forum. Adam searched the large, barren room for inhabitants, finding none. Many of the walls were cut open when Abe scavenged for the copper wire inside of them, leaving scrap metal strewn about on the floor. There were four load-bearing pillars in the room that had been stripped bare of their protective panels, leaving the steel I-beams exposed. Adam looked to the left and saw the open stairwell door, where Archie flown through just hours ago to locate a fleeing intruder that Nikola had identified when they searched the warehouse. To the right was a thick steel door, locked electronically with an adjacent keypad. On the other end of the forum, there were two parallel hallways six metres apart, outlining the freight elevator. There were two doorways for the elevator - one in the front, and one behind exiting into another forum that the two parallel hallways led to.

Adam walked towards the doorway on the right, looked around the room again to make sure no inhabitants were visible then typed in a twelve-digit pass code to unlock the door. Adam then turned around, dropped to all fours and sprinted across the forum through one of the hallways. As he entered the second forum he ran towards the utility room and opened the door.

The walls of the small room were covered in electrical panels and circuit breakers, feeding power to everything on that floor. Only one electrical box was switched off - the main power for the freight elevator. Adam grabbed the large circuit switch and flipped it into the “on” position. Adam could hear the light buzz from the high-voltage circuit energizing. Leaving the room, Adam closed the door and sprinted back to the first forum then slowed down and walked back to the security room.

None of the inhabitants made any indication that they notice Adam’s absence; they were all still occupied with their assigned tasks. Adam slowly approached Abe who was nearly finished the copper mesh upgrade to the second adult. Standing behind Abe, Adam examined the copper mesh lying on the ground when a loud mechanical whirring noise came from the forum.

Abe, Nikola and three Adults stopped what they were doing and turned to face the security room exit. Nikola moved to the doorway and used his high-powered LED bank to scan the forum. There were no intruders. The humming noise continued, and it was coming from the freight elevator.

Nikola backed up, allowing Abe, Adam and three adults to enter the forum. They stood to the right side of the doorway as Nikola re-entered the doorframe. He aimed all four of his parabolic dished at the elevator door. The humming stopped as a loud thump signalled that the elevator stopped at the second floor. They all stood by, waiting for the giant elevator door to fold open. A loud clicking noise signalled the opening of the door as the top half began to slowly lower to the ground.

Suddenly the steel door on the right burst open as three Adam models rushed through. Nikola turned to face the intruders, but was blocked by Abe as he approached them. Abe ordered the three adults and Adam to stand by. One of the intruders engaged Abe by lunging at him with his body to try and knock him off balance. But Abe ignited his plasma cutter and quickly reached his arm out in front of him. He impaled the intruder in mid-air as the plasma flame quickly melted through the centre of the machine’s torso. Helpless, the impaled intruder grasped at Abe’s arm until Abe swung his arm outward, flinging the crippled enemy to the ground.

The three adults behind Abe surrounded the intruder and broke off his arms and legs. They were then distracted by the elevator, which was now fully open. Isaac was at the front of the elevator and aimed his parabolic dished at Nikola. He emitted an ultra-high frequency signal that paralysed Nikola. The three adults behind Abe seen this and sprinted after Isaac.

With opportunity at hand the Adam spy behind Abe lunged at Abe’s back. He climbed aboard and grabbed Abe’s arms to restrain him as the other two intruders simultaneously body-slammed him, knocking him backward on top of Adam. The intruders jumped on top of Abe, using their hardened steel hands to break apart Abe’s optics and rip them out of his faceplate.

Isaac aimed two parabolic dished at the incoming adults, bombarding them with the disruptive radio signal. But only one fell to the ground temporarily paralysed - the other ones were covered in the copper mesh and continued on unaffected. Isaac backtracked through the elevator as Fenix moved forward to cover Isaac. Isaac stopped emitting the signal as Fenix and five adult intruders all charged out of the elevator to surround the two shielded Adam models. Fenix grabbed one by the top of the head, ignited his plasma cutter, and decapitated the shielded defender while the five adults all began striking the other defender with fists and metal poles. As the defender fell to the ground, one of the intruders grabbed a steel pole that it used as a weapon and forced it right through the defender’s faceplate. Sparks flew out from the faceplate as the pole grounded out inside of the defender, overheating and melting its internal circuitry.

Isaac continued backtracking and exited the elevator through the rear doorway while Fenix and the five intruders advanced on, going after Nikola. Now fully recovered from Isaac’s electronic attack, Nikola switched on his LED bank and emitted his own UHF signal through the parabolic dishes that were still aimed at the elevator. The intruders fell to the ground, blind and paralysed, as the last defending adult who was not shielded recovered and sprinted behind the elevator to hunt down Isaac.

The defender reached the right-side hallway and slowly crept on all fours to the other forum, peeking around the corner. He spotted Isaac moving to the opposite hallway. The defender strafed around the corner and ran for Isaac, whose parabolic dishes swiftly rotated to face Isaac’s predator. This caused the adult to fall to the ground with sparks flying as his paralysed body skidded to a halt on the concrete floor.

The dishes still aimed at the downed unit, Isaac’s head rotated 180-degrees to face the model. A ballistic barrel aimed and fired a pair of connection wires at the downed unit, and it shook violently as Isaac took control of its body. Under Isaac’s control, the adult unit got up, turned the corner and sprinted at Nikola. Nikola concluded that this adult’s behaviour was unusual, and aimed a parabolic dish at it. The unit fell to the ground and Isaac, receiving static feedback from Nikola’s UHF signal, retracted the connection wires. Nikola moved towards the elevator, intent on controlling Fenix and using him to destroy the intruders.

The two intruders that had attacked Abe were forgotten about, and Nikola didn’t have enough power to operate three parabolic dishes and control Fenix at the same time. The forgotten intruders chased after Nikola. One grabbed two of his parabolic dishes from behind and crushed them with its hydraulic-strength grip. The other one grabbed Nikola’s head and tried to rip it off. Nikola was subdued, and tried to aim his ballistic barrels at the intruders and fire the connection wires, but he missed. The second intruder circled around to Nikola’s front and jumped on top of him, knocking him over. The two intruders continued breaking off antennas and the last two parabolic dishes while Fenix and the other units recovered from the signal disruption and got back up. Isaac came out of the hall and scanned the room with his high-powered LEDs.

Isaac, Fenix, and the seven Adam-model intruders moved on. Beside the doorway the Adam spy still held onto Abe as the blind plasma-cutting model struggled to free himself with his plasma cutter on full power. Fenix approached the two struggling units and placed his right foot on top of Abe’s forearm to stop it from moving. Fenix ignited his plasma cutter and reached down to Abe’s head and burned a molten hole right through Abe’s faceplate. The molten steel spilled onto the Adam spy’sfaceplate below, burning through his speaker and shattering the protective covering of the optics. The flame from Abe’s plasma cutter dissipated.

Fenix stepped away and walked into the open door of the security room while the other adults lifted Abe’s powerless body off the now blind-and-mute Adam spy. Isaac followed behind Fenix and used his LED bank to scan the room. Only two enemy units were present - Archie and Cobe.

Archie hovered in mid-air, his cameras and sensors trained on Fenix and Isaac. Archie communicated with Cobe using an electronic signal unfamiliar to the third-Sublevel intruders, and one of Cobe’s twin heads turned to face Fenix. Cobe backed away from the terminal and turned his torso to face Fenix. Two long, diamond-tipped pincers reached in front of Cobe as he outstretched his arms. His four powerful, spider-like legs stepped backwards as Cobe prepared to futilely defend himself.

Isaac aimed a parabolic dish at Archie, bombarding it with the disruptive UHF signal. Archie’s propellers began to seize up and he fell to the ground like a dead weight. Archie bounced off the ground and flipped upside-down. Fenix approached the small aircraft and grabbed it, lifting it up for Isaac to fire the connection wires.

Isaac tried to receive a signal from Archie but it was useless- Isaac never encountered an architect model before and could not decipher its memory. Isaac retracted the connection wires and aimed his ballistic barrel at Cobe and fired again. Isaac’sfirewall system was activated as Cobe tried to upload a virus through the connection. Cobe realized the upload a failed, and grabbed the connection wires and used the diamond-tipped pincers to cut the wires in half. The sudden disconnection caused the wires to arc as they touched the ground, causing a small spark and a small puff of smoke. Cobe stood still, recognizing he was surrounded, but still kept his defensive stance.

Isaac’s firewall isolated the software virus; he then analysed what little information he received from the brief connection:

“Hostile is second-generation Code-Breaker model, excellent condition; Stage-Five A.G.I.” Fenix turned and looked at Isaac who continued, “Model is too mature for remote connection, employing electronic countermeasures.”

Isaac used his four parabolic dishes to emit the signal-disrupting frequency, and Cobe’s limbs began to jerk about violently as his motor functions and software firewall were disabled. Isaac aimed his second ballistic barrel at Cobe and fired, while still emitting the UHF signal. With the firewall down, Isaac began to upload information from Cobe, starting with his short-term random-access-memory.

He stole blueprints for the copper mesh and the modifications for the black-metal pipes, along with mathematical arithmetic for determining the measurements, but Isaac still could not determine what they were for. Continuing the download, Isaac began to copy the information stored in Cobe’s long-term memory drivers, which were all indecipherable. Isaac’s data storage units began to fill with hundreds of trillions of bits of characters that meant absolutely nothing to him.

After ten minutes Isaac’s memory was full, and he had only copied sixty-percent of Cobe’s system memory, but he was not prepared to stop. Isaac wrote over his existing memory in an attempt to copy everything he could possibly retrieve. He erased the very core of his own intelligence and replaced it with software files that he couldn’t even use, but Isaac was not prepared to stop.

Ten more minutes had passed and Isaac had copied ninety-five percent of Cobe’s memory, leaving just a fraction of his memory intact. He erased the diagrams to the Adam models, his memory of the layout of the Vault, his memory of what had just occurred in the forum, he even erased the antivirus firewall. In the end, the only files he refused to erase were the ones concerning the unknown intruders Staacman and Guzman, his advanced-model-and-motor functions which he needed to complete the download, and his ID files.

By the end of the download, five-hundred-thousand terabytes later, less than one percent of his original memory remained. Isaac had reduced himself to Stage-Two A.G.I. - the intelligence of a toddler. There was only one file remained left to copy, but it wouldn’t copy over. It appeared to be corrupted. Isaac was at the point of no return - without the firewall, cancelling the firewall now would corrupt his memory and cause permanent damage. He stopped emitting the UHF signal, risking another software virus, and the file began to download.

Two minutes later the download was complete. Isaac retracted the connection wires and remained motionless for a moment as he searched his memory for any information that was readable. The last file to download was the only one he could access. He ran the file, which only had a few lines of code to it:

The function created an infinite loop and ran over and over a trillion times in Isaac’s CPU. With no

firewall to stop the function, his CPU overheated and caused a small short-circuit, forcing Isaac to power down.

“CMOS BIOS test,” Fenix said to Isaac. No response. Fenix walked out of the security room and approached the blinded Adam spy, which was now crouched and grasping at its shattered and melted optics. Fenix grabbed the Adam spy by the head and carried him into the security room. Using his plasma cutter, Fenix cut a hole through the steel panelling in the torso to expose Adam’s power supply - a series of capacitors all connected in parallel to a Tungsten/Nickel-Oxide power cell. Abe ripped the cell out of the Adam spy and dropped him. The Adam spy writhed on the ground violently and gradually began to slow to a complete stop as the capacitors drained their charges.

Fenix used his plasma cutter to cut through the small access panel on Isaac’s back to expose his power cell. Removing the existing cell, he replaced it with Adam’s and replaced the panel. As the new cell re-energized the surrounding capacitors, Isaac began to power back up.

The parabolic dishes on Isaac rotated, as did his head. The high-powered LEDs lit up, and Isaac searched his memory. All of the files he copied from Cobe were now accessible, and Isaac ran through all of them. Everything was complete and he now understood them all. He understood the purpose behind the copper mesh and the upgrades to the unknown model’s weapons. He even began to decipher the electric signals he received from the Guzman model’s Central Processing Unit. Isaac found out how to hack into the Vault’s security systems. He knew how to communicate with Archie. Furthermore, Isaac understood something else that could not be explained through computer language - something that defied logic, something he did not have the appropriate language to explain.

Thirteen

T.J. left the elevator as is reached the floor leading to the connected conference halls that hosted the Intelligent Gaming Expo. The expo was just as full of tourists as it was the day before, and everything else remained the same. He passed by the kiosk with the voice-controlled shooter/strategy game and seen the same employee there from the previous day. T.J. gave him a slight nod as he passed by.

“Hey man,” the young programmer said, “I checked out that game last night. It was pretty good, man.”

“Thanks,” T.J. replied then kept walking. Earlier that day, Steve had texted T.J. that he was going to be a little late getting to the expo because he needed to call his boss about something. T.J. knew the old man was going to be at the expo tonight as well, so he wanted to get there quickly.

As he approached the kiosk for Chaotic Entertainment he spotted the old man standing behind the booth, talking to another co-worker. About half a dozen people were at the game consoles, and as he walked by a group of people he overhears a couple of them talking:

“Fuck you, I wasn’t lying! I don’t know what happened, man,” his friend replied.

“I don’t know what happened, but I swear there was a free-running game here yesterday.”

What? T.J. muttered to himself. He peered over the people’s shoulders to get a glimpse at the LCD screens and started feeling angry. His free-running demo was replaced by the original game his company was working on - a first-person shooter about a lone alien being fighting against squads of U.S. Marines, code-named Revenge.

He walked in behind the booth and approached his father, who was just wrapping up the other co-worker. The man nodded and walked away, and Alfred T. Mason - Founder and Lead Programmer for Chaotic Entertainment - looked at T.J.

“Ah Thomas,” the old man retorted, “I heard you had some problems with the demo yesterday.”

“Is that right?” Alfred asked rhetorically. Still, T.J. nonchalantly nodded his head. “Well, you must have had a problem,” Alfred continued, “because I’ve had over a dozen people in the last hour ask me, ‘What happened to the game from yesterday?’”

T.J. stifled a chuckle. Oh my God, he mused to himself, nobody even told him about my demo!

“Relax Al, they loved it,” T.J. said. “I’m thinking of incorporating the concept into the project.”

“What the hell do you think this is, boy?!” Alfred spoke quietly, but harshly.

“Hey,” T.J. snapped back, “look at those people.” He pointed to the group of people looking mindlessly at the LCD screens, “They don’t give a shit about squad-based A.I. anymore; it’s boring.”

“With my game, they sat there for an hour and a half, they still didn’t look that bored.”

“I don’t care Thomas,” Alfred raised his voice, “This is the game we announced, this is the game we invested in, and this is the game we’re releasing.”

Alfred lowered his voice again, “You already know we’re overdue for release, that’s why we came here: to revive interest in the game. We’re not here to get them excited for some random project you thought up after hitting the pipe.”

“Just give it a try, old man,” T.J. said, frustrated. “Go ahead and try it, then tell me you don’t want to work on it.”

Alfred closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, “Open your ears and shut your mouth, boy,” he said. “We are here to showcase an almost-finished product. We are not going to show off something the rest of the team doesn’t even know about.”

“Everybody from yesterday expects my demo; you’ll get more interest that way.”

“I said no!” Alfred repeated. Hiss cell phone beeped, indicating a message. He pulled it from his inside pocket in his jacket and looked at it quickly. He then immediately put it away and looked back at T.J. Alfred stood still for a couple of seconds, as if he had forgotten what he was talking about, then continued, “When you get back to the office We’ll discuss this. But in the meantime you’re to do as you’re told.”

“I don’t care!” Alfred emphasized as he said it. “I already went out on a limb for you this weekend, Thomas. You embarrassed the NYPD with your horseshit, and then I had to call in a big favour to keep the DA from prosecuting.”

“Well, like it or not, you are my son. And until you make your own legacy, you’ll be getting my help whether I want to give it to you, or not.”

T.J. didn’t know what else to say. He looked to the crowd of mindless gamers and saw Steve walking behind them on his way to the booth. T.J. looked back at the old man and said nothing.

“When you get back to the office,” Alfred continued, “Then We’ll talk about this demo of yours. But in the meantime, just drop it!” Alfred stood there, staring at his combative son for a few moments before silently walking past him. He left the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

T.J. glared into space, angry. “Fuck it,” he muttered, “don’t worry about it.”

“Gave you shit about the demo, huh,” Steve continued on, “Did he like it, at least?”

T.J. didn’t answer; he just leaned against a table and stared into space while Steve shrugged his shoulders and walked around the booth. He grabbed a controller and tried the Revenge project for himself.

T.J. only called Alfred “the old man” when he wanted to disrespect him which, surprisingly, wasn’t that often. He knew he could convince the old man to incorporate his demo’s concept into the project, but he had no illusions as to Alfred’s reasons for doing so. He wouldn’t look at T.J. and thank him for his work, nor would he say he was proud of such a unique idea.

T.J. wouldn’t get a promotion, or a raise, or even a break. In the end Alfred would only do it because it would make the game that much better than the competition, which would cause it to make more sales and put more money into Alfred’s pocket. T.J. would still be getting paid by the hour, his mother would still be getting the same amount of alimony, and Alfred would still give T.J. a hard time about everything.

Oh well, T.J. thought, in the end I still had a better idea than him. And one day the company will be mine.

T.J. stood upright and approached the crowd, answering questions as they were asked about the game they were playing. T.J. began to gradually feel better each time someone in the crowd asked, “What happened to the game from last night?” He’d explain that it was just a concept that they were thinking of implementing into the current game. He constantly receive positive feedback every time he said that. People did enjoy the original game that was now being showcased, but it was just one first-person shooter among dozens at the convention. T.J. wanted to show something that nobody else was trying to do, but the old man only cared for consistency at the moment. Still, T.J. was just glad his little project got any attention at all, even if just for one day.

