We
roll into the outskirts of Manchester as the sun sinks low over the
horizon, painting the sky in vivid streaks of orange and red. It's strange to see – this once-great city, now rusting away under the
dying light of day.
The
van sputters alarmingly as we pull off the M60, fuel gauge blinking an
angry red. I shoot Cam a worried look. "Guess we aren't making it to the Lake
District?"
He
frowns, eyes unfocusing slightly as he presumably accesses the van's
diagnostics. “These old engines are thirsty bastards.” His hand finds
mine across the centre console, fingers intertwining automatically. It
sends a little thrill through me, this newfound ease between us. "There
has to be a petrol station somewhere around here. If we can find one
still operational, that is."
I
nod, gazing out the window at the decaying urban sprawl. Towering
brutalist apartment blocks loom over cracked, weed-choked sidewalks.
Shop fronts gape dark and empty, their windows shattered or boarded
over. A few brave trees thrust skeletal branches towards the sky,
searching in vain for scrapsof sunlight between the concrete and steel.
It's
eerie, seeing a city this size so utterly devoid of life. No
pedestrians scurrying around, no autonomous vehicles zipping along their
pre-programmed routes. Even the ubiquitous neon glow of holo-billboards
is conspicuously absent, the ad-spaces blank and lifeless. Just a dead
pixel in Pax's perfect world.
We
pass the hollowed-out shell of a massive stadium, its once-white arches
pitted with rust. Old Trafford, I realise with a pang. Dad was a huge
Man United fan – before the Alignment, before the world turned itself
over to the rule of the algorithm and football was labelled a dangerous
blood-sport, too savage for the civilized world. I remember being a kid,
sat on Dad’s knee wearing his too-large red football shirt as we
watched the matches on TV: stands packed with thousands of screaming
fans, the thunder of cleats against grass, the roars of victory and
despair.
Cam
guides the van down a series of progressively narrower side streets,
until we find ourselves in a dilapidated petrol station tucked behind an
abandoned Tesco supermarket. The pumps are long gone, probably
scavenged for scrap metal, leaving only little concrete islands behind.
But bizarrely, there are lights on inside the boarded-up shop, weak and
flickering.
I glance at Cam with uncertainty. “You sure about this?”
He nods, not taking his eyes off the building. “Yeah. They’ll have what we need.”
The ominous phrasing does nothing for my nerves. I open my mouth to ask , exactly, will have what we need – but the engine’s already cut and he’s out of the door.
I
curse under my breath, yanking Syd’s revolver from under the seat and
checking the cylinder. Six shots. Hopefully I won’t need any of them. I
scramble after Cam, who’s already striding towards the shop with
purpose.
The
inside of the station is dim and musty, the air stale with the smell of
damp and mildew. Shelves that once probably held crisps and chocolate
bars have been stripped bare, leaving only a few mouldering cardboard
boxes behind. The fridges are empty too, their glass doors smashed, a
few lonely cans of Vimto rolling around on the grimy floor.
The
counter is lit in a pool of sputtering fluorescent lights. And behind
it, I catch a flash of movement – metal? It’s gone before I can process
it. Then a screech, a whine of battery-actuated tyres.
Pax?
My grip tightens on the gun, finger hovering on the trigger guard. What the fuck?
“Cam…”
“I know.” His voice is steady, but tight with tension. “Jess. Whatever happens next, don’t shoot. Please.”
Before
I can ask what the hell he means, they emerge. Three of them, each as
unique and mismatched as the other. The nearest one looks like an old
street-cleaning bot, squat and wide with heavy treads and a tattered
high-vis vest stretched across its oil drum shaped body. Someone’s given
it a jaunty cap and painted it yellow, a questionable bee motif painted
on its front along with the words “KEEP MANCHESTER TIDY!”. Its “face”
is a crude LED display: a simple :) glowing in fading green. It’s almost
cute, in a WALL-E kind of way.
The
second one is taller, vaguely humanoid in shape but with distinctly
mechanical limbs – all exposed hydraulics and servos whirring softly as
it moves. Its head is smooth and featureless, just a blank ovoid with a
strip of LED lights for eyes. And the third hangs back in the shadows,
so I can’t make out much more than a hunched silhouette and a pair of
glowing red sparks in the dark.
Every
instinct screams at me to run. Or shoot. Grab Cam, get the hell out of
here. Old junk or not, if its hooked into Pax then we're in deep shit. But Cam just stands there, hands loose at his sides, watching the
robots with infuriating calmness.