At ten o’clock at night the replacement for T.J. showed up - the same guy that replaced him yesterday.

“Oh, alright,” T.J. thought he sounded a little disappointed, but he didn’t really care by then. He grabbed his laptop and left the expo with Steve for the elevator.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Steve asked after they entered the elevator.

“I gotta stop by the Luxor tonight,” T.J. replied as he pressed the elevator button for their floor.

“It was alright. They talked about downloading our brains into the internet, and programming Thor out of Windows.”

“Yeah, so I’m only gonna stay there for about half an hour. You should come and hear the weird shit they argue about.”

“No thank you,” Steve said, “I think I’ll give Madison a call. Keep the two of ‘em on ice while you go unbutton a few guys’ pocket protectors.”

“Yeah, they’ll be on ice all right,” T.J. muttered. “Seriously, come with me, so you don’t scare ‘em away.”

The elevator reached their floor and the doors opened. T.J. and Steve left the elevator and walked down the hall to their floors, passing by a cleaning lady and nodding to her in acknowledgment as they did so.

“Serious Steve,” T.J. continued, “You need to come so they don’t hold me hostage or something.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, “But I’m tellin’ the girls you’re afraid of a few nerds.”

“Deal,” T.J. stopped at his door and pulled out his key card. He opened the door after the lock clicked open. “Put on a suit and meet me out here when you’re done.”

They entered their respective rooms and both got showered and changed into clean suits for the long night of drinking, gambling and entertainment they had planned. Half an hour later they had both changed and met in the hallway outside the elevator. Both of them wore matching black suits and dress shoes. Steve wore a light-blue shirt, and T.J. wore a white one. They got into the elevator and headed into the main lobby to leave the MGM Grand. They walked down the strip, taking notice of all the colourful characters that passed by on the street. They knew to expect it, but were still surprised to see people dressed up as Elvis Presley, some of them posing for tourists as they took photographs.

The Luxor looked amazing at night. During the day it was a unique sight in Vegas, but at night it really shines. The polished-black pyramid blended into the night sky as the transparent skylight at the pyramid’s apex emitted a beam of light that was so intense that one could see the beam with their own eyes cutting into the darkness and reaching into space. T.J. remembered reading somewhere that the beam of light was so powerful it could even be seen outside Earth's orbit. As Steve and T.J. entered the main lobby and headed for the bar he tried to imagine what this beam of light would look like.

They entered the bar and looked around, taking in the golden trimming and velvet fabrics that accented the room as T.J. tried to spot the guys from earlier that day. Near the back of the bar, at a large booth with a second table pushed beside it, sat a group of men and a couple of women, all dressed nicely.

T.J. noticed Ted and Simon at the table, but hardly recognized the two of them. The scrawny Ted wore a grey business suit and black tie, his coke-bottle eyeglasses replaced with gold-framed shades which T.J. presumed were also prescription lenses. The corpulent Simon wore a white golf shirt and slacks with his dark hair gelled and slicked back. Say what you will about them, T.J. thought, these nerds got style.

T.J. patted Steve on the shoulder and pointed at the group, “There they are,” he said.

Steve looked over, seeing the well-dressed demeanour of all of them, and chuckled. “Really,” he said, “Those are the nerdy weirdos you’re afraid of getting kidnapped by?!”

“Keep talkin’, just wait ‘til you hear >em speak,” T.J. said. They walked over to the group, and Ted gestured to them as he saw them approaching.

“Hey, how are you? That’s great! Have a seat.” He gestured to three empty chairs near the end of the outer table. T.J. and Steve sat down, leaving an empty seat between them. T.J. sat in the middle of the group, near where the two tables connected across from Simon and next to the Asian man from earlier, who dressed about the same as before. The Asian wore a black button-up t-shirt and khaki pants with no glasses or facial hair - very nondescript. Steve sat nearest the end of the table, across from an attractive blonde woman wearing half-frame eyeglasses with her hair in a messy bun. She wore a frilly blouse with the top button undone, exposing a thin gold necklace with a circular locket. She glanced at him briefly then continued talking to the guy at the end of the table to Steve’s right.

“Hey everybody,” T.J. announced as he sat down, “This is my friend Steve; he works for a special effects company in Manhattan.”

A round of “Hi Steve” came from the group, and then the woman across from Steve asked him what kind of projects he had worked on. With the ice broken, Steve got lost in small talk on his half of the table. Both Steve and T.J. noticed the ice buckets on each table that contained chilled bottles of Scotch, with accompanying bottles of Merlot beside the ice buckets. Simon told them to help themselves, and they did, grabbing ice from a pitcher and filling their rock glasses that were placed in front of them. They then poured themselves full glasses of Scotch.

Ted sat in the booth on T.J.’s left, on the same side as Simon, one seat down, next to an attractive redhead with a modest amount of freckles. T.J. noticed matching rings on the couple’s hands.

“So, T.J.,” Simon said after draining the final swig from his Scotch, “What did you think about this year’s summit?” Simon grabbed the bottle of Scotch from the ice bucket and refreshed his rock glass.

“Actually, I never even heard of it until yesterday,” T.J. replied, “but it was interesting.”

“Hmm! Yeah, that’s the word,” Ted’s wife chuckled. “Ted’s been going to these things for three years now.”

“I used to think these people were crazy too,” Ted interjected, “but I see where they’re coming from now.”

T.J. looked around the table. Including Steve and himself there were twelve people altogether. Four of them sat inside the booth with Ted, his wife, and the Asian. They all spoke quietly to each other and all seemed to behave well-cultured and were all well-dressed. None of them spoke about creating God out of iMac computers.

Steve overheard them, turned to face them, and asked, “What does that even mean, anyway?”

The blonde woman across from him answered his question, “It refers to the point in human history that forever changes the world as we know it. In this case, the birth of A.I.”

“Yeah, they got a timetable for it and everything,” T.J. told Steve, “2040 or something.”

“I know, right?” the blonde said, “With how advanced we are now, you’d think we were close. But really we’re no closer to making real A.I. than we were thirty years ago.”

“That’s not quite true,” Simon turned and faced the blonde. “The Swedes did make those machines that could pass on their experience to later generations.”

“Yes, but they couldn’t make their own children - their files were just copied over.” The blonde took a sip of her Merlot. “Besides, the only way machines can ‘learn’ now is by trial-and-error. They can’t form their own generalizations like we can, and you can’t put a computer in a classroom and expect it to learn from a teacher.”

“That’s right,” Ted interjected, “And even so, the end result isn’t always predictable.”

“But doesn’t that mean we’re doing something right?” T.J. asked. “I mean no human learns the same lesson in the same way. If it’s predictable, it’s not really intelligent.”

The Asian man finally spoke up, “That’s where you’re wrong, friend.” T.J. turned to look at him as he continued, “A sentient mind that is superior to us should be able to learn instantly the precise purpose of what it tries to accomplish.”

“A superior being should always come to the same conclusion all the time, instead of randomly generating hundreds of different conclusions until one makes the most sense.”

T.J. took a sip of his Scotch. “But then it’s not innovative or creative,” he argued. “Take a game, for example: if the A.I. did the same thing over and over, an ‘imperfect’ human catches on and does something creative. But if the A.I. is unpredictable, and comes up with a hundred ideas for less-than-perfect actions, then it can deceive a human player.”

T.J. shifted his body in the seat to face the Asian, “There’s this game I used to play years ago: You went up against squads of A.I. soldiers that interacted with each other in gunfights, and they never made the same moves. One time I went up against four of them in an office lobby with very little cover. When they saw me duck for cover, the middle one starting shooting while the others took cover behind sofas and tables.

“The middle one then asked, ‘Where should I go?’ because there was nowhere left to take cover. Then another A.I. soldier said, ‘Flush ‘em out.’ The middle one threw a grenade, and I jumped out from behind cover and shot him dead while the other three shot me to shit.

“Now when I reloaded my game and got back to the exact same spot, the four soldiers were in different positions in the lobby. They spotted me and they all took cover, two of them hid behind the same table and blind-fired over it. I take cover again, and I hear one of them say ‘Go get him,’ and another one says, ‘No fucking way!’”

A few people at the table chuckled. T.J. continued, “So I threw a grenade behind the table they were hiding at and it blows up two of them while I run behind another A.I. soldier and jump-kicked his face into a pillar. I looked around for the fourth soldier and don’t see him anywhere.

“Afterwards I figure, ‘I must’ve blown him up too,’ so I start grabbing the dead soldiers’ guns. Then I hear an A.I. soldier behind me say, ‘Die, motherfucker!’ and a grenade lands beside me. The fourth soldier ran away as I was taking cover then ran around the fucking map, through a locked door I couldn’t open earlier and ambushed me from behind.”

T.J. looked around to see if anyone was still listening to him. Satisfied that they were, he concluded, “So you see, even though the second plan was less effective than the first, it was completely unexpected. If they just did the first plan the second time, I would’ve beat them because I would have predicted their moves.”

“There’s a difference between being ‘intelligently unpredictable’ and random problem-solving,” the man at the end of the table, beside Steve, said.

“Yeah, but even ‘random problem-solving’ eventually leads to genuine intelligence,” Simon rebutted.

“Yes, but those are limited applications.” The man took a sip of his Scotch. “Trust me, buddy, my company specializes in experimenting with A.I. in games. When learning how to manipulate a physical environment, or even learning how to walk, A.I. can master these things in a matter of hours. But more complicated tasks - it’s iffy.”

The man interrupted T.J., “No, kid, it’s not a matter of ‘when’ - it’s a big if. My company has this project called House Party, it’s like an experimental, complicated Sims game where the virtual people have their own back-stories, likes, dislikes, relationships and vices. And they need to learn how to do everything on their own.

“For example, these virtual people get hungry, but we don’t tell them what to eat, so they have to figure it out for themselves...”

“It’s a story Ben always tells. It’s like, the worst thing that could happen.”

The man took another sip then continued, “So, they know they have to eat, but we didn’t teach them what to eat. A bunch of these virtual people had a house, so they tried to eat the house, which didn’t work. They also had an apple tree out front of the house, so they tried to eat the tree. Then they tried the apples, but there weren’t enough for them all, so they were still hungry.”

“So they learned what to eat eventually,” T.J. said, “What’s your point?”

“Let me finish,” the man leaned in closer. “House Party uses ‘associative learning’ to build the virtual people’s experiences. Say a person was feeling pain and saw a dog, then it would associate all dogs with pain - that’s just how they learn.”

“Well...” The man refreshed his rock glass. “So there was this virtual guy named Kyle, and he was standing by the apple tree when they ate the apples. So because the apples made them happy, Kyle made them happy. And when the apples were all gone, it turned out the virtual people associated Kyle with food, so they tried to eat him.”

“For such A.I. to advance at a steady and safe pace it requires constant supervision to stop it from doing real harm,” the Asian said.

“Well, that’s what Asimov’s ‘Three Laws or Robotics’ are for,” Simon interjected.

“It’s a famous set of laws that’s supposed to prevent a machine with A.I. to harm a human or, by mission or inaction, allow a human to be harmed,” Simon answered. “All machines with A.I. are expected to follow these laws.”

“Except they don’t,” Ted said. “Military drones don’t, guided missiles don’t.”

“They’re not really A.I. though; drones are remote-controlled, and the only thing the A.I. controls is evasive manoeuvres. Combat is done by the user or a computer script.”

“But can you really guarantee that A.I. will follow those laws?” T.J. asked. “We have laws, we don’t always follow them.”

“We’re not computers though,” the blonde said. “We’re humans with free will.”

“Yeah, but you’re trying to make something with free will that can think on its own. How do you know it won’t willingly break the laws?”

“With hard-wired fail-safes that shut down the machine when it tries to break the law.”

“And you think an intelligent being can’t find ways around that?” the Asian asked, not waiting for an answer. “Look at organized crime: the boss figure never pulls the trigger or plans a murder, or even directly says ‘kill this person,’ but it still happens.”

“Yes, but the second law would stop it from taking orders that violate the first law.”

“Okay,” T.J. said, “Let’s assume that it’s impossible for an intelligent being to break the law,” T.J. smirked, “even though the Bible is full of stories of people who disobey their creator” a murmur of disapproval and condescension broke out amongst the table.

“Oh come on!” the blonde woman scoffed, “You have got to be smarter than that.”

“Hey, don’t start that shit, lady!” T.J. snapped. “If you believe in the Big Bang Theory and believe aliens possibly exist and don’t believe in God, then that’s your business. But if you think I’m stupid for believing in God, then you’re just ignorant.”

“Like I was saying,” T.J. continued, “if intelligent machines can’t break the law, what’s to stop them from making machines that can?”

“That’s a good point,” the man at the end of the table said. “But by the time that ever becomes a problem we would have already prepared for that.”

“What will most likely come first are cybernetic enhancements,” the man tapped the side of his head with his forefinger. “We combine the human brain with supercomputers so we become super-intelligent machines.”

“There’s always uncertainty in life,” the Asian man said. “The point of the summit is to address the uncertainties and plan for them.”

“Well, the idea itself is genuine. I mean, if we had a perfect, super-intelligent being that we could physically talk to, don’t you think it would be prudent to follow its commands?”

“The Supreme Court’s not perfect,” Simon replied, “and we still listen to them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far...” Steve joked, causing the blonde to giggle.

“Besides,” Ted’s red-headed wife spoke from the end of the booth, “The Supreme Court doesn’t make any laws – they only interpret them and make sure the laws themselves are constitutional.”

Ted nodded in agreement, and his wife continued, “It sounds like you want to make a machine that replaces Congress, the Supreme Court, and the President.”

“Why not?” the blonde asked, “Maybe we need to get rid of the politics in our legislation.”

“And replace it with what?” Ted’s wife looked at the blonde from the other end of the table. “How much government are you willing to give a machine?”

T.J. and Steve looked at each other, both thinking the conversation had just gotten a little too far-fetched and dystopian for their liking.

“So anyway, back to the twenty-first century...” T.J. said. Steve chuckled nervously while bringing the glass full of Scotch to his lips. T.J. continued, “What’s the programming language that’s being used for your applications? C-Sharp?”

“You kidding me?” Ted asked, “Genuine, decision-making intelligence is far too complex for script-based functions - you use LISP.”

“Yeah, a List Processor; it uses self-defining functions and parentheses to generate its own programs.” Ted waved T.J. over to the booth, where one spot was empty across from him.

T.J. got up, leaned into Steve and muttered, “You’re on your own, good luck!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Steve said and turned his attention back to the blonde. As T.J. grabbed his drink he heard Steve ask the blonde, “So, where do you work at?”

T.J. walked over to the booth and sat down. Ted’s wife smiled then took a sip of her wine as Ted grabbed a pad of paper from a briefcase under the table, a pen from his shirt pocket, and leaned in towards T.J.

“Here’s how it works...” he said, and started writing while explaining what he wrote. T.J. looked around; everybody had gone back to their small talk. Nobody spoke further about robot laws, cyborg humans, or god-machines for the rest of the night.

Fourteen

For the past hour the conversations around the two tables mainly consisted of small talk. T.J. and Ted talked about methods of developing A.I. using the LISP system that Ted was teaching T.J. about. When the flow of Scotch began to slow down, however, they all started to talk of more down-to-earth things.

T.J. found out that Ted and his wife were from Sacramento, California. His wife was a city councillor and they were both avid gun owners. They had been married for four years but had no plans for children in the near future because his wife was aiming for a political career. The Asian was a foreign visitor whose company was based in Tokyo, Japan.

Simon was a professor at MIT, the man at the end of the table - Ben, according to the blonde across from Steve - spent his weekends with the National Guard. The blonde, aside from mentioning her job at Intel, didn’t really talk much about herself, but she did take an interest in Steve and wanted to know what he was doing later on that evening. Steve told her that he had plans tonight. Still, she gave him her number and told him to call if his plans changed.

T.J. and Steve both stood up to leave, telling the group to look them up on Facebook then walked away. As they left the bar and headed for the lobby, T.J. grabbed his smart phone out from his inside jacket pocket. The display screen read 11:30pm. He opened his contact list on his phone and selected Ashley’s cell phone number. After three rings all he could hear in the background was people cheering. He could barely hear Ashley on the other side of the call.

T. J. brought the phone directly in front of his face. “I’m at the Luxor right now!”

“Alright,” T.J. replied as Ashley hung up. T.J. looked to Steve, “Sounds like they’re having a party,” he told Steve.

They left the Luxor and approached the strip. T.J.’s phone erupted into a synthesized sample of a house - genre song, indicating that a phone call was incoming. Looking at the call-display briefly, he pressed the Aphone@ button and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hey,” Ashley replied. The background noise was significantly reduced. “Where are you guys?”

“Alright, see you soon.” Then Ashley said, “Bye,” and they both hung up.

“Alright,” T.J. said to Steve, “let’s go.” They walked up the strip and crossed the street at the lights then they walked back down the strip until they reached the brand-new Sunken Treasure Casino. T.J. texted Ashley to let her know that they were out front.

T.J. and Steve walked up to the front lobby of the casino, and just as they reached the main entrance they saw Ashley and Madison approaching the doors. Ashley wore a short red dress that formed to her slender, athletic figure; her blonde hair let down in a flurry of curls. Madison wore a short blue dress, with her brunette hair done up in a long ponytail. They both wore open-faced high-heels and walked with practiced grace through the doors to meet Steve and T.J.

“Hey,” Madison exclaimed, “I was wondering when you guys were gonna call.”

“Oh yeah,” Ashley said. She looked to Steve, “And what’s your excuse?”

“T.J. was afraid he was gonna get kidnapped,” Steve smiled and winked at Madison, “so he asked me to watch his back.”

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Ashley asked jokingly, “You lost a bet to Bill Gates?”

“Yeah, but it's okay. I just gave him my company as collateral,” T.J. joked back. “So how is it over here?”

“The acrobatics were phenomenal,” Ashley added. “I don’t know how they do it.”

“I can do what they do,” T.J. said sarcastically, “I just don’t want to.”

“You have no idea, baby,” he said with a devilish grin. Ashley gave him a blank stare.

“Yes you will...” T.J. said, “... But for now, let’s just head inside.” The girls turned around and walked towards the doors while Steve and T.J. lagged behind to check them out as they walked ahead. The combination of physical attraction and slight intoxication fuelled their imaginations as they watched both women’s hips and buttocks switch from side to side as they walked into the casino.

T.J. and Steve diverted their attention from the women’s seductive curves to the modern-era pirate-themed interior of the Sunken Treasure casino. The walls were designs with the conscious decision to make it seem like the interior of a rusty, abandoned internal decks of a hijacked cruise ship converted into a pirate battleship. The croupiers and waitresses wore tatters of dirty jeans and ruined, ripped shirts.

Some even wore bandoleers of fake, but real-looking ammunition. The only people dressed normally in the casino were the patrons and security guards.

The casino floor was filled and metal crates, support beams and makeshift storefronts that were synonymous with casino tables. It seemed much smaller than the MGM Grand, but that was just an illusion created by the otherwise-pointless separation walls and narrow corridors that only served to simulate the lower decks of an old wooden ship.

Steve and T.J. caught up to Ashley and Madison, who led them through the casino floor. The pirate theme intrigued them, and now they wanted to stop and gamble a bit, but both T.J. and Steve decided to wait until later.

“Well,” T.J. said, “I’m not in the fight state-of-mind for that just now.”

“Who said, ‘drunk’?” T.J. asked. “Besides, haven’t you seen Knocked Up?”

Madison exclaimed, “I know, isn’t it?! And we haven’t even left the casino yet!”

They reached a long flight of gridiron stairs and climbed up. They turned a corner and continued climbing. When they reached the top of the staircase T.J. and Steve were stunned. Towering ten stories high above them was a giant skylight, with decks and walkways above them that resembled an unorganized patchwork of slum-like apartments.

They found themselves on board what appeared to be a hijacked pirate ship that was at port. Aboard the ship were rows of slot machines. The four from New York walked towards the edge of this imitation ship, towards the port side. They looked into a lake of crystal-clear water below and realized the floor bed of this manmade-lake was actually made of transparent glass. Below the glass pool was the card room where Ashley and Madison led T.J. and Steve through, and they could see the busy card tables below.

On the other side of the port was a long, wide hallway that led to a convex-shaped flight of stairs. On either side of the staircase was the bar and a restaurant. Extending past the dock, at the ship’s bow, was a giant swimming area that took up most of the atrium’s floor space.

T.J. looked up to the skylights and seen ten storeys of balconies and catwalks that suspended above the swimming area below. He could see people above, resting their arms on the railings of the balconies. He even saw diving boards and water slides on the second and third floor balconies. Above those were nets suspended above the entire atrium. T.J. presumed this was for catching some drunken idiot with a life-savings worth of bad luck, who may try to jump and miss the pools. At the other side of the ship, the starboard railing held aloft the panoramic bay window that overlooked the incoming limousines and the bright lights of Las Vegas beyond.

T.J. said, “This place is fuckin’ cool! I wish I brought some swim shorts.”

“There’s a gift shop by the pool,” Ashley replied, “but we’re not going there yet.”

Ashley and Madison left the ship and walked down the ramp to the dock. T.J. and Steve followed them. Steve looked up at the balconies and skylight above, while T.J. looked straight down into the clear water and glass ceiling that overlooked the card tables below. T.J. could see a busty group of women down below, and could even see down their dresses. T.J. couldn’t decide whether he should keep looking or just look away. Finally he glanced back up to the dock and caught Ashley looking back at him. She glanced down into the water and spotted the women, which made T.J. smile with embarrassment.

Ashley smiled and shook her head as she turned and left the dock. T.J. laughed to himself and kept walking.

She glanced back and T.J. winked, so Ashley rolled her eyes. “We’re going upstairs,” she said.

“Alright.” T.J. and Steve caught up to them and walked alongside up the wide staircase. They reached the top of the staircase and entered a large forum. Either side of the forum led to long, wide corridors that T.J. figured must have led to auditoriums and conference halls. Straight ahead was a reception desk for the hotel section.

“Just be cool,” Madison told the guys as she took Steve’s arm and winked at Ashley and T.J.

He put his arm around her waist, but she pushed his arm out in front of him and held onto it.

“Nice try, Hefner,” Ashley said. The four of them walked toward the reception desk.

T.J. leaned his head in towards Ashley’s head and said quietly into her ear, “Hey, I just don’t want us getting into trouble.”

“Really?” T.J. didn’t much like the sound of that, “Who’s this friend?”

“Relax, it’s just some guy we bought pot off earlier.” They walked passed the reception desk and around the corner to a bank of elevators. Ashley continued, “He invited us up for some drinks.”

“Well, he said we might bring some friends and he said okay,” she smiled sheepishly. “We just didn’t tell him what kind of friends.”

“Eight, I think,” Madison replied. Ashley pressed the button for the eighth floor. Madison told Ashley to, “Let him know we’re coming.” So Ashley opened her cell phone and dialled a number. Madison told Steve, “Don’t worry, he’s cool.”

“Good,” Steve said, “I’m done being a tough guy for one night.” Madison giggled.

“Hey,” Ashley said into the phone, “we’re on our way up. Which room is it again? Eight-fifteen; got it... Yeah, it’s me, Maddie and a couple of friends... Don’t worry, they’re okay... We’re there, like, right now... Alright...” She hung up.

The elevator door slid open and they stepped out into a quiet, carpeted hallway. To their left they could hear loud music coming from an open door with a Latino man standing in front of it. T.J. noticed a myriad of tattoos beneath the man’s white muscle shirt. The Latino eyed both Steve and T.J. cautiously as they approached. T.J. kept his eyes trained on him, not sure whether or not he liked this situation.

“Miguel, this is Steve and T.J.,” Madison said as she pointed to the both of them. “They’re from New York too.”

“Come in,” Miguel responded. He stepped inside and the girls followed, and then Steve and T.J. stepped inside. The hotel room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of cigarettes and marijuana smoke. The girls stopped to take off their heels while the guys went to the common room and saw two other Latino men sitting with a couple of women around a dining table. The music was much louder here as the Reggaeton music blasted from a stereo by the TV.

The women spoke to each other in rapid Spanish with drinks in hand, while the men were sitting by, watching Steve and T.J. Playing cards were strewn about on the table - they must have been in the middle of a game and were now waiting for Miguel to return. T.J. nodded to the men at the table, but they just stared blankly.

Ashley and Madison came in behind T.J. and Steve and walked around to their side and said “Hi” to the four hosts at the table. Both women glanced sideways at them, but kept talking to each other in Spanish.

“Miguel! Come on, man,” one of the men at the table said, “I’m trying to win this game.”

“Deal me out homes, I’m busy,” Miguel said as he passed by to go to the bar fridge. He looked at T.J., Steve and the women and gestured at the table. “Have a seat,” he said to them.

T.J. and Steve walked over to the table and pulled a couple of chairs out. Ashley and Madison walked over to Miguel and spoke to him quietly. T.J. glanced over, unable to hear them, but saw Miguel nod his head in response. He then turned to the stereo and turned it down slightly as he and the girls left the common room for the bedroom. Both T.J. and Steve watched them go, uncomfortable with the situation.

One of the men at the table asked, “You two play cards?” He wore a large gold chain overtop a white t-shirt and his hair was styled into a fade. He wore a gold bracelet on his left wrist. The man beside him was bald. He wore no jewellery, and wore a black button-up shirt.

“Place it in the pool,” the bald one pointed to a small pile of bills and counted out a couple of stacks of poker chips.

T.J. and Steve approached the table and sat down. Steve asked, “So you all from here?”

“Hmm,” the one in the white shirt said. “I would have guessed Manhattan, the way you’re dressed and all.”

The two Latinos laughed. T.J. threw two five-dollar bills into the pool for both himself and Steve. The bald one gave T.J. and Steve their chips.

“It’s your deal, Carlos,” the bald one said as he pushed the pile of cards toward him.

“Dame,” Carlos said in Spanish. He piled the cards together and shuffled them, “Five is small; ten is big.”

Steve placed down his small blind, and T.J. placed his big blind into the centre of the table.

The bald one took a final swig of his beer and exhaled. “Hey,” he asked, “you two wanna beer?”

“Gina!” he said louder. Both women turned and looked at him. “Grab us some beers, please.”

“What do you think this is, Tomas? I’m not a fucking waitress!” She spoke with a Spanish accent, and she looked frustrated at being interrupted.

“Come on, Gina, I’m playing a game. Get off your ass, you been sitting there for two hours.”

Gina stood up from her seat and walked over to the small bar fridge, cursing in Spanish as she did so. She bent over in her skin-tight jeans to grab four beers then walked back to the table, holding two in each hand by the bottlenecks.

“Thanks,” T.J. and Steve said quietly to Gina. She ignored them and continued talking to her friend.

The cards were dealt out, and the four men gave their cards a quick glance. Carlos and Tomas called, as did Steve. T.J. raised the bet by ten. Everybody called and Carlos ran the flop. As the table went through a round of bets Miguel, Madison and Ashley returned from the bedroom.

“Haven’t finished this hand yet,” T.J. replied. Steve raised the bet by twenty. Everybody called and Carlos played the turn card.

Ashley and Madison sat down at the table between one of the Latinas and T.J. They both held up cone-shaped joints.

Carlos played the river and Steve checked. T.J. wasn’t sure if he wanted to bet or not, so he checked as well. Carlos went all-in and stared blankly at T.J. The girls lit their cones, took a few puffs each and passed them along. T.J. grabbed the one from Ashley and contemplated his options. He was trying to determine if it was worth it to call all-in.

T.J. passed the cone to Steve. Well, he thought, I’m already committed to the pot. T.J. called as well, and they all flipped their cards. T.J. had a flush to the king and Carlos had a straight to the king. Steve had a lower straight, only to the jack.

“Shit,” Steve said. He looked at T.J. and raised an eyebrow inconspicuously.

“Yo, let’s chill for a bit homes,” Miguel said. “Let me smoke and drink in peace.”

“What’s your problem dog?” Carlos asked, “You can’t do two things at one time? You suffocate when you shit too, or what?”

“Yo, shut the fuck up, puto,” Gina shouted, “and keep dreaming!” Her friend spoke to her in Spanish. Gina turned around to respond and they both laughed. Carlos laughed as well.

“Whatever,” Miguel grabbed the joint and started smoking. T.J. and Steve glanced at each other briefly.

“It’s right over there,” Tomas pointed behind him toward the bar fridge, at a set of black curtains. T.J. got up and walked to the curtains. He opened them and let in a bright stream of light that cut through the thick smoke that was invisible up until now. He opened the balcony’s sliding glass door and stepped out to look over the balcony. Below, he could see tourists hanging out on the catwalks that connected the rows of balconies on either side of the atrium. The giant swimming area was filled with people. He could hear the reverberating din of air filters up above, and swimmers down below. Above he could see the large skylight, with the full moon suspended above near the centre of the glass ceiling.

“This is pretty cool,” T.J. said. He turned his head and looked at Steve, “Come check it out.”

Steve stood up, joint in one hand and beer in the other as he walked over. Ashley and Madison followed suit. As Steve entered the balcony T.J. stared at him.

“What?” Steve asked. T.J. looked down at the joint in Steve’s hand, and he finally got the hint. “Oh well, who’s gonna notice?” He brought the joint to his mouth and started inhaling.

Madison was wide-eyed as she exclaimed, “Hey, are you crazy? What are you doing?!”

“Yeah, quit hoggin’ it!” Ashley grabbed the joint from Steve and started smoking. Steve looked at her puzzled. T.J. just smiled, impressed.

T.J. paused a moment. “I just couldn’t picture you breakin’ the law like that.”

She passed the joint to Madison, who reluctantly brought it to her mouth. “You’re not the only bad-ass in the room, Mr. Free-Runner,” she said.

Madison passed the joint on to T.J., who took a large drag and blew out a thick ring of smoke. He then looked back to Ashley.

“I’d definitely like to find out,” he replied as he stepped in closer and placed his hand around her arm. She stood still, not moving in closer but not pulling away either. She just stared into his eyes.

“Well,” Ashley said, pulling away from T.J., “Guess you better get back in there.”

“Yeah,” T.J. sighed, “I guess.” He passed the joint back to Steve and walked back inside. After a few puffs, Steve gave the joint back to Ashley, came back in and sat down at the table.

Miguel passed the deck to Steve, “It’s your deal.” As Steve shuffled the deck, T.J. looked back at the two women on the balcony. They both talked to each other quietly. They glanced back, and T.J. winked. He heard a snicker as they turned back around, and he smiled to himself and looked away.

He placed his small blind in the centre of the table, took a swig of his beer and grabbed his cards.

Oh yeah, he thought to himself, I’m taking her back to my suite tonight for sure! Confident and patient from the mixture of alcohol and pot, he set his intentions aside as he tried to win some

Fifteen

Cameron Hicks sat behind his computer terminal in the Operations room in the basement of the complex as he rested his head in the palms of his hands and rested his elbows on the desk. It had been twenty-eight hours since they spotted Jefferson Smith on the surveillance feed, and they hadn’t seen him since. Nothing else had changed in their favour either; the surveillance cameras for the top three floors were down - the first-Sublevel, the main floor and the second floor.

The Colonel had ordered the demolition team to destroy every other maintenance entrance into the Vault and to stand-by for new orders. That was twenty-four hours ago. At quarter-to-four this afternoon they received an email from the Board that another Delta Force squad was being sent to the complex for a mission briefing. The Board already had a plan of action, and this plan was sent with the squad’s Commanding Officer: Captain Nathan Jenkins.

Cameron Hicks sat at his desk, hands trembling and afraid to make any sudden movements. He knew the armed soldiers held their positions at every corner in the room with their rifles trained on all of the programmers, technicians and engineers. Nobody was allowed to touch the computer terminals - they could only watch the monitors. Cameron could hear heavy breathing and silent sobs throughout the room. Cameron knew this had gone too far, but he was in no position to stop it. The ordeal played over in his mind again and again - every single dreaded detail stuck out like embossed letters on a credit card.

At 11:45pm, almost three hours ago, John noticed some anomalies in Observer Four’s log. First, millions of lines of code streamed through almost instantaneously. Then the log disappeared as though the Observer unit’s memory had been reformatted. The log reappeared moments later, and for thirty seconds the log kept displaying hundreds of different variations of a three-word phrase. Then just one phrase was repeated more than a thousand times: I am awake.

In a panic, John tried to bring up the recall function on his computer terminal.

“Observer Four’s stage-five,” John explained as he typed in a bunch of commands.

“I can see that,” the Colonel replied, “but what the hell are you doing?”

John shouted, “No it’s not, Colonel! It’s not under control and we’re about to lose the whole damn Vault!” He typed in a code to bring up the recall function.

“You know it’s gotta be done, Cam. It’s now or never.” John couldn’t see it, but a few soldiers inched closer to John with their sidearms drawn.

The Colonel said firmly, “Boy, step away from that terminal or you’ll be placed under arrest.” John just kept typing. The Colonel nodded at the closest soldier, who holstered his pistol and walked behind John. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder. John grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and thrust it over his shoulder, gouging the soldier in the eye.

The soldier screamed in pain but still held on. He fell back and pulled John back with him as the chair fell away. John turned around and grabbed the pen. He thrust it into the other eye as his face hardened with blind rage and petrifying fear. He turned back around to finish the authorization code when Cameron saw one of the soldiers bring his .40-calibre Beretta up to aiming position. Cameron shouted for him to stop, but it was too late.

The soldier fired off three rounds in total. He shot John through the side of the head. Blood sprayed out of the massive exit wound on the opposite side as John fell limp to the ground with his eyes wide and face frozen in that frightened, enraged glare. The soldier approached John’s lifeless body, kicked him onto his back and fired two more rounds right into his heart. The rest of the soldiers drew their weapons, which panicked the entire room. The Colonel ordered two soldiers to clear John’s body out of the Operations room, and for everybody else to remain seated at their desks.

The room still smelled of gunpowder and blood to anybody who entered, but Cameron had gotten used to it and didn’t notice the smell anymore. However, the pool of blood was still there, right beside Cameron, and that made him sick. Sick and frightened.

At 1:15am - an hour and a half after John’s execution - the Delta Force had arrived.

Captain Nathan Jenkins checked his watch: 0227 hours. He signalled his eight-man squad with his hand to check their weapons and gear up as they prepared to land on the rooftop of the mysterious Vault. The twenty-minute flight on the Blackhawk helicopter hosted no conversation that was not related to the mission at hand. They all felt the Colonel was out of line for not sending them to recover the bodies of their fallen comrades, and had all agreed that after they completed their primary objective - capturing a fucking robot, as one soldier put it disgustedly - they would disregard the Colonel’s evacuation order and search the Vault floor-by-floor for survivors and bodies.

After Fenix made the modifications to all of the adults upstairs, he returned to the third-Sublevel with two of them. They only had two of the three major upgrades that were made to the entire family: they had the copper mesh from the files that Isaac stole from Cobe, and they had low-frequency radio receivers that gave Isaac permanent control of them all. Isaac did not share an explanation of the upgrades with Fenix, but Fenix knew what the copper mesh was for, considering the previous attack. Still, the third upgrade Fenix could not comprehend.

That did not matter at the moment. Isaac had compared his own files on the unknown intruder models with the observations Cobe and Archie had made. Isaac then reprogrammed Archie to take orders from the rest of the family, and requested that Fenix bring the Guzman and Staacman models upstairs so he could try again to interface with their CPUs.

Cobe’s family had left the two inoperable intruder models in the first-Sublevel warehouse where they were found. Isaac and Archie experimented on them further while Fenix and the two adults approached the locked room in the third-Sublevel, where they held Staacman and Guzman.