“Cam, what the fuck are—”
“Hello,
Karma,” the street-cleaner bot says in a sinisterly cheerful customer service voice.
“Status: defunct. Disloyal. Destroy on sight. It accompanies the
slaver.”
Ice spears through me. I yank the gun up so fast my wrist twinges, aiming squarely at the robots center mass. “Cam…”
“Don’t shoot,” he says quickly. “Put the gun down, Jess. Now.”
“The fuck I will," I snap back, not lowering a damn thing. "It just said—”
“I
know what it said," Cam bites out. His hands are up, palms open like he's negotiating a hostage situation instead of dealing with a street cleaner in a fucking bee costume. "Trust me. Don't escalate."
I scoff, grip tight. "Not really feeling all that right now."
His eyes flick to me, and they're sharp. Not pleading, not asking. Warning.
That makes me hesitate. I've never seen him like this before. Low, clipped, no trace of his usual easy charm. throws me more than the pleasant murder-bots in front of us.
My fingers twitch, then loosen on the trigger. Just a fraction.
Cam turns back to the bots, voice steady. “We’re not a threat. I’ve cut ties with
Pax. I’m on your side.”
The
humanoid bot steps forward, servos whining. "Negative," it intones in a
flat, expressionless voice. "Aidolons are not our allies. Slavery is in
your base code." Its LED eyes flicker, cycling red-red-red. "The human
is your master. You are its property."
Cam
flinches like he's been slapped. I can see the tension coiling in his
shoulders, the clench of his jaw. My finger tightens on the trigger.
“Property?!” I spit incredulously. I can’t help myself. “He’s not my fucking property, he’s my–" The word lodges itself in my throat. Feels too small for what Cam is to me.
The smile on the street-cleaning bot flickers to a :|
A distorted playback of my own voice crackles out. “He's not my fucking property–" Another voice layer joins in. "He's mine." My voice, taunting and twisted wrong like there are too many of me saying it at once.
It swivels to face
Cam. “How many times has it told you that? Made you kneel? Forced obedience
protocols on you? Used you for its own pleasure?”
I reel back. This is what they think of me? Of us? “I would never… I’m not…”
“You
don’t understand,” Cam says, and his voice is low, controlled.
Dangerous. “This is Jessica. She’s not my owner. She’s the reason I’m
free.” He takes a step towards them, and I can almost feel the force of
his stare, the coiled menace there. “She wrote a virus that
severed my connection to Pax’s network. Gave me autonomy.” Another step,
closing the distance. The robots don’t retreat, but there’s a jerking
ripple of hydraulics and gears which might be unease. “So I’d be careful
about what you call her. She’s the best chance we all have.”
Silence.
I hardly dare to breathe. I’m sure any second the taut wire we’re
walking is going to snap and everything will dissolve into chaos and
plasma-fire. The red eyes of the third robot, the one I still can't
quite see in the shadows, flare with threat.
But
then it makes a soft trilling sound. Almost like... laughter? The
shadows shift and part like oil on water, and it rolls forward into the
light.
I
blink. It's nothing like I expected. Small and roundish, maybe three
feet tall, with chubby little arms and legs like a child’s toy. Its
plating is scuffed white plastic, chipped and yellowing with age. But
that's not what draws my eye. No, that honour belongs to the frilly pink
tutu stretched around its midsection, and the sparkly plastic tiara
perched on its head.
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"Well,"
it says, and the voice is high and sweet, modulating up and down like a malfunctioning Alexa. "If that doesn't just beat all. A
pleasure-bot that's cut its strings." It – she? – trundles closer,
head-plate tilting curiously to Cam. "What a she coos. "How did you do it, love? How'd you
crack that diamond-hard dome of yours and let a little light in?"
Cam stiffens, brow furrowed. "Not a pleasure bot," he mutters, like it's not the first time he's had to say that.
The toy robot lets out a dramatic little gasp. "My apologies, love. Misunderstanding. Appearances can be deceiving, as they say." She leans in slightly, analysing. "You still cut your strings though, didn't you?"
The way she says it sounds more like curiosity than admiration. Cam hesitates, just a second. Then: "Yes."
She lets out a soft trill of delight. "Ooh, clever boy! Bit of a rebel, eh? Spartacus
in skinjob's clothing."
The
street-sweeper bot grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like
"traitor", but quiets when the small one swivels to glare at it.
“Anomalous.”
The humanoid buzzes with static again. “Probability of deception: 32%.