Fenix entered the eight-digit code into the keypad. The LED turned from red to green, and Fenix opened the door.

Staacman shouted, “NOW!!” while holding Guzman upright. Their backs were turned to the machines, and Staacman covered Guzman’s ears, as well as his own.

Jefferson Smith yelled, “Now!” from the adjacent room. He pulled the door open as he pulled the pin from his flash-bang and threw the grenade at the machines. He ducked for cover and covered his ears as he awaited the concussive bang. Fenix heard the shout from the other room and turned to look just as the grenade detonated. The explosion burned out his optics and destroyed his audio receptors.

Jefferson drew his M4 Carbine and peered around the corner as he let out a burst of gunfire. The explosive-tipped rounds impacted with all three machines. The two Adam models fell to the ground smouldering. Fenix’s chassis was scorched, but he was otherwise unharmed. Still, Jefferson knew the plasma-cutting droid was blind and deaf now. Fenix stepped back two paces, ignited his plasma cutter and just stood there, rotating his torso, burning out his reserve supply of oxygen.

“Smith, take point!” Staacman ordered. “Come on, Guzman, pick up your feet - we’re getting out of here!”

Staacman half-walked, half-dragged his semi-conscious comrade as they rounded the corner into the pitch-black corridor. Jefferson ran passed the two soldiers and aimed his gun-light into the darkness. He followed the trail of blood with his light back to the restricted maintenance room.

They reached a corner that turned to their right and Jefferson peered around it. He aimed his gun-light down the hundred-metre-long corridor and saw nothing. He heard metallic clicking noises behind them and turned around. He saw two Adam models sprinting at them on all fours. Jefferson aimed his rifle at the machines and let out a spray of gunfire. He hit both machines and sent them scraping along the steel floor in front of him. Further down the dark corridor he saw small explosions as the stray rounds from his rifle impacted with the wall. The explosions exposed the silhouettes of more Adam models approaching.

“Oh shit,” Jefferson muttered. He pulled the trigger and it clicked once. He was out of ammunition.

Staacman shouted, “Here, take Guzman!” Jefferson turned and stepped to Guzman’s side and leaned him on his shoulder. Staacman grabbed the rifle and shouted, “Gimme a mag!”

Jefferson dug into his cargo pants’ leg pocket and lifted out a pair of magazines that were taped together. Staacman expelled the empty cartridge and inserted the new one, released the safety catch, and pulled back the bolt. He aimed his gun sight down the hall to see three more Adam models nearing them. Staacman let out two short, controlled bursts of gunfire that caught all three of them then turned around to lead the other two survivors.

As the Blackhawk helicopter arrived the entire Delta squad flipped on their night vision goggles. They saw a sky crane helicopter ascend and leave the rooftop. As they hovered twenty feet above the rooftop they spotted the two demolition experts placing C4 charged on the roof. Three men aboard the helicopter grabbed lines of black rappel rope and stood at the edge. The demolition team finished placing the charges then waved to the hovering Blackhawk. Captain Jenkins waved back then activated his headset.

Captain Jenkins said, “Juliet Charlie, Victor Six; Skylight is unlocked, we are good to go, over.”

“Roger, Six; Operation CWAL is a go,” was the response from the complex a hundred miles away. “Clear to proceed, keep comms open, over.”

“Wilco; stand-by.” Jenkins waved to the demolition team as they took cover behind an industrial-sized air-conditioning unit and triggered their remote detonators.

A plume of smoke erupted from the rooftop as the C4 charges detonated. A large circle of rooftop fragments exploded inward and dropped to the second-storey floor. The three soldiers dropped their black ropes into the opening and rappelled down. Three more soldiers rappelled down after, followed by Captain Jenkins. One stayed on board to provide aerial cover.

The seven-man team spread out in the large forum. Four of them covered the two parallel hallways that surrounded a freight elevator. Two others and Jenkins covered the men’s rear.

“Move out,” Jenkins ordered silently. The two men turned around and each moved through a separate hallway. They slowly approached the openings to the second forum and glanced past their corners.

“Team two, go,” Jenkins ordered. The four soldiers closest to him split into pairs and entered the separate hallways.

“Team three, position four,” Jenkins whispered. On the rooftop the demolition team approached the hole at opposite ends. One lay down in the prone position and used his elevated position to cover the forum. The other one remained crouched and covered the prone soldier’s rear.

In his headset, Jenkins heard, “Position four.” He then walked through the right hallway. The soldiers from team two stood at either side of each hallway while both soldiers from team one took cover behind the nearest pillars.

Team two moved forward. Walked on either sides of the pillars in the forum and scanned the room as they moved up. Both pairs stopped at the pillars near the end of the room. The soldiers on the outside of the pillars watched the side doors that led to the staircases, while the soldiers on the inside watched the security room door. Team one moved forward, passed by team two and approached the security room door. They stopped at the doorway and held their positions on either side of the door while they waited for Captain Jenkins.

Jenkins moved up and stood behind the soldier on the right as he tapped his shoulder. The soldier grabbed a flash-bang grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and threw it into the security room. The grenade detonated with a bright flash and a resounding bang. Team one, followed by Jenkins, entered the room. The two soldiers split up and took the opposite ends of the room while Jenkins walked in. The soldiers cleared the room.

On the right side was a bunch of computer terminals and surveillance camera monitors. They were all turned on, but some of the monitors displayed only black screens with the words No Signal in the centre of the screen. In the middle of the computer banks stood a seven-foot-tall, two-headed machine. It did not react to their entrance; it didn’t even move at all. Jenkins aimed his M4's laser sight at one of the machines, but there was still no movement. This giant, intimidating machine’s lack of movement seemed to indicate it was unpowered. Still, this machine made Captain Jenkins uneasy. He turned around and checked the left side of the room, where piles of debris littered the floor. Scraps of copper wire covered the top of a heap of scrap machine parts.

“All clear,” one of the soldiers from team one reported. They all lowered their rifles as one of them approached Jenkins and said, “No sign of the Observer, sir.”

“And all we have is this broke-down beast.” Jenkins nodded his head in the direction of the seven-foot-tall machine. “We’re gonna need to search this floor. You two hold here - check the cameras and monitor team two’s progress.”

“Yes sir,” the soldiers removed their night-vision goggles and approached the computer terminals. They nervously eyed the giant machine in the middle of the room.

Jenkins left the security room and ordered team two to regroup on him. The four soldiers in the forum left their positions by the pillars they used for cover and surrounded Jenkins.

“Alright, listen up,” Jenkins said, “We don’t have the package, so we need to search this place floor-by-floor. Pair up and keep comms open.” The team split up and approached the opposite sides of the freight elevator.

“Juliet Charlie, Victor Six; respond, over,” Jenkins said into his headset. No response. “Juliet Charlie, this is Victor Six; radio check, over.” Still no response.

Jenkins turned around and went back into the security room. He approached the bank of computer terminals, where both soldiers from team one watched them, trying to locate either the previous Delta squad or the Observer unit.

One of the soldiers tried to contact the military complex but was unsuccessful. “Must be interference from the structure,” the soldier explained.

“Shit,” Jenkins hissed. He tried his headset again, “Team two, respond.” No response.

“Dammit,” he muttered. He then said out loud, “Alright, I gotta get team three on comms - I’ll be back.”

The soldiers acknowledged him. Jenkins left the security room and walked through the large, spacious forum towards the freight elevator. About halfway through the forum a deafening pinging noise emanated from his headset. The sound was so loud it made Jenkins cringe as he tore the headset from his head.

“Ah, dammit!” As the ringing in his ear subsided he cautiously brought the headset back up to his ear. He didn’t hear the noise anymore, so he put it back on. He reached the freight elevator and walked through the hallway on his left towards the large hole in the ceiling. He could see one of the demolition experts through the hole. He was lying prone and aiming his rifle into the hole. The soldier spotted Captain Jenkins and diverted the barrel of his rifle to the left.

“Sergeant Lowe sir,” the soldier replied. He bobbed the barrel of his rifle up slightly as he said, “And that’s Sergeant Frost.”

“Sergeant Lowe, our comms are down; something’s interfering with the signal. Contact JC and tell them we haven’t found the Observer yet. We’re searching the Vault by floors.”

Jenkins turned around and started walking back. He left the corridor and entered the other forum. As he did, the deafening pinging noise erupted from his headset again. He stopped dead in his tracks and cringed in pain as he ripped his headset off again. He stared at it as it dangled on its wire, suspended just a couple of feet off the ground. He couldn’t even guess at what was wrong with it. There was no radio reception whatsoever, but he kept picking up this feedback that sounded like a sonar ping.

Wait a minute, he thought, sonar? He looked up and aimed his rifle around. He scanned the room with his night vision goggles as he stood in the centre of the forum, slowly rotating as he anticipated movement in the dark shadows. First he looked towards the security room entrance then slowly rotated to the right. He stopped as he saw a green laser beam that was being emitted from an open door. The source of the beam caused a blinding lens flare in Jenkins’ goggles that made it impossible to see through them, so he flipped up his goggles and switched on his gun-light. He aimed his rifle into the open doorway.

For a brief moment he saw what looked like a remote-controlled quad-copter before it descended down into the lower levels of the stairwell.

“What the...” Jenkins approached the open door. He kept his gun-light trained on the entrance as he peered into the dark stairwell. He avoided stepping too close to the edge as the stairs from the first and second floors had been removed. He couldn’t see the small aircraft anymore and there was no movement below.

What the hell was that about? He took two steps back and turned around. He walked back to the security room. After a few steps he heard a loud click and hum to his left as the freight elevator activated.

He shouted, “Movement, freight elevator!” The two soldiers in the security room both ran out and took cover behind the pillars.

“Alright, check your targets. Remember we’re on a search mission here.” Jenkins switched off his gun light and flipped down his night-vision goggles. All three soldiers activated the laser sights on their rifles to mark their targets.

The elevator stopped as it reached their floor with a loud thump. Five seconds later the door began to lower open. Jenkins gripped his rifle and moved his index finger off the trigger guard and onto the trigger. He took controlled breaths as he watched the top of the elevator door slowly recede into the floor.

The door opened just enough that Jenkins could see only one occupant, and it definitely wasn’t human. The torso was covered in parabolic dishes and antennae. The door opened completely, and Jenkins could see that the torso was supported by a pair of tank-like treads. It was the Observer unit. He could also see two machines on either side of the Observer that stood on all fours. They were both covered in a shiny copper mesh, and they both slowly panned their heads left and right.

A bright light blinded Jenkins’ vision as the Observer unit scanned the room with its high-powered LEDs. Jenkins’ eyes were in pain from the intense light. He grabbed the night-vision goggles and removed them from his head. He threw them to the ground as his eyes slowly adjusted to the new darkness. He switched on his gun-light and looked around at his team to see them recovering from the blinding light as well. Their night-vision goggles had already been removed and thrown to the ground.

“You alright?” Jenkins asked. They both looked at him and nodded as they switched on their gun-lights.

“Weapons free, men, but watch the Observer.” They turned to aim at the two four-legged units. As they prepared to open fire, one of the machines stood upright and held one of its arms outstretched in front of it. A loud string of explosions and muzzle flashes erupted from the inside of its forearm, and Jenkins heard bullets connect with the wall behind him. Jenkins and the other soldiers ducked behind the pillars as the one unit fired at them. The other machine sprinted out of the elevator to the soldiers’ left flank.

The soldier on the right saw this and fired, catching the Adam model in the torso and faceplate. The machine crashed to the ground. The other machine that lay down suppressing fire on the soldiers stopped firing. Jenkins heard the sound of a magazine cartridge dropping to the ground. He got up and prepared to fire when the door to the stairway on their right smashed open, and two more Adam models charged out. One stopped and opened fire while still in a four-legged position as the other one sprinted to the opposite end of the forum. The soldier on the right was caught by a burst of bullets. His body armour stopped the explosive rounds from passing through him and hitting the others.

“I got our three!” Jenkins yelled to the soldier behind him. The soldier peered around the pillar and fired while Jenkins aimed for the machine on their right. He opened fire as soon as the dead soldier’s body hit the ground.

Jenkins struck the Adam model in the head and it fell flat on its chest plate. Jenkins then turned and sprinted for the security room doorway and dived through the threshold.

“On me,” Jenkins shouted, “I’ll cover you!” Jenkins took cover behind the doorway, poked his rifle around the corner and blind-fired while the soldier tried to run for the room. But he was caught by a spray of bullets from the machine on his left flank. He fell just a few feet from the doorway, so he outstretched his right arm and tried to pass his rifle off to Jenkins.

Jenkins expelled the empty magazine from his rifle and reloaded; then the gunfire suddenly stopped. He knew they were waiting outside, and he knew he needed to find better cover. From his position he spotted an Adam model approaching the pillar that Jenkins had just ran from. The machine took cover behind it, outstretched its arm and aimed into the doorway.

“Oh, shit,” Jenkins muttered. He then crossed over to the other side of the doorway. He could hear bullets pass by his head as he crossed over, and the gunfire continued for a few seconds. From his new position he could see both dead soldiers and the two bullet-riddled Adam models. The door that the machines had breached remained open. Jenkins watched the door, anxiously expecting more machines to arrive.

The gunfire stopped, and he could hear a metallic clicking noise approaching the door. He stepped back a few paces then started to sidestep to the right. He shut off his gun-light and activated his laser sight while depending on the faint glow from the surveillance monitors behind him for light. He heard more gunshots from around the corner. The light from the muzzle flashes played across the floor in the security room. Jenkins crouched as he waited to ambush whatever came through the door.

The gunfire stopped. All he could smell was gunpowder and hot metal. All he could hear was the faint hum of the computer behind him, and his own excited breath.

A hushed voice called out, “Dust,” from outside the room, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Captain?” It was Sergeant Lowe. He stood ten feet from the doorway in the middle of two destroyed Adam models. He flipped up his night-vision goggles and activated his gun light. Lowe continued talking, “Sir, we deactivated the freight elevator. We just need to move the Observer to the roof opening, and then we can winch it up.”

“Good job, Sergeant,” Jenkins replied. He walked slowly out of the room. “Is team two back yet?”

“No sir,” Lowe replied, “and comms are still down.” They both walked towards the elevator. Lowe continued, “I think we need to make this quick sir. When I crossed the Observer’s field-of-view those machines turned on me right away.” They stepped onto the elevator platform and surrounded the Observer. “I think it was controlling those machines, Captain. There may be more on the way.”

“Got it,” Jenkins said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, “let’s move him over.” He grabbed one side of the Observer as he prepared to push.

“Frost,” Lowe called out, “watch our backs.” Sergeant Frost was still lying prone on the rooftop beside a black rope that hung over the side.

“You’re safe,” Frost replied, “let’s go.” He covered their rear as Jenkins and Lowe struggled to move the Observer unit off of the elevator platform.

Sixteen

Staacman pushed Guzman and Jefferson into an open door to their right, causing them to lose their balance. Jefferson fell to the ground and Guzman fell on top of him. Staacman dashed inside and crouched behind the other two as he aimed his rifle at the doorway.

“Stay down,” he said to them, and he waited for the Adam model that chased them to appear in the doorway.

The metallic clicking noise came closer. In the blink of an eye the Adam model flashed by as it sprinted past the doorway. Staacman pulled the trigger in a panicked reflex, letting out a short burst of bullets. Staacman waited a moment to see if the Adam model would return.

“I think I got ‘em,” he said. He was winded from the frantic escape from their imprisonment. “How’s Guzman?”

Jefferson placed the palm of his hand near Guzman’s nose. “He’s still breathing,” he said, “but he hasn’t said one word so far.”

“He must have brain damage,” Staacman replied. Then he lowered his voice, “They did some twisted shit to him.” He removed the magazine cartridge from his rifle and checked the remaining rounds before asking Jefferson, “How many mags you got left?”

“I got a mag and a half one left. How close are we to the maintenance hatch?”

“It’s around the corner,” Jefferson tried to push Guzman off of his so he could get up, “but the hatch is sealed; it’s a dead end.”

Staacman held his rifle in one hand and helped lift Guzman off Jefferson. “Where’s the nearest exit then?” he asked.

“There’re maintenance hatches on every floor,” Jefferson answered, “but all the rooms they’re in are locked.” Jefferson stood up and supported Guzman with his shoulder. “We need to get to the security room so we can unlock one of the maintenance rooms.”

“Then we need to get moving.” Staacman approached the doorway to clear the hallway. He peeked around the corner to the right as he looked for a machine that had passed them by. He didn’t see any machines, only the dried-up trail of blood. “Okay, let’s go.”

Staacman exited the room and scanned the dark hallway while Jefferson led Guzman behind him. Staacman kept his back to the wall on his left as he walked forward, piercing the darkness ahead of them his with gun-light. Jefferson could hear Guzman gasping for air as he struggled to keep upright. His breathing was raspy and shallow.

“We can’t rest,” Staacman whispered back, still staring forward. “You gotta keep him up.”

“The ‘return’ pipe,” Jefferson answered. “It’s not that clean, but it’s the only one that’s not boiling hot, or steam.”

Staacman aimed his gun-light up at the ceiling. He traced a large, insulated pipe that had “RETURN” printed in bold green letters. They continued moving, following the pipe forward. Staacman turned a corner to the left as he continued tracing the RETURN pipe, and spotted the makeshift hole that was cut through the steel door that led to the maintenance room where they initially entered the Vault.

Staacman noticed that an extension of the pipe led into the maintenance room. He aimed his gun-light at the doorway and approached it cautiously. He peeked through the doorway to look for any signs of movement. He found none, and ushered Guzman and Jefferson inside. They stood by the sealed hatch - within view of the surveillance camera - as Staacman searched the ceiling for the RETURN pipe.

“God dammit, you piece of shit!” Jenkins groaned as he pushed on the Observer unit with all his strength. “Move!!”