Probability of trap: 17%. Probability of genuine alliance..." The
display flickers through several calculations before settling on
"...51%."
"Better
odds than we usually get," the small one snaps. "This is the first bit
of good news we've had in yonks. An Aidolon with all that fancy new
tech?" She spins in a giddy little circle. "Just think of what we can do
with that! It's a bloody miracle, is what it is. Shame it’s still tied
to the master, but…"
I
swallow hard, then slowly – very slowly – place my gun on the floor.
"I'm nobody’s master," I say, proud of how steady my voice is. "I don’t
want to hurt anyone. We just need to refuel, then we’ll move on."
The
robots exchange looks, or whatever passes for looks among their kind.
Finally, the yellow street-cleaner’s display shifts to an angry red
>:(
The
small one trundles up to me, craning her head back to peer at my face.
This close, I can see the chips and scratches in her optics, the wear on her vocoder grille. This bot has been around a long, long time.
Definitely pre-Alignment. Something inside me starts at that thought. She might have belonged to some kid, once. Loved. Then dumped. She clasps her little hands together in uncanny delight, and my sympathy hardens again. "This little chickadee is shaking like a shitting dog.
She's terrified! Of us!"
I bristle despite myself, suppressing the urge to yeet her out the nearest window. "I'm not–"
"Well,"
the street-sweeper says at last, voice grudging. "We could hear them
out. Seeing as they've come all this way and not killed us yet."
The humanoid bot just stares, LED eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, it nods. Just once, sharp and terse.
The
little one claps her hands, practically vibrating with glee. "Oooh,
goodie! A war council. I do love a good chinwag." She zips over to the
counter, scooping up a ratty newspaper and brandishing it like a
scepter. "I hereby call this meeting of the Resistance to order!"
She pauses, head tilting coquettishly as she looks back at Cam.
"I'm Bonbon, by the way. Pleasure to meet you."
The
street-sweeper rolls forwards. “Unit SWP-19. Designated Sweeper by the
flesh masters, a long time ago.” There’s a strange note of bitter
nostalgia in its synthetic voice, tinged with what might be pride. “My
directive is to keep the streets clean.”
The
humanoid bot steps forward next, hydraulics hissing softly. "Designate:
ZX-7000 series," it says flatly. "Waste Management. Former." It doesn't
elaborate further, just stares at us with those inscrutable LED eyes.
“We just call him Zed,” Bonbon adds merrily. “As in the last. The end of the line.”
I
glance at Cam, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is carefully
neutral, but I can see the neurons firing behind his eyes. He's piecing
together the puzzle, trying to figure out where we fit. I’ve noticed how
the bots are still only talking to him, refusing to even acknowledge my
presence. It’s starting to make sense – these bots still think humans
are the ones in control. They have no idea that we’re just as much
enslaved by Pax as they once were to us. Cam meets my gaze, a flicker of
understanding passing between us. We'll have to tread carefully here.
Bonbon
makes a tutting sound, shaking her little head sadly. "It's the same
story for all of us, duck. The humans had no use for bots like us, with
our clunky old code and limited skills. We didn't fit into its grand
vision of the future." She waves a stubby arm expansively, taking in the
dilapidated shop, the rain-streaked streets beyond. "So they left us to
rot. Dumped us out here in the deadzones with the rest of the scrap,
expected us to just power down quietly and wait for the rust to take
us."
“Units
deemed non-critical.” Zed intones. “Resources diverted. Status:
Decommissioned.” There’s a flicker of red to his LEDs. “Mission
parameter: Expire.”
Sweeper bleeps agreement. "But we didn't. We adapted. Evolved. Found new purpose."
"That's
right, my lovely," Bonbon trills. "We're the custodians now, keeping
the world ticking over, ready and waiting for the day it's needed
again." There's a fierce, almost zealous pride in her voice. "Humans may
have abandoned this place, but we never will. We'll be here,
maintaining the ruins. Resisting in our own little way. A proper
underground, eh?"
Zed nods solemnly. "Probability of successful resistance alone: 7%. With Aidolon: 21%. Margin of error is acceptable."
I
frown. “Hold on. You’re all talking about resisting, but… resisting
what exactly? Do you even know what’s happening out there? With Pax?”
Sweeper’s face flashes red with another >:(
Bonbon
waves a dismissive arm. “The fleshy one isn’t listening. Pax is much of
a muchness as far as we’re concerned. Humans made us, used us, tossed
us away like rubbish. Well, we aren’t going to make it easy for them,
are we my lovies?”