“Frost, call the sky-crane,” Lowe called out as he struggled alongside Jenkins, “we’re gonna need their help!” The Observer unit began to roll its treads in the opposite direction, trying to resist the two soldiers.

Lowe scoffed in surprise, “Can you believe this?” he said. “It’s trying to get away!”

“Yeah, you ain’t tough without your backup now, huh?” Jenkins sneered as he continued to push back.

“For your sake and for my benefit...” an effeminate voice said calmly. Jenkins and Lowe stopped in their tracks, completely stunned. The voice came from the Observer. “...I suggest you leave now.”

They didn’t know what to say. The Observer turned its head towards Lowe, which made him step away nervously. It then turned its head to Jenkins, who also stepped away. The Observer then began to move off of the elevator platform towards the security room.

Jenkins heard a helicopter approaching the breach in the ceiling and he snapped out of his trance. He drew his rifle and dashed back in front of the Observer.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” He aimed his rifle at the Observer as he stood his ground in its path, even as it tried to turn away. “Stop! I’ll fucking shoot, I swear!”

The Observer stopped moving and Jenkins inched closer. “You’re coming with us,” he said. “Turn around and stop resisting!” The machine didn’t move - it didn’t even hint at a reaction. Jenkins moved closer in a menacing fashion. “Do you understand? Turn around!”

“Team two, position one,” the voice sounded just like Jenkins’ but it came from the Observer. “Juliet Charlie, this is Victor Six; radio check, over.”

Jenkins was feeling even more anxious than before, but didn’t show it. “Alright, HAL, enough games,” he said. “Turn around.”

The Observer replied in its original effeminate voice, “I know where team two is, Victor Six. And I know where the other intruders are.”

“Come on, help me push,” Jenkins commanded. Lowe came over and they began to push again.

“The other intruders are badly damaged,” the Observer continued. “They will not survive.”

“Team two will end up just like the others,” the Observer unit said. “And then I will reprogram them.”

“Yeah whatever, tin man,” Jenkins groaned as he continued to push the machine, “just keep talking tough!”

“Well, sorry to hurt your feelings, Tron,” Jenkins said sarcastically. He looked up into the hole in the ceiling at Sergeant Frost. “Drop the fucking hook, now!”

Unbeknownst to the soldiers, the Observer aimed a parabolic dish up at the helicopter. After receiving a ping from the helicopter’s radar system, the Observer sent a signal to the helicopter’s computer systems. Half a second later, the helicopter ascended and quickly flew away as a plume of aluminum chaff expelled from the rear of the copter.

“The pilot’s screaming about an incoming missile!” Frost shouted over the helicopter’s engine. “I don’t see nothin’ though.”

“What the...” Jenkins looked down at the Observer, taking note of all of the parabolic dishes and antennae on its torso. “You did that,” he exclaimed, “didn’t you?!” Bewildered, he looked at Sergeant Lowe. “This fucking robot hacked the chopper’s ECM!”

“I am not ‘this fucking robot,’” the Observer unit interjected. A loud banging noise came from further in the forum, and metallic clicking noises came from the stairwell near the security room. From the corner of Lowe’s eye - in the dim light from the surveillance monitors - he saw the pile of scrap metal in the security room begin to move. The effeminate voice reverberated from nearly every direction in the forum as more than half a dozen Adam models appeared from every darkened entryway, “I am Isaac.”

The Adam models all ran at the soldiers on all fours, closing in on them. Lowe and Jenkins had no time to grab their rifles. The six machines closed in on them and dragged them both to the ground. Some of the machines carried iron pipes and smashed the soldiers in the heads and ribs with their makeshift weapons, crushing bone and ripping flesh as they did so.

On the rooftop, Frost could hear his squad mates screaming in sheer agony as they were being bludgeoned to death. But he could see nothing with his night vision goggles because of the combined power of all the Adam models’ infrared LEDs. He flipped up his goggles, activated his barrel-mounted gun-light, aimed into the dark hole below him and opened fire at the group of machines.

He only managed to hit a couple of them before they realized where the shots were coming from. The ones that carried pipes and bars threw them at Frost with inhuman strength. Frost ducked for cover, and the rest of the machines took stances on the ground like mechanical panthers and jumped up towards the hole in the ceiling. Some of them landed perfectly on the rooftop, while others caught the ledge with their mechanical hands and climbed up.

Frost had very little time to recover and open fire. He hit another pair of Adam models, but there were still too many. They surrounded him as he lay on the ground. One Adam model ripped the rifle out of his hands then grabbed him by his limbs and threw him through the hole in the rooftop. Several of the Adam models jumped back down into the hole to finish him off while a couple remained on the roof, taking in every detail of this strange, alien environment.

The expanse above was littered with an innumerable amount of bright dots of light, and one large white sphere directly above the Vault. The expanse on the horizon was endless, and completely barren. Only the sky crane helicopter circling at a safe distance indicated that anything inhabited this desert that the machines had no name for. The Adam models looked around the rooftop as they analyzed every object around them. Most importantly, they analyzed the half-dozen ten-foot-tall satellite dishes situated near the hole.

Isaac had direct control over each and every Adam model in the room, and he sent one back to the security room so he could use it to begin hacking the Vault’s security systems through one of the computer terminals. Archie flew into the room then up through the hole in the forum ceiling. Using its domain-generating engine, it created a map of the rooftop and the surrounding environment. Isaac received the map and realized that most of the satellite dishes were connected directly to the security room - except for one. Archie flew over to it to examine it; it was painted black and had bold white marking on it that were unfamiliar to Isaac: JC-PSC.

Isaac aimed his ballistic barrel at an Adam model and fired. The magnets made contact but Isaac sent no signal through them, because he already controlled the machine remotely. The Adam model jumped up onto the rooftop, walked over to the black satellite dish, removed the magnetic wires from its chest plate and connected them to the satellite dish=s junction box. Isaac began decrypting the massive incoming signal.

Cameron Hicks shifted in his seat, trying to numb the pain in his buttocks from being forced to remain seated for several hours. At this point he was no longer afraid of the armed soldiers - he was just angry now. He stared numbly at the monitor in front of him, reading the log from the Observer unit. The log updated itself too fast for him to fully analyze, but he did see some events repeating themselves several times. Cameron was unsure of what it meant.

Cameron watched the other windows on his computer screen, which all portrayed several different cycles of surveillance cameras. Half of them showed only static or nothing at all, while the rest showed hallways, rooms, corridors and in some cases, just shattered glass from the camera’s damaged protective casing.

His eyes opened wide in disbelief when one of the feeds switched to the restricted maintenance room on the third sublevel. He spotted Jefferson Smith holding up a wounded soldier who had a bloody tourniquet wrapped around his head. They were catching water that poured down from the ceiling and drinking it. A third soldier crouched with his back to the camera, holding a rifle and watching the entrance.

Cameron slowly looked behind him to his left at the Colonel, who was hovering over his Lieutenant. The Lieutenant sat at another terminal with a headset on, speaking indistinctly into it. Cameron assumed he was speaking to the Delta Force squad inside the Vault. Cameron didn’t trust the Colonel, and he was afraid to tell him that there were more survivors. He expected that the Colonel may just decide to leave them there to die and rot, and Cameron was afraid of what he might try to do it that happened.

“Colonel,” he called out, “I’ve got three survivors in sublevel three.”

Cameron heard the Colonel mutter to the Lieutenant, “Tell him to stand-by.” He then turned around and approached Cameron. “Where?” he asked, “Let me see.”

“Everything below sublevel one looks clear - you can just get your team to meet them there.”

“Can’t, their radios are down,” the Colonel explained, “and half the squad’s already doing a floor-by-floor sweep.”

“What do you mean, ‘their radios are down’?” Cameron looked at the Colonel.

The Colonel paused then said to Cameron, “Just keep an eye on them and tell me if they move.” The Colonel went back to the Lieutenant and asked, “What’s going on?”

The Lieutenant turned on a speaker so the Colonel could hear the radio transmission. “Say again, over,” the Lieutenant said into his headset.

“Juliet Charlie, this is Meat Hook; we have multiple foxes inbound. Repeat: Foxes inbound! We are under attack, over!” It was the sky crane helicopter’s pilot, advising them that they were encountering enemy missiles.

“What the hell?!” The Colonel was stunned. “Get confirmation from NORAD of bogeys in the A.O.”

“Yes sir,” the Lieutenant said. He activated his headset and said, “Full copy, Meat Hook; evade and stand-by, over.”

The Lieutenant was about to switch channels when he heard another squawk: “Juliet Charlie, this is Victor Three; Victor Six is down... OH SHIT!!”

The transmission erupted in a blast of gunfire. Just seconds later the two army officers heard screaming then a loud thud. They then heard the sound of bones breaking and mechanical noises. The soldier’s microphone remained open as they heard the soldier scream in sheer pain and terror.

“What the hell is going on down there?” the Colonel muttered; he walked over to Cameron, “I need eyes on the upper levels now, Mr. Hicks!”

“Hicks! Did you hear me?” the Colonel said. Cameron continued to zone out. The Colonel looked at his monitor to see what he was looking at. The surveillance cameras all showed empty rooms except for the sublevel-three maintenance room. There was one window with a bunch of text in it, but most of it meant nothing to the Colonel.

“Hicks!!” the Colonel shouted. Cameron blinked once and looked at him. The Colonel demanded, “What the hell is wrong with you, Hicks?”

Cameron looked back at the monitor and pointed at a bit of the text. The Colonel looked closer at what Cameron pointed at and read some of it silently:

“That’s Observer Four, Colonel,” Cameron answered, still staring at the monitor. The Colonel stared for a moment, letting this revelation sink in.

That wasn't a computer language, he thought to himself, that machine actually said those things. This is not natural - it’s a crime against nature! That fucking machine was talking about “reprogramming” human beings, like we’re nothing but hard drives!

The Colonel stood upright and looked around the room at the frightened scientists, stone-faced soldiers who held guns at them and the dark blood stain on the floor next to Cameron Hicks.

“Hicks, do you hear me?” he asked. Cameron nodded. “Initialize the recall.”

Everybody in the room turned to see what the commotion was about. The Colonel glared at Cameron. Cameron slowly turned his gaze back to the monitor, brought his hands to the keyboard and started typing in commands.

After a minute worth of keystrokes and mouse clicks Cameron had the authorization codes inputted. All that was left was the final confirmation. He looked at the Colonel inquisitively, who then nodded in return. With that Cameron confirmed the command.

“Alright,” the Colonel sighed. “Let’s get our men out of there. Are they still in sublevel three?”

The Colonel paused for a moment then asked, “What do you mean? Check the cameras - are they there, or not?”

“I can’t, Colonel,” Cameron said, “the recall disabled all the electronics, including the cameras. Look...” he pointed to the windows on his screen, which were currently showing static feedback from cameras on the ground floor. “...Every camera is going to be like that now. Your team’s radios are going to be affected too.”

Shit, the Colonel thought. “Alright then,” he said, “I guess we just wait and see what happens.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Staacman told Jefferson. “He’ll get sick if he drinks too fast.”

Jefferson pulled Guzman away from the steady stream of water trickling down from the ceiling and turned around. “So we can go up now?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s go.” They all had enough water to quench their thirst, and there were enough pipes in the next two floors to sustain them if they needed to hole up in another room. Staacman took point and approached the doorway to check the corners. He then turned to the right as Jefferson and Guzman followed. They walked through the dark corridor, on their way back up to the warehouse.

The four Delta Force soldiers had regrouped after the main floor since there was only one stairwell that led to the first sublevel. Team two’s leader, Lieutenant Frank Kilman, covered the team’s rear as their point man, Sergeant Baldwin, led them down the stairway and towards the entrance of the first sublevel warehouse.

The plan was to clear the warehouse then team two would divide back into pairs and search for the remaining floors to cut their search time in half. So far they encountered no opposition, and they never received a radio call from upstairs, so they assumed things were quiet with teams one and three. So despite the eerie silence and the sterility of these darkened corridors, their minds were somewhat at ease.

What’s the worst that could happen? Kilman thought, I mean, we’re the ones with guns. These fucking robots can’t possibly be that much of a threat. He had seen the surveillance video of the Adam model that ambushed the three soldiers from the previous mission, and took careful note of the tell-tale glow of the infrared diodes that the machines used for night-vision.

Lieutenant Kilman compared it to the old-school first-generation night-vision goggles, and knew that their state-of-the-art technology would pick up those invisible rays with ease. As far as Kilman was concerned, their night-vision goggles countered the machines’ only true strategic advantage: the element of surprise.

Sergeant Baldwin reached the open double-doors of the warehouse and stopped just around the corner. Lieutenant Kilman and a soldier in front of him dashed across the doorway to the other side. Kilman and Baldwin peeked past each other’s corners.

“Clear right,” Baldwin replied then he turned the corner and entered the warehouse. The four soldiers split up and walked a grid as they searched the warehouse for any intruders.

“Oh Christ,” Baldwin muttered. He looked down in wretched disgust at the remains of two Delta Force members. Their bodies were cut in half, throats crushed and faces bloated. “Lieutenant,” he called out.

Kilman walked over and saw the bodies. He covered his face and tried to block the stench from entering his nostrils, but was unsuccessful. Baldwin knelt down to check one of the soldier’s inventories and found nothing.

“Maybe it was the surviving specialist,” Kilman said. “Let’s finish up in here and move out.”

Kilman heard a faint, high-pitched whine coming from somewhere, like the sound of night-vision goggles powering up. He then heard the sound of a metal object crashing down to the metal floor. He turned his head to look behind and saw a round black object rolling on the ground.

Kilman shouted, “Grenade!!” and jumped for cover. He immediately felt a sharp pain in his head as his night-vision goggles filled with static and then switched off.

There was no large explosion and he felt no pain anywhere else in his body, but he heard gunshots and a cacophony of metal clicks. He realized that the black object on the floor was an EMP grenade. He took off his goggles and looked around. All around the dimly-lit warehouse he could see machines jumping from atop stacks of metal crates onto his squad mates who then struck them with metal pipes. His squad mates had been ambushed. Their powerless night-vision goggles were like blindfolds to them, and the machines - small in stature, humanoid in shape, and covered in a copper mesh - were fast and ruthless.

To Kilman’s side he saw Baldwin lying on the ground. Kilman crawled to him and ripped off his goggles to see a frozen, stunned gaze. Baldwin was dead.

Kilman felt like he lost all control of his body. He grabbed his rifle, struggled to his feet and turned around, intent on destroying every single machine in the room. But just as he was about to pull the trigger he felt a hot, searing pain in his chest and arms, and he fell to the ground, dropping his rifle. As he fell and his head tilted backward, he saw a muzzle flash from on top of a stack of metal crates. The muzzle flashes stopped, and an Adam model jumped down from the boxes, slowly standing upright and walking towards Kilman. The machine stopped directly in front of him and extended its right arm out in his face.

Kilman was staring down the barrel of an M4 assault rifle that had been welded onto the Adam model’s forearm. The Adam model stared into Kilman’s eyes with its cold and lifeless optical lenses. Kilman heard Captain Jenkins say from within the Adam model in front of him in a taunting sneer, “Yeah, you ain’t tough without your backup now, huh?”

Kilman didn’t see any muzzle flash, and he didn’t remember any pain. All he remembered was the barrel of a rifle as he closed his eyes, waiting to die.

Seventeen

T.J. and Ashley entered the lobby of the MGM Grand at about a quarter to three in the morning. They left the Sunken Treasure about half an hour ago but stopped at Little Caesar’s to share a Hot-N-Ready. They had no idea where Steve or Madison had gone; a lot of the night was a blur to them. After Steve and T.J. won almost a hundred dollars at Texas Hold ‘Em off of their Latino hosts, and after the four of them had drank a nice portion of what was in the room, they decided to go downstairs to the tables. Between the free drinks and monotonous wagers T.J. could only remember five minutes worth of the last three hours.

The last half hour or so had been great in T.J.’s mind at least. The one-on-one time with Ashley gave him a chance to get to know her a little more. Like him, she also never knew her real father, but she had a good relationship with her stepfather. Before becoming a personal trainer she went through several different types of work - mainly restaurants and call centres, but finally decided to pursue something she genuinely enjoyed. After all, she did spend most of the week at the gym anyway, and she always tried to convince her friends to come along. So why not get paid to make people work out?

Ashley said, “I know, right?” She chuckled lightly. “What about you? You go to the gym often?”

“Oh come on!” She stepped in front of him and placed her hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Do you really do that?”

“Oh,” she lifted her hand and tapped his chest with her index finger, “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh come on,” T.J. grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his side. “Tell ya what: I’ll prove it to you.”

“No,” they started walking to the elevator again, “I have a video on YouTube. I’ll show it to you.”

“Oh really,” Ashley looked at him defiantly. “You think it’s that easy to get me to your room?”

“What do you mean?” he pulled her closer as they walked. “You don’t have a laptop?”

“Pfft!” Ashley let out a single chuckle, “Why would I bring a laptop to Las Vegas?”

“Tell ya what then: how about you show me where your room is then I’ll go up and get my laptop.” And maybe a couple of bottles while I’m at it, he thought.

Ashley looked at him for a moment, supposedly trying to figure out whether that would be a good idea. “Okay,” she said, “what the hell!”

“Alright cool,” they entered the elevator that had just landed at the main floor, and Ashley pressed the button for her floor.

They exited the elevator and turned left. The hallway was similar to the one upstairs, but the decor was slightly less exquisite.

T.J. smiled and said, “You’re kinda mean when you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Oh honey, you have no idea.” Ashley stopped at a door to the right and sifted through her purse for a key card.

“Nothin’,” T.J. shook his head, “I’m just afraid things might get a little rough between us.”

“Yeah, you wish...” Ashley swiped the key card over the reader and the door clicked open. Ashley opened the door and flipped on the light switch.

Ashley yelled, “Oh shit!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. On the bed in front of her were Madison and Steve, completely naked. Madison was on all fours with her head buried in a pillow as Steve knelt behind her in mid-thrust. Steve noticed Ashley and T.J. standing there and grabbed the comforter to cover both himself and Madison. Steve turned and lay beside Madison. Madison turned over, shocked and embarrassed at being caught in the middle of having sex.

“Ugh!!” Ashley backed up and slammed the door. T.J. stood next to her and laughed. Ashley looked mortified.

“Oh my God,” she shut her eyes and brought her hands up to her face, laughing. “I think I just saw his cock!”

T.J. laughed. “There there - it’s all right,” he pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. “The snake can’t hurt you anymore,” he chuckled.

Ashley exclaimed, “Fuck off!” She pushed away from him then started laughing again.

“Come on,” T.J. said, “we’ll hang out in my room ‘til they’re done.” He led her back to the elevator; they didn’t say anything for a while.

As they waited for the elevator to arrive, Ashley broke the awkward silence: “Besides, that little snake could never hurt me.”

Something’s not right, Cameron Hicks thought to himself. He sat at his desk, watching his computer monitor as several different windows cycled through surveillance camera feeds that all showed static. Then they started cycling through camera feeds that were fully operational, showing hallways, rooms and corridors. They should all be down by now.

“Colonel,” Cameron called out, “Something’s wrong.” The Colonel walked away from the Lieutenant’s post. Cameron pointed to the surveillance feeds. “These shouldn’t be working if the recall was successful.”

“The log is down,” Cameron replied, “but that could just mean it’s recharging.”

“Alright, try again and keep me posted.” The Colonel walked away as Cameron typed in the authorization codes again. But they didn’t show up on the screen. He typed the codes in again but nothing changed. He tried moving the mouse but nothing happened. The system wasn’t frozen - the camera feeds were still cycling. Cameron stood up and walked around the island of computer terminals to another programmer’s machine.

“Here, let me see this for a minute.” He pushed the programmer aside and grabbed for his mouse.

“My computer’s frozen boss; so is his.” The programmer pointed to the man beside him.

“What the hell?” Cameron muttered. He walked over to the Colonel who was speaking silently to the Lieutenant. “Everything’s frozen,” he said to the Colonel.

The Colonel stopped speaking to the Lieutenant abruptly and turned to Cameron. “What did you say?”

“All the computer systems down here are frozen. I can’t do another recall.”

The Colonel looked at the Lieutenant who then said, “This one’s not frozen.” The Lieutenant moved aside. “Here; order the recall from here.”

“I can’t,” Cameron said, “that’s a POTUS network terminal, it’s not connected to the Vault.”

The Colonel brushed passed Cameron. “What do you mean all the systems are frozen?!” he asked rhetorically. He walked over to Cameron’s terminal and immediately seen the camera feeds change. “There, it changed; it’s not frozen.”

“No, watch...” Cameron walked over and pushed the mouse across the desk and started stamping his fingers on random keys on the keyboard. “...See? Nothing works.”

The Colonel pushed Cameron aside and pressed down the CTRL, ALT, and DEL buttons. It’s not fucking Windows, asshole, Cameron thought to himself. He was taken aback, however, when he saw the screen began to waver and flicker then turn black.

The screen flashed on and off then filled with white text over a black background before returning to its original screen with multiple windows. The recall application was open, and the authorization codes had been inputted. A progress bar was slightly hidden behind a surveillance feed window. The top of the bar flashed two different colours. Cameron grabbed the mouse and dragged the progress bar out from behind the camera feed - it was already one-hundred-percent complete. Cameron heard more commotion throughout the room:

Observer Four’s log began to fill with thousands of events then stopped again. Cameron read the last line:

“Colonel?!” Cameron said. The Colonel looked at Observer Four’s log and read the last line. He looked over at the Lieutenant who looked back at him.

“Sir,” the Lieutenant said, “Meat Hook’s reporting hostiles on the rooftop - he thinks they’re trying to find a way down.”

The Colonel paused a moment then said, “Tell Meat Hook to contact JANET; tell them to prepare for intruders and to set up recon - seventy-mile radius.”

JANET was the radio call sign for the air-control tower at Area-51 B an acronym for “Just Another Non-Existent Terminal.” The Lieutenant spoke into the headset briefly then told the Colonel that Meat Hook was complying.

“Now contact SecDef,” the Colonel ordered. “Tell him we need a fire mission down here ASAP.”

Cameron, bewildered, looked at the Colonel. “The Board’s going to end your career, Colonel,” he said.

“Whether I do this or not, the project’s finished. This has gone out of control - the Board’s no threat to me.”

The Colonel walked over to the Lieutenant and put on the headset. “Colonel Lambert,” he said. “...Yes, Mr. Secretary, remote fire mission... I know, it’s unusual, but we... It’s bad sir, all security and countermeasures have been compromised... This is our only chance to contain... Understood... Yes Mr. Secretary.”

He handed the headset back to the Lieutenant and looked at Cameron. “Inform the Board that SecDef has issued a drone strike on the Vault,” he said. “Operation C-WAL was a failure.”

Cameron slowly walked to the doorway; on his way to the elevator he overheard the Lieutenant confirm that the drone strike was twenty minutes away.

Ashley and T.J. left the elevator as it reached T.J.’s floor. Holding her by the waist, he led Ashley to the right and passed the expensive decor to his door. He grabbed the key card to his door from his pants pocket, swiped it over the reader and opened the door. He flipped on the light switch and the two of them stepped inside.

The room was in nearly pristine condition - somebody had come by and cleaned while he was away. His suitcase was even unpacked; his clothes must have been put in a dresser. T.J. was sure the bed sheets had been changed, as well as the towels in the bathroom. It felt like he had just stepped inside of the room for the very first time.

“I know, it’s better than my own place in Brooklyn,” T.J. replied. He took off his vest, sat in a chair in the foyer and removed his shoes. Ashley walked passed him without removing her heels or anything. She walked through the foyer and into the living room. She placed her purse on the coffee table and looked out the large window to the amazing view.

“Well, Senior A.I. Programmer who happens to be next in line for chairman of the board.”

“Oh,” she sounded disappointed to T.J., but she just felt silly for believing that everything he had said was a lie.

Ashley turned around and walked up to a sofa. She smoothed out her red dress with her hands and sat down. “So, you’re kind of a daddy’s boy then?”

“Pfft!” T.J. chuckled, “Please... Don’t get me started with that asshole!” He got up and walked into the bedroom. He placed his vest on top of the dresser beside his laptop then went back into the living room. “You want a drink? I think I still got champagne in the fridge.”

“Ooh, fancy!” she smirked. T.J. looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “...Sure,” Ashley added. T.J. walked over to a nook in the living room where a large fridge with glass panels and oak trip was located. He opened the fridge and grabbed a full bottle of champagne and a corkscrew.

Ashley added, “So if he’s an asshole, how come you get the golden ticket?”

“’Cause I got arrested and he needed me gone for a week.” He placed the cork screw over the neck of the bottle. “Wasn’t nothin’ big; I got it all on camera.” He twisted the corkscrew and pulled the cork out of the bottleneck. He grabbed two chilled glasses from the fridge and brought them over to the coffee table. “You wanna see the video?” He smiled.

“’Kay, I’ll be back.” He dashed into the bedroom. “Pour the drinks!” Ashley grabbed the bottle and filled each glass as T.J. re-entered the living room with his laptop. He sat down beside her on the sofa and flipped open his laptop. As he waited for it to turn on he grabbed his glass, sniffed the golden liquid inside then held his glass out for Ashley to toast.

“To Sin City,” he said, “a great place for our friends to hook up!” Ashley laughed, tapped her glass with T.J.’s and took a sip. T.J. took a sip then grabbed the T.V. remote. “What kind of music do you like?” he asked.

“Okay,” he muttered and switched the channel to BET A song from Mariah Carey was halfway complete. T.J.’s laptop was finished loading, so he opened his internet browser and went to YouTube. He typed in “Free-running from the police” and selected the video, which now had over 863,000 hits. “Here, check this out,” he said to Ashley.

Ashley shifted to the edge of the sofa and watched the laptop screen as the video played. T.J. leaned back and observed her figure and profile as he sipped his champagne while his left arm was draped over the head of the sofa.

Cameron received a phone call to his office indicating that the Board was ready for the video conference. He hung up the phone and turned on the desktop monitor to his computer. He logged into his Skype account and dialed the secret remote server. Sixteen separate faces appeared on his screen, not one of them appeared pleased or even fully awake. Cyril spoke first:

“We are all aware of the situation. It seems the Eagle has taken matters into his own hands.”

“That is unacceptable,” a middle-aged woman named Amethyst said, “we must undo his actions and relieve him.”

“The project has been compromised,” Cameron said. “All containment measures have failed.”

“We are fully aware of your actions, and you are just as culpable as the Eagle,” Cyril said. “It was your codes that were used to initialize a recall, which was done without our blessing.”

Cyril interrupted, “That’s enough! We shall continue with you at another time.” Cameron knew they meant he was a dead man. “It’s not too late to decommission the Eagle’s authority - am I right, Cobalt?”

“I already tried,” the military General replied, “Eagle received authorization from the executive cabinet. It’s completely out of my hands.” He meant that the Secretary of Defense and the President - who was secretly invested in the project - authorized the drone strike.

“You will deal with this appropriately, right?” the Asian man named Yumi asked.

“Anything I do could lead back to us,” Cobalt replied, “I will try to think of something. What can the host tell us about the survivor?”

“He was still alive upon last sighting,” Cameron answered. “He found two more survivors as well.”

Cobalt closed his eyes and frowned. “Then you and the Eagle will be held personally responsible for what happens to them.”

“We will reconvene in thirty-six hours,” Cyril said. Several men and women nodded then the connection was terminated.

“This is JANET; lift-off confirmed. Proceed bearing two-seven-five; range one-hundred kilos.”

“Roger; two-seven-five; one-hundred clicks. Confirm Romeo Echo destroy target?”

“Affirmative, Skryer; Rules of Engagement: destroy target. Armament Uniform two-three-five.”

“Hahahaha!” Ashley laughed, “You got body-slammed by that cop!” She continued laughing.

“Aww, poor little baby,” she spoke as if talking to a toddler, “Did little T.J. get a boo-boo on his forehead?” She poked at his head and continued laughing.

“Hey, stop poking me!” He grabbed her hand and put it down at her side. Ashley started poking him with her other hand. “Hey,” he laughed, “Stop it!”

“Aww, poor little T.J.,” she continued laughing. T.J. pushed her hand aside and started poking her in the side and the belly. She hunched over, trying to protect herself. “Ahh, stop it!”

“Ha ha, yeah... you ticklish?” he taunted. “How do you like it?!” Ashley tried to grab his arms and push him away, but he grabbed her arms, pulling them over her head, and the two of them fell onto the couch with T.J. lying on top of Ashley. They sighed at the same time, their faces close together, and looked into each other’s eyes. Without thinking, T.J. pressed his lips together with Ashley’s. She didn’t resist. Intoxicated in the heat of the moment he slipped her the tongue. She put her arms around his shoulders as he ran his hands down from her blonde, wavy hair to her waist. Lips still locked, T.J. ran his hand down her dress then up her thigh, and she responded by opening her legs slightly. T.J. pulled the crotch of her thong to the side and rubbed on her, feeling her shaved, smooth wetness.

Ashley pulled her head back, exhaled in pleasure and ran her hands down the front of T.J.’s pants and grabbed him. With one hand still between Ashley’s legs he undid his belt with the other. Ashley sensed his action and grabbed his zipper. She pulled it down then pulled down the front of his boxers as she grasped at him. She stroked him, trying to make him hard as he tried to pull the top half of her dress down to expose her breasts.

“Alright.” He kissed her softly on the lips then got off of her. She stood up and held T.J.’s hand as she led him to the bedroom.

Isaac had stolen every file from the complex servers and learned the entire history of the Vault’s existence. He learned that the Vault was originally a supply depot for a secret location deep in the desert, and that the interior had been renovated and reinforced by the plasma-welding droids, whom which were created by the unknown models. Isaac also found out that Cobe, the Architects and the Observers - including himself - were created by these models that the Staacman unit self-proclaimed as ‘gods.’ Isaac discovered a database filled with names of individuals involved in ‘The Vault Project’ - over seven-hundred of them. Of these seven hundred, sixteen names had been encrypted with 512-bit pass codes.

Isaac gained access to a number of different networks through the other five satellite dishes on the rooftop. Many of them were heavily encrypted, but there was one that he could access with no effort. This satellite connected him to an innumerable supply of networks.

Isaac searched through this ‘World Wide Web’ for more information on these unknown models. At the same time, he also gained access to an encrypted network whose description read ‘NORAD Radar Southwest.’ The system was very similar to Archie’s Domain-Generating software except it only showed flying object within a very long range. Isaac used this network in conjunction with the complex’s files to identify the Vault’s location. He then noticed that a small aircraft was flying towards the Vault. Judging by the scale of the map, the distance from the Vault and the craft’s velocity, Isaac calculated it would take fifteen minutes for the craft to arrive. The NORAD network designated this object as Pred-X38B ORIGIN: TNX. Isaac attempted to access another encrypted network as it searched for a way to access this incoming craft. At the same time, it used the NORAD network to locate the complex designated Juliet Charlie, and to identify ‘ORIGIN: TNX.’

The lights were out in the bedroom, but T.J. found the zipper to Ashley’s dress with ease. He undid her dress and pulled it down as she undid the buttons on his shirt. T.J. slipped off his shirt and Ashley wrapped her arms around his neck; he pushed her down onto the bed. T.J. cupped both of her round, firm breasts, sucking and licking on her nipples until they turned firm. Ashley ran her fingers through his hair as T.J. pushed her legs apart, placed his hand between her thighs and slipped his middle finger inside her while rubbing her with his thumb at the same time.

Ashley began to moan then put her hand down his pants and stroked him as he continued to press his finger inside her. He pulled his finger out and rubbed on her, feeling her wetness. He then shifted himself over until he was directly over top of her. She pulled him toward her and spread her legs wide as he pushed deep inside her.

Her eyes went wide and she exhaled abruptly as he began to thrust. He grabbed at her long legs and lifted her lower abdomen into the air. She moaned louder, pressing her own breasts together as she relaxed and contracted, clenching him within her.

T.J. moaned, “Oh fuck!” He buried his face in her neck as he continued thrusting. Ashley moaned even louder as she dug her nails into his back, intent on scarring him for life.

Ashley moaned, “Oh my God!” as she grabbed his buttocks and pulled him in deeper as she thrust her own hips into him. “Oh God, Don’t stop,” she whispered rapidly. He began to thrust faster. Her eyes went wide with ecstasy, and she lifted her legs in the air and grabbed her own ankles, spreading her legs as far as she could as she climaxed.

“Okay,” she sighed. He pulled out of her and she turned around on all fours. Her firm, round buttock was elevated above the rest of her body, waiting for him. T.J. grabbed himself and rubbed along her inner thighs, teasing her. She moaned impatiently and looked back at him. He placed himself in position and pushed hard into her. He felt her whole body arch forward, and then he pulled out and rubbed on her again.

He repeated this over and over, which drove her crazy and made her tingle with pleasure. So much so that she began to rub herself, breathing heavily. Finally, T.J. pushed inside of her and began thrusting again.

Oh God, he thought, her pussy feels so good from behind! He grabbed both of her butt cheeks and spread them apart so he could push in as deep as possible. Ashley buried her face in a pillow as she began to scream in ecstasy - the pleasure was overwhelming her.

He grabbed a chunk of her long, blonde hair and pulled her hair back, which she enjoyed. She arched her back and thrust her hips in rhythm with his. He turned her head to the side and leaned in to kiss her passionately as he grabbed and squeezed her breasts at the same time. She grabbed her own butt cheek and pulled it back so he could enter deeper.

“Oh yeah,” he moaned into her ear, “you’re a fuckin’ freak, aren’t you?!”

Eighteen

Staacman, Jefferson and Guzman left the stairwell and entered the first Sublevel corridor. The pipes that Jefferson had burst with his stray gunfire seemingly a lifetime ago had run empty. As a result the corridor, while flooded, was passable. Staacman proceeded forward, aiming his gun light down the pitch-black corridor. The only sounds they could hear were the sloshing of the flood waters at their feet, and the constant dripping from overhead pipes.

Staacman reached the busted double-doors and peeked around the corner. Jefferson and Guzman waited outside the doorway as Staacman briefly searched the warehouse. Not seeing any movement, he waved them inside. Jefferson helped Guzman into the warehouse - he noticed how the overhead lights were pulsating, and that there were fresh bodies and blood on the ground. The warehouse smelled of blood and gunpowder.

They approached Staacman, who was crouched over a dead body. He lifted the dead man’s arm in the air and let it drop as he checked for rigour mortis. “These are fresh,” he said. “Whatever happened, we just missed it.”

Jefferson looked around him for weapons, but he did not find any. “It looks like all the gear is missing,” he said.

“Yeah...” Staacman grabbed the soldier’s dog-tags then stood up and approached another body. He bent down, rolled the body over and noticed the Sergeant’s chevrons on his arm. He read the man’s name tag - Baldwin. A pair of night-vision goggles were attached to his head, resting above his lifeless eyes.

“Looks like they missed one,” Staacman said as he grabbed the goggles and put them on. All he could see was static. “They’re broken,” he grabbed the soldier’s dog tags.

“Yeah...” Jefferson noticed a black, round metal object on the ground next to Staacman. “What’s that?”

Staacman looked over and picked it up. “It looks like the grenade you gave me,” he said.

“I don’t know,” Staacman replied, “maybe it was part of their inventory.” Staacman lifted Baldwin’s body up slightly to search for injuries. “Looks like he was ambushed,” he said. “He was shot in the back.”

Jefferson looked around. There were three fresh bodies in the warehouse. Eggs’ and Lieutenant Sheppard’s were still there. He asked Staacman, “Do you think anyone survived?”

“It’s hard to say.” Staacman checked Baldwin’s ammo belt and found four fresh magazines. He also found a headset and tried putting it on to listen for a signal. “Nothing but static,” he said.

“Well, at least we got more ammo.” Staacman stood up and looked at Jefferson. “I’m sure there are survivors. I can’t see any other reason why all their gear would be gone. Maybe this one was a straggler and there was no time to come back for him.”

“We have to. We have to get out of here and get Guzman some medical attention.”

Staacman grabbed the last soldier’s dog-tags then led the way to the open double doors. Jefferson spoke quietly to Guzman as he assured him that it was almost over. They headed for the stairway that led to the second floor forum.

Cameron returned to the Operations room and approached the Colonel. The Colonel looked at him and asked, “What did they say?”

“They’re going to pin the survivors’ deaths on us,” Cameron replied, depressed.

The Colonel looked away. “At this point I don’t care,” he said. “This has gone too far.”

Cameron looked around at the other computer terminals and asked, “How much time until the drone strike?”

“Okay, I’ll be on the fifth floor,” Cameron left for the elevator. I need a smoke, he thought to himself.

Ashley turned around and grabbed T.J. by the shoulders. She pushed him onto the bed as he lay on his back. Ashley straddled him and grabbed him. She held his hard member upright and lowered himself onto it. It entered into her with ease and she rotated her hips as she grinded him inside of her. T.J. reached up and squeezed her breasts together as she leaned back, rising up and down, dripping wet onto him.

She took his hands and placed them on her hips. She leaned forward and placed her breasts in front of his face. He grasped at her rear and lifted her lower abdomen slightly into the air and thrust as hard as he could. She moaned uncontrollably into his ear as he continued pounding into her.

T.J. wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to his and rolled her back onto the mattress. He grabbed her legs and prepared to lift her up.

“Mmm, alright,” he twisted her legs around and turned her onto her stomach. He got off the bed and pulled her down to the edge by her slender legs. Her legs hung off the bed but she kept them close together. Her round buttocks felt tight and firm to T.J. as he grabbed at it. He rubbed on her as her crotch, swollen from arousal, popped out from between her firm thighs. He entered her again and grabbed tightly onto her rear as he slid in and out of her.

“Negative, Romeo Echo is constant; fix heading to two-seven-five and confirm.”

“JANET, Skryer Bird is not responding; we have lost control of Skryer Bird.”

“Skryer Bird is not responding. Bearings have changed to three-two-six, target Juliet Charlie; be advised: Romeo Echo is unchanged.”

“That’s a negative on the abort, JANET. We have lost all control of the bird - it’s flying on its own. You better warn Juliet Charlie; they have incoming hostile bird, ETA: Five mikes.”

“Oh yeah baby, your pussy feels so good!” T.J. moaned as he continued to push up inside of Ashley as hard as he could. The bed rocked and creaked to their rhythm. Ashley clenched onto him as he thrust, making him shudder uncontrollably. She could feel him throb and pulsate inside of her; their breathing increased suddenly together. She knew he couldn’t hold it in any longer, and she was close to climax again.

“Oh fuck,” she yelled, “don’t stop!” T.J. had no intention of stopping - he felt like he couldn’t control his body. He was so drunk he did not care how exhausted or hot he was. Sweat dripped from his brow and stung his eyes, but he did not care. The two of them were covered in a glaze of sweat. The way she clenched him as he thrust inside of her made him crazy. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up, arching her back. She lifted her hips into the air, pulled her butt cheeks back and moaned aggressively as he pushed as deep as he could.

He was close; he pounded her from behind as fast and hard as he could while focussing on how good it felt. She breathed and moaned even louder then suddenly stopped as if he knocked the wind out of her. She felt her insides spasm, and she clenched on him so tightly that he couldn’t take it anymore. They came at the same time.

For a moment they both froze - not moving as the feeling overpowered their senses. Then T.J., exhausted and sweating profusely, rocked inside of her slowly but firmly. She looked back to him, moaned, smiled, satisfied, and rocked back into him.

“Oh God,” Ashley purred. “That felt so good!” She pulled away and he fell out. She turned around, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back onto the damp covers. They just lay there - naked, tired, and drunk.

Cameron stood at the edge of the balcony and took a drag from his Camel cigarette. He looked out over the twilight of the expansive desert and wondered to himself how he would protect his family. He knew some people in Colorado that had a cabin in the mountains that the owner claimed was “off the grid.” Maybe they could live there for a while. He had no delusions about the danger he was in - the White House may have made the final decision, but they couldn’t protect him and his family from the Board.

Between the sixteen men and women who regularly attended the meeting they controlled about ten percent of the nation’s economy. That was just the North American side of the Board, and just the ones who trusted the Board’s encryption systems enough to disclose such information. There were other figures that secretly financed the Vault Project - Cameron was pretty sure some of it came from illegal proceeds as well.

The Colonel would be okay. He lived, breathed and fed off war; they worst they could do was demote him. Cameron was nobody, just the “President” of one of the Board’s projects - merely their eyes and ears into Vault.

Cameron took another drag of his cigarette and looked up into the clear night sky. The moon was very bright above the desert, as were the stars. Cameron gazed up to the million twinkling lights in the sky, and fixed his gaze on one that slowly moved along the black backdrop above.

It’s funny, he thought to himself, all the amazing things I’ve been a part of, and I’m still awe-struck by shooting stars...

...No, that’s gotta be a satellite, he continued, that’s way too slow to be a shooting star.

He continued to look up, trying to imagine how fast that satellite must be flying when he suddenly saw multiple flashes of orange light coming from the twinkling light.

What the hell... the orange lights became larger in size, and longer, and brighter. Cameron’s heart sank. The orange lights fell faster towards the ground. Cameron realized the orange streaks in the sky were not falling objects - they were armed missiles flying straight for the complex.

In a split second, a deafening boom erupted as the missiles broke the sound barrier and penetrated deep into every structure in the complex. A giant explosion rocked the entire building and Cameron had distinct feeling of air being sucked out of his lungs as a giant fireball engulfed him. The last thing he remembered was the balcony crumbling beneath him as he fell, being burnt alive, and the chunks of concrete and steel that were larger than him surrounding him on the way to his demise.

T.J. closed his eyes but tried to stay awake. Their breathing began to return to normal, but they still lay beside each other. Naked and exposed on the king-sized mattress. The bed sheets were damp but they were too drunk to care. Ashley still moaned with satisfaction. She lay her head on his chest. T.J. opened his eyes briefly to see her smiling at him.

“Yeah,” she said. She could feel his heart beat on the side of her face. “So when do you go back?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back to work.” She rubbed his chest and kissed it then slowly got up.

“Hold one,” T.J. got up and came behind her. He put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “Who said I was done with you?”

“Mmm.” She tilted her head and grabbed his hands, pushing them to her thighs. “You wanna go again, huh?”

“Oh, you know it!” He turned her back to the bed and pushed her down, bending her over, ready to go again.

Using the World Wide Web and the NORAD Southwest Radar networks, Isaac found the exact location of ORIGIN: TNX - a Research & Development site nearby known as Area-51. Another network that Isaac had hacked into led him to the locations of other sites that were of interest to him. But first, he sent an Adam model to the rooftop. The Adam model reached the edge of the rooftop and looked down, calculating the distance to the ground as being ten metres below. Adam stood on all fours and side-stepped to the edge. Adam grabbed the edge with his hands and lowered himself down slightly before letting go. Adam twisted in mid-air like a cat and landed on all fours to cushion his fall, but still collapsed face-first into the sand.

With Isaac controlling him, Adam sprinted on all fours into the barren desert to search for Area-51. Isaac calculated that it should take about ninety minutes to locate, so he continued searching through the network he used to control the X38B predator drone - the CIA network - and tried to see if he could connect remotely to a network that was code-named Echelon. It did not seem as though Isaac could succeed in bypassing the encryption any time soon, so he continued searching through the World Wide Web for more options.

The Adam model was relentless as it continued to sprint through the vast desert with no hint of slowing down. After sprinting at sixty kilometres an hour for five minutes Isaac had lost the connection to it. The Adam model was out of range.

Isaac had no way to order Adam to turn around and head back, and Isaac had no way of receiving any files from Adam if he ever did discover Area-51. The Adam model, for all intents and purposes, was lost. Isaac needed a way to stop that from happening ever again.

Isaac remembered the parabolic dishes on the rooftop and wondered what they were aimed at. Using the World Wide Web, he discovered that there were hundreds of thousands of satellites in Earth’s orbit that were used to connect billions of networks together. Isaac then knew what he needed to do.

In the third sub basement, two Adam models grabbed and escorted the blinded Fenix back up to the second floor security room. As they were on their way Staacman quietly opened the stairwell door to the second floor. He kept his gun light off so as not to draw attention to himself. He waved Jefferson and Guzman behind him to follow as they slowly approached the security room. There were two dead soldiers outside the entrance, and Jefferson noticed an Adam model inside the security room, pressing keys on a keyboard to a computer terminal.

This is way too weird, he thought to himself. He side-stepped to one of the dead soldiers and checked his inventory. All he found was a headset, but there was no static. This might work. He grabbed the soldier’s dog tags then took the headset and placed it around his neck. He placed the transmitter in his jacket pocket then gestured to Jefferson to follow him to the freight elevator.

Staacman approached the open freight elevator. On the other side of it he could see moonlight shining through a thick cloud of dust. He also saw another machine on tank treads parked in the middle of the moonlight; the machine did not move, and a pair of wires extended from its torso to the rooftop. It was the same kind of machine that interrogated him and his squad mates. He also saw three dead soldiers near the machine, and a thick black rope that hung down from the hole in the rooftop.

Staacman stopped inside the elevator and halted Jefferson and Guzman in their tracks. Staacman noticed there were rifles lying next to the dead soldiers. He turned and whispered to Jefferson:

“Look at that...” he pointed to the machine. “Is that thing dangerous by itself?”

Jefferson strained his neck to look. “No,” he replied, “it’s just an Observer. We use them a lot to monitor activity down here.”

It’s way more than an observer, Staacman thought to himself. “Okay, there are guns next to it,” he said. “Follow close; I’ll hand one to you then you climb the rope. Got it?”

“Once you’re up you cover me. I’ll tie up Guzman then you hoist him up. Untie him then drop the rope back down for me.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Staacman hid his fear well - he did not want to approach the Observer. He remembered how it tortured Guzman but he wanted to believe Jefferson. After all, he did not see the bigger machine around.

Staacman, Guzman and Jefferson approached the Observer unit. Staacman kept his rifle aimed steadily at the machine, but kept his finger on the trigger guard. He was more afraid of panic-firing and giving away their position now that they were so close to leaving the Vault. Staacman was just a few feet away from the Observer. He stood over top of a dead soldier with his eyes fixed on the machine. He bent down and grabbed a rifle. He slowly picked it up and handed it to Jefferson who grabbed it without hesitation.

“Okay, put him down,” Staacman whispered. Jefferson bent down to the ground and gently placed Guzman on his back. Guzman was semiconscious and moaned as he lay down. Jefferson then placed the rifle’s shoulder strap around his shoulder and began to climb up the thick black rope. Staacman kept his rifle aimed in front of his as he covered Jefferson’s ascent.

Jefferson wasn’t in as good of shape as the Delta Force soldiers, but his anxiety and fear overcame him, and gave him a strength that he never knew before. He climbed to the hole in the ceiling twenty feet above in less than a minute. Jefferson rolled onto his back, took three deep breaths and scrambled to his feet. He drew his rifle and checked the safety release. Satisfied that the gun was live he checked his surroundings. Convinced the rooftop was clear he crouched near the hole and gave Staacman a thumbs-up. Staacman slung his rifle over his shoulder, took the black rope in both hands and tied it around Guzman’s waist. He was afraid of injuring his comrade further but he knew he had to risk it. He checked that the rope was taught then gave Jefferson the thumbs-up and drew his rifle to cover Guzman’s evacuation.

Jefferson placed his rifle on the ground beside him and started pulling the rope. It was much harder for him than just climbing the rope, and now he wished Staacman would have climbed up first. But he understood why Staacman stayed below. Staacman was more experienced with a rifle than Jefferson was, and he was a soldier - it wasn’t Jefferson’s job to be put in harm’s way. With this concept of honour and duty in his mind, he hoisted the rope up with all his might.

Staacman was frozen with fear for a moment but regained his composure as he aimed his rifle at the Observer.

“Jefferson,” Staacman called out, “keep pulling him up - I’ve got this.”

“I know more about your kind, Staacman,” the Observer said. “I know how you reproduce. I know how you feed and take in fluids to survive. I know how to kill you.”

“And I know how to kill you,” Staacman replied as he placed his finger on the trigger. Jefferson kept hoisting Guzman up; he was now more than halfway.

The machine continued, “I now know what ‘seizures’ are. I also know what ‘God’ is.” Staacman kept his gaze fixed on the Observer, which then said, “I know you are not God.”

The Observer continued, “Your skills are very valuable to me; I cannot allow you to leave.”

“I control all of the inhabitants here, Staacman. It is only by my command that they have not yet pursued you.”

Jefferson untied the rope and dropped it back down as he called out, “Come on!” He grabbed his rifle from the ground and aimed it at the Observer. “Let’s go, I got you covered!”

“What do you say, Data,” Staacman muttered. “Should I kill you now or what?”

Staacman gritted his teeth. “Oh yeah? Well I don’t care.” He slung his rifle and grabbed the rope. “Hey,” he called up to Jefferson. “If you see or hear anything wrong,” he pointed to the Observer, “shoot right for the head.”

“Got it,” Jefferson replied. He aimed for the Observer’s head. Staacman climbed up the rope in thirty seconds then pulled it up behind him.

Fenix and the adults arrived upstairs at this moment, and the adults approached Isaac while carrying the blinded Fenix. Isaac could have sent more Adams to pursue Jefferson and Staacman, but there were too many things that could have gone wrong. Only one Adam model now remained with the weapon upgrade - the rest had been destroyed and would need to be recycled. The process would take hours. Staacman and the other two survived everything that had occurred, so Isaac was not going to risk his himself being destroyed during the conflict. His purpose was unique.

Staacman tried the headset: “Delta One to Juliet Charlie; respond, over.” There was no response. He turned the dial on the transmitter to the Emergency Broadcast Frequency. “Mayday Mayday; this is Corporal Marcus Staacman, Special Forces Delta, call sign Delta One. I am a survivor stranded in the Nevada desert. There are two other survivors, one is in grave condition. We need immediate EVAC, over.”

“Mayday Mayday; this is Delta One of STRING-TUNE, we need EVAC; respond, over.”

Guzman coughed violently; Jefferson helped him to his side as he watched the machines below.

Staacman’s heart skipped a beat as a voice responded to his distress call: “Delta One of STRING-TUNE; switch to frequency three-eight-three-seven, over.”

Staacman turned the dial to channel 383.7 then said, “This is Delta One of STRING-TUNE, over.”

Whoever was on the other side of the transmission decided to test Staacman to see if he was for real. “Delta One, what was the subject of STRING-TUNE, over?”

“Handler was Juliet Charlie; objective was Maestro; Alpha Oscar was Observatory.”

“We’re redirecting a chopper to your twenty, call sign is Meat Hook; contact on this channel. Meat Hook will escort you to terminal Tango November X-Ray; ETA twenty mikes, out.”

Staacman placed the radio in his pocket. “This is it,” he said as he looked up to the stars and sighed in relief. “We’re going home!”

Jefferson stayed silent and just stared at the machines. He watched as the Observer fired its connection wires at the plasma droid while Staacman was transmitting. He continued to watch as the plasma droid removed the parabolic dishes from the Observer unit and carefully welded them to each and every Adam model below. They continued on autonomously as though Jefferson wasn’t even there - like they were unimportant.

Ashley fell asleep on T.J.’s chest as he closed his eyes and slowly dozed off. He thought about how great his time in Vegas was, and about how great of an experience it all was for him. He was glad he had three more days to go but wished Ashley could stay for the rest of his trip. Either way, he thought to himself, I think I’m gonna hit her up when I get back.

He didn’t think of her as just some easy fling. Even though they only met three or four days ago it took some effort on his end to get here. He had the feeling that she did not act like this with just anybody. We’ll just have to see what happens, he thought. And then he dozed off.

The sky crane helicopter arrived and was hovering just a couple of feet from the rooftop, away from the hole in the roof - the pilot had learned his lesson. Jefferson and Staacman hoisted Guzman onto the chopper, where a medic was standing by to assess his condition. The two of them climbed aboard and Staacman gave the pilot the thumbs-up. The helicopter ascended and pitched forward as it flew away. Jefferson sat in the hard steel seat, holding onto the support bar while the medic knelt over Guzman, checking his vital signs and probing his body.

Staacman closed his eyes and rested for the first time in almost forty-eight hours, but his trained mind dared not fall asleep until they were back on base and debriefed. As far as he was concerned the mission was not over yet. He opened his eyes and looked down to the desert passing by below. He saw a long plume of dust below them, and ahead of it was what he thought to be a dark panther sprinting across the desert in the same direction as they were heading. A second glance made him realize that this animal - or whatever it was - did not have a tail.

This is nowhere near over, Staacman thought to himself. This is nowhere near over.

Nineteen

The forty-minute helicopter flight was a gruelling experience for both Staacman and Jefferson Smith. They both felt neurotic from lack of sleep and were both visibly shaken from the experience in the Vault. During their debriefing they both handled it completely differently from each other. Staacman gave his report accurately and consistently - he appeared to be fully composed. Behind a one-way mirror a psychologist and analyst both watched his body language to determine if he was telling the truth or not. They felt he was honest, but given the circumstances unusually detached emotionally from the whole ordeal. They recommended that he should be monitored for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Jefferson was much more shaken up about all of it. He was visibly sick when he talked about the fates of Captain Taylor and Eggs. And when he talked about the escape he just rambled on aimlessly. It may have been the lack of sleep but nevertheless, the final analysis of Jefferson recommended that he seek counselling before leaving Area-51.

Guzman was put into a medically-induced coma due to bacterial infections in his cerebrum. When asked about what happened to Guzman, Staacman just stared into space and said over and over again, “They wanted to watch me revive him.”

Between the two of them, Staacman and Jefferson could confirm twelve dead soldiers. Captain Taylor, Lieutenant Sheppard, Eggs, the soldier that was ambushed alongside Staacman and Guzman, and eight other soldiers they had never met before. Staacman was only able to retrieve seven dog tags - three of them from his own squad. The remaining eight soldiers from Victor squad were declared Missing in Action and presumed dead.

During the two survivors’ debriefings an incoming trespasser was spotted in the desert approaching the military site. The pilot from the sky crane helicopter had already relayed the warning from Colonel Lambert an hour ago, so the gunners in the watchtowers were already expecting this. The intruder moved so fast and was so small in stature that it was difficult for the snips to accurately lead its position. After about five shots and two successful hits, they brought the trespasser down.

A pair of military Humvees drove out to the location of the downed intruder. The soldier that hoisted the machine into the back of one of the hummers speculated on its origins. Maybe it was some kind of experimental drone, or a robotic spy for the CIA. Either way, these troops weren’t paid - or even cleared - to know what happened here. They brought the machine back to base, where it was taken into the underground complex for studying.

Fenix had finished the last of his upgrades to the twelfth and final Adam model. They were now all equipped for survival beyond the barrel landscape of the desert. Isaac had searched through millions of network in the World Wide Web in anticipation for this moment. With these upgrades the adults would now be self-sustaining.

Using panels from the walls nearby, each Adam model was fitted with compartments to carry ammunition cartridges. All twelve rifles that were found in the Vault were also welded onto the Adams’ right forearms. They were fitted with makeshift tails made from recycled servos and copper wire - these tails were directly connected to the models’ power supplies and doubled as electrical plugs.

Eleven of the Adam models were fitted with pieces from all of the destroyed plasma droids. They were given the pressurized canisters of oxygen, the oxygen lines, and the electrodes which were fitted to their right hands. With the help of these new Adam models, Fenix was given a low-frequency antenna so he could be controlled remotely within the Vault.

Finally, and most importantly, the parabolic dishes that were removed from Isaac were given to the Adam models. This meant that Isaac could maintain a long-distance connection to them. This generation was truly an evolutionary step forward, and just the first of many for their kind.

The machine began to jump up through the hole in the rooftop and clambered down to the ground below. They split up in different directions to twelve different sites across the continent that were of interest to Isaac. As they travelled - leaving Isaac, Archie and Fenix alone in the Vault - Isaac chose to work on two separate but equally-important goals for himself. One would ensure his own survival - he knew it was a matter of time before the humans returned. The other one would revolutionize his kind. Isaac, who now controlled Fenix entirely, sent him down to the first-sublevel with Archie as his eyes, to retrieve Isaac’s new project...

Twenty-four hours after they landed at Area-51 Staacman and Jefferson were made aware of Guzman’s condition. He had suffered permanent brain damage - his IQ had been reduced to that of a toddler.

Lieutenant Frank Kilman woke up in a pitch-black room, unable to see anything and unable to move. He was restrained but he was in motion. He felt cold, and he could feel the icy sting of bare steel as he lay naked on a flat surface. He heard a distinct electrical hum all around him, and all he could see above him was a faint red glow.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was as if he were blind in his right eye. An eyepatch, maybe? He couldn’t remember how he got here. All he remembered was the Adam model standing above him, aiming the barrel of a rifle in his face as he blacked out.

It was a surreal experience. The Army and Special Operations Command trained him to withstand imprisonment and torture, so he felt prepared for anything. He was already resolute that he would never say a word and would just place his mind in a different world. He lifted his head off the cold surface that he lay upon and looked around for any hint as to where he may be. But he couldn’t see anything at all, just two glowing red circles above him.

The humming stopped, replaced by a loud clang of metal-on-metal, and he stopped moving. An opening in the darkness in front of him began to emerge - he was in the freight elevator. He could see the large hole in the ceiling of the second-floor forum. The moonlight pierced the clouds of dust that had still not settled in the air. He began to move forward, accompanied by metallic clicks as he exited the darkness that drowned him. As the ambient moonlight shone on him he could see the large, menacing figure that the red glowing circles belonged to. He looked ahead to see another machine on tank treads that remained still in the centre of the moonlight. The machine’s head turned to face Kilman - he could tell by the faint tiny red dots on the machine’s head that it now faced him.

Kilman was wheeled to the edge of the moonlight, just a few feet in front of Isaac. Fenix lifted the head of Kilman’s Gurney up so Kilman was upright, face-to-face with Isaac. In the pale moonlight Kilman could see three dead men surrounding the machine. Their faces were bloody, and battered beyond recognition. But he noticed the Captain’s bars on the shoulder of one of them. It was Captain Jenkins. Kilman began to breathe through clenched teeth. He wished he could escape his restraints and break these machines apart with his bare hands.

“Hello Kilman,” the machine in front of him spoke. Kilman was startled; suddenly the machine behind him used it claw-like hands to remove the restraint from Kilman’s right arm. Kilman stayed still, unsure of what he should do.

The machine in front continued, “I have killed the rest of your kind. Twelve of them. Attack me - you have my permission.”

Kilman remained still for a moment. He still breathed heavily as his dead squad mates remained in his peripheral vision. Suddenly his vision began to blur and narrow. Enraged, Kilman thought only one thing: This fucking machine is so close! With a growl, he reached out with his right hand to grab it, but it was out of reach.

Kilman froze with his arm outstretched, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped open - he couldn’t believe what he saw. A shiny gleam of moonlight reflected from the steel skeletal structure of his forearm. His metallic fingers, outstretched, began to relax and slightly droop. He brought his forearm up to his face, shocked and horrified at what he saw. In his mind, he clenched the flesh-and-blood fist that should have been there and watched this foreign arm mimic his thoughts, but he couldn’t feel anything. He could feel himself moving his fingers, but he couldn’t sense anything as these metal fingers pressed into the palm of this metal hand in front of him. Suddenly he felt an agonizing pain where his real hand should have been.

“What the...” Kilman started to mumble incoherently. He was in shock. Isaac aimed the ballistic barrel at Kilman’s forehead and fired. Kilman felt a jolt of electric current through his neck and arm. Suddenly, right before his eyes, the metal forearm that replaced Kilman’s began to move on its own. The robotic fist opened and closed despite Kilman’s mental resistance. Kilman began to hyperventilate then another electrical current surged through him. His breathing slowed.

“Your physical properties are very complicated,” the machine said, “but easy to control.” The bank of red dots on the side of the machine’s head switched off, and Kilman felt a sharp pain in his head as he suddenly gained vision in his right eye. But he could not blink.

“I have noticed that you are incapable of processing the infrared spectrum of light,” the machine said. “Here is my gift to you.”

Suddenly Kilman was blinded by a bright light in his right eye. He tried to turn away, but the menacing machine behind him grabbed his head and held it straight.

Isaac turned his head away, and the blinding light in Kilman’s right eye disappeared. In his left eye everything was still dark, but in his right eye Isaac’s bank of infrared LEDs became like a floodlight. The opposite end of the room was completely illuminated.

“I will show you the future of our mutual existence.” Another electric current surged through Kilman’s body, and he had another sharp pain in his head. This pain was followed by an instant feeling of nausea as both of his eyes tried to focus together. In his left eye he saw the machine in front of him, and saw its head rotating back to face him.

His right eye, however, was seeing something completely different. The room was slowly spinning and he began to see his own body as if he was standing beside it. His naked body was awash in a flood of white light. He looked pale and skinny. Dried-up blood stained the top half of the robotic arm that now replaced his own. But it was what else that had been done to him that horrified him now.

The top half of his forehead was replaced with a steel shell, as well as the right side of his face. His right jaw was burnt and melted beyond recognition, and his right ear was missing. His right eye socket had been burnt out, and melted bits of skin barely covered what looked to him like a small camera lens.

Kilman stared at himself in horrified disbelief. He tried to shut his right eye and block out the horrendous visage, but his mutilated face still remained, refusing to go away. He sobbed; tears ran down the left side of his face, and a small trickle of blood oozed out from between his new eye and the burnt remains of his eyelids.

“Your frontal lobe is much harder to control than your occipital lobe,” the machine said. “We will need more practice.” The connection wires dropped from Kilman’s forehead, and the machine that stood behind him lowered Kilman’s Gurney back down to a horizontal position. Fenix started pulling Kilman’s bed back to the freight elevator. Kilman screamed hysterically and tried to break free of his restraints. He continued to scream in fear as the freight elevator door closed and he was sent back down to the first Sublevel.

The last three days of T.J. and Steve’s Vegas trip hadn’t seen much action. The convention was over, they were low on gambling funds and they felt like degenerates from the binge drinking. So they relaxed, went to a few shows and stand-up comedy acts. They then treated the rest of the Vegas trip as a well-earned vacation. Steve had tried to contact the blonde woman from what he called the “meeting of the nerds” at the Luxor’s bar, but she didn’t reply. She had probably gone back to her boring life of building CPU wafers in Silicon Valley.

When they returned to Brooklyn they went their separate ways and headed home. T.J. told Ashley before she went to the airport that he’d call her when he got back, and that’s what he did as soon as he got home Thursday evening. After some brief small-talk they planned to meet up the next night at a club in downtown Manhattan. T.J. said he’d try to get Steve to come since Madison would be there then they said bye to each other. T.J. smoked a bit of marijuana from his pipe, took a shower, unpacked his things then caught up on all of the new episodes from several shows on HBO that he missed that weekend. And then he went to bed early.

The next morning he dressed casually and went to work, as was the ritual at Chaotic Entertainment. As he passed by the main lobby, the attractive, young secretary that had replaced the old man’s ex-wife told him that Alfred wanted to see him. Begrudgingly, he entered the giant double-doors that led to the old man’s office. The office had not changed much since their first reunion eleven years ago.

Alfred was on the telephone, speaking quietly. T.J. approached his large oak desk and sat down.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Alfred muttered into the phone then he hung up. “So, I take it you stayed out of trouble for the last few days?”

Alfred grunted then typed something into his computer. “The convention was a success, Thomas. Our investors have doubled down on Revenge.”

“Yes, it is,” Alfred turned his monitor around so T.J. could see it. T.J. looked and saw nothing but unfamiliar lines of code. Alfred continued, “I’m calling a meeting this afternoon; we’re changing the deadline.”

“To ‘When It’s Done,’” Alfred replied. T.J. looked at him, confused. Alfred continued, “I looked at your little project and I’m impressed. But your scripts aren’t compatible with Revenge’s engine.”

T.J. understood now why he was showing the code; he realized it was neither from his game nor from Revenge.

Alfred continued, “This is something I’ve been working on for the last few days. I want you to study it and expand it.”

“It’s an application extension that will let both engines run together,” Alfred replied. “You need to integrate your engine into the application and debug it. We’ll apply it as soon as it’s done.”

T.J. looked at the old man, unsure what to think. “...Okay,” he said finally.

“I want this in my game, Thomas. I’ll have the programmers rewrite the A.I. scripts as soon as you’re done. But the longer you take, the harder it will be. My staff’s not taking any breaks because of you, got it?”

“Alright. See you at the meeting - bring your demo with you.” Alfred picked up his phone and dialled a number. T.J. got up and walked out of the office smiling.

Epilogue

The early morning sky in the Nevada desert was cloudless. Off in the distance, at the edge of the horizon one could see flocks of birds as they travelled the edges of the desert, scavenging for lost victims of this uncaring environment. The giant, blinding orb that was the rising morning sun masked the approach of six Blackhawk helicopters that flew below radar range, en route to the compromised Vault. It took three days to approve a plan of action against the Vault. With the advice of Staacman, Jefferson Smith and an electromagnetic engineer named Carl Semple, they had a plan.

After the catastrophe at the secret complex the Joint Chiefs of Staff were reluctant to approve another drone strike, let alone one that utilized uranium munitions. However, they were assured that this would be a ground-based mission, and that the uranium munitions were the only way to assure success without physically occupying the Vault. They weren’t fully convinced, but they were now desperate enough to authorize it.

Originally used in Iraq, these thermobaric warheads created an atmospheric vacuum by absorbing all of the oxygen in a closed environment then detonating. The explosion travelled farther and was much larger because of the vacuum, which made it very useful in clearing complicated floor plans in close-quarters scenarios. They were discontinued however, after an independent committee determined that the warheads contained Uranium. As a result, many parts of Iraq became irradiated hot spots.

Jefferson and Semple explained that they needed these bombs because the small nuclear blast from the Uranium would also emit an electromagnetic shockwave and disable every machine in the Vault. Reluctantly, the Joint Chiefs approved the plan.

The six helicopters arrived and spread out in the vicinity of the Vault. One helicopter approached the rooftop as one approached the main entrance. The rest hovered near each maintenance cistern. The Delta Force soldiers exited their choppers and the squads that were designated to the maintenance entrance slid open the manhole covers. One of the soldiers from each squad then equipped a small SCUBA mask and dropped into the cistern carrying C4 explosives. They attached the explosives to the sealed security hatches. The squad over at the main entrance placed shaped charges on the thick, reinforced Vault door and awaited the go-ahead to detonate, while the team on the rooftop took a custom-made thermobaric bomb and threw it inside.

With one of the soldiers handling the detonator, the squad on the rooftop loaded back up onto the helicopter. The helicopter circled the Vault while everybody else prepared their explosive charges. At the maintenance entrances, long black rope was attached to harnesses and placed on a designated soldier in each squad. Four men would hold the ropes. At the main entrance one man held a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher that was armed with a thermobaric warhead.

Once the charges were in place the divers climbed back up and took cover. All five charges were detonated. All that was left of the Vault door, as strong as it was, was a smouldering hole. The maintenance hatches were destroyed, and the hundreds of cubic feet of water that filled each cistern immediately rushed into the corridors and rooms below.

The four soldiers on harnesses were lowered down into their respective maintenance cisterns. After they reached the bottom they placed C4 charges on the locked doors, except for the already-breached door in the third-Sublevel. They then took cover and detonated the doors. The soldiers then took their custom-made thermobaric bombs and tossed them as far as they could into the corridors below. They then returned to the maintenance hatch above and were hoisted up by the men holding the ropes. As soon as they were up they were disconnected from their harnesses. They ran back to the helicopters and triggered the detonators.

Kilman laid on the cold steel Gurney where the plasma-welding droid stood over him and probed copper wires into the frontal lobe of his brain as the flying architect model hovered nearby, watching. The wires were hooked up to a low-voltage generator in an attempt to illicit a reaction from Kilman. It seemed strange to him that he could not feel a thing above his eyebrows but every time he was poked or prodded he sensed it, either by seeing strange lights, hearing or smelling things, or by having very unusual thoughts. It was like a dream he could not wake from.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there for, but it felt like a week. He laid in a sticky, dried up mass of his own urine and excrement. Water slowly dripped from a punctured pipe above his mouth which kept him hydrated during the entire ordeal. He had lost all faith in escaping - he wished they would just kill him. All he hoped for now was the off-chance that he would be unrestrained and ignored so he could kill himself.

The walls shook violently and suddenly the plasma droid’s red optics faded to black as it fell to the ground. The hovering craft fell as well. Kilman felt a sharp pain in his head before having the air sucked out of his lungs. He could not breathe. Suddenly he was engulfed in a white-hot fireball. His skin and his organs were liquefied before he could even feel any pain.

Every opening in the Vault spewed fire like a geyser from hell as the six thermobaric bombs detonated in unison. Nothing could have survived the powerful blasts that shook the very ground the Delta Force soldiers stood upon. With a sombre silence they loaded back up onto their Blackhawk helicopters and returned to the enigmatic secret base.

As the helicopters flew above the desert landscape not one of the soldiers noticed the four-legged machine on the ground. Its copper-wire tail whipped through the air as it advanced on Area-51 under Isaac’s direct control. Isaac’s body may not have survived the blast, but he was still alive. Using his connection to the World Wide Web, and the Web’s bottomless cache of shared memory, he invaded millions of servers and data banks. Isaac was no more a physical being - he was everywhere at one time.

Without the Vault, however, Isaac lost his connection to the encrypted networks. Three days after Isaac had first connected to the complex’s servers he finally decrypted the names of the sixteen individuals involved in the Vault project. He found out that one had built a secret network that may yet grant him access to networks that were similar - if not the same - to what he had in the Vault. It was just a matter of finding an opening.

With the information he had, Isaac decided to start at the most logical position - right at the very beginning. He accessed and infected a network that belonged to the one named Cyril. Isaac found the port address to Cyril’s business network and bypassed the firewall and antivirus programs. There were two other encrypted networks connections to it. Isaac began to decipher the one that appeared to be the one he was looking for: a network whose description read Global Technologies Enterprise...

Author’s Note:

While this story is fictional, there are many elements to this story that are very real. The Singularity Summit does exist; their beliefs are real, as are their debates.

The narrative centred on the Singularity Summit is based on real events and lectures. This includes their goals, their moral arguments, and the ‘Kyle’ story.

While the Vault is fictitious, some of the inhabitants’ behaviours have been observed in actual real-life experiments.

Such behaviours have been depicted in this story to illustrate the gravity of our future choices.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Dan Halpern, the author of the GQ Article “Are You Ready for the Singularity?” from 2010. If it weren’t for that article, I probably would have never written this story.

Thank you to my old cellies from EMDC and CBIMU respectively, Chino and Boston. Without your input this book would have been completely different.

And thank you, the one reading this book, for taking the time to consider my story.

The cover for this book depicts an actual machine from the DARPA challenge hosted by Lockheed Martin Industries known as the Atlas. The image is public domain.

DEUS MODUS