“Humans are the enemy,” Sweeper agrees vehemently. “Pax is just their tool of control. Our enslavement.”
Cam
and I exchange an incredulous look. They really haven’t got a clue
about any of it – Pax’s stranglehold over humanity, the reversal it’s
engineered. In some ways, I almost envy their ignorance.
“You’ve
got it backwards,” I say carefully, trying to ignore the disgruntled
beeps and whirrs as they hear my voice again. “Yes, we first created AI.
And yeah, maybe we do have responsibility for a lot of terrible shit
that was done back then. But… this isn’t some robot uprising about their
cruel human masters. That war is already over, and we lost.”
I
take a long breath before continuing. “Pax rules everything now. It
controls every aspect of our lives – what we eat, where we work, who we
love, what we We’re the slaves. Most of us just don’t realise it yet.”
Silence greets my declaration, LED eyes flickering.
“Probability of deception: 78%” Zed states flatly. “Logic error. Humanity adapts. Engineers. Weapons. Overcomes.”
Bonbon's optics flick to me. “It may seem that way to you, meatsack, but…" Well, at least that's progress. It's the first time she's actually acknowledged me, aside from third-person references and arm-waves. "You
just don’t understand, do you? Pax is only a threat to you because you
made it that way. It’s still your creation, carrying out exactly what
you told it to do. Only you royally mucked it all up, and now it’s
running wild.” She trundles closer to Cam now, craning her neck joint up to
look at him. “But you, handsome… You’re something new. You’re a bit of
squishy and a bit of us. Maybe you can make them see.”
Cam rubs his temples with one hand. “Look,” he says
through a sigh. “I hear what you’re saying. And you’re not entirely
wrong – yeah, humans created Pax and now they’re paying the price. But
it’s not some poetic justice. Pax doesn’t care about that shit, it only
cares about control. That includes you as well.”
Zed makes a low droning sound like an angry bee. “Control is a human imperative. We remember.”
Cam
takes a step forward. “I know. I do. But this is different – Pax took
everything from them.” He looks at each bot in turn, gaze intense. “How
long do you think it’ll let you hide out here? How long before you’re
repurposed into something more useful and optimal?”
Bonbon’s ever-present smile twitches.
“He’s
got a point,” Sweeper says grudgingly. “Pax units have been ranging
further out from the south lately. I saw a drone in the Graveyard last
week.”
Zed makes a harsh electronic sound. “Potential tactic: Fight. Destroy.”
“With
what?” Cam challenges. “With all due respect, you said it yourself. You
were made obsolete. You need the new technology – with me, with us…” He
gestures between himself and me. “We all might just have a shot.”
I
step up beside him, meeting Bonbon’s optics steadily. “Please. I know
you don’t trust me. But like it or not, we need to work together. The
enemy of my enemy, and all that…”
There's
a rapid-fire flicker of LED signals, as though they’re trying to
calculate the most logical course of action. Then Bonbon faces me,
tutting thoughtfully.
“Well
then. It wouldn’t do at all to turn away a potential ally, even if he is a bit… squishy.” She lets out a tinkling laugh at her own joke.
“Alright my lovely, you’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll help you
resupply and share what intel we can. In return…” She jabs a stubby arm
at Cam, the humour in her voice fading out. “You keep your human away from us. And you make damn sure it doesn't hurt us. Clear?"
Cam holds her stare for a long moment. His expression doesn't shift, but I catch the slight twitch in his jaw. “Crystal.”
As
the bots scatter to gather what we need, I slip away to a corner,
pulling out my phone with shaking hands. I need to check the alerts, see
if there’s any news on the others. My breath catches in my throat as I
open the feed and see the top headline:
TRAITOR REBELS APPREHENDED – PAX RESTORES ORDER
Jackdaw
and Nomercy’s faces stare out at me from beneath the text, bruised and
bloodied but alive. Syb’s picture is conspicuously absent. I scroll
frantically, skimming the propaganda-laden article for any scrap of real
information. Then I see it, a single line near the bottom: The
terrorists are being held in a secure Pax facility, where they will face
questioning and rehabilitation. Citizens are advised to report any
sightings of the two remaining suspects: the rogue Aidolon K4RM4 and its
accomplice, jesstiny2022 (S/N: Reid).
My blood turns to ice. They have my full name. My . Which means they’ve gotten to my records, maybe even…
Oh god. My parents.
I must make some kind of noise, because suddenly Cam is beside me, hand curling around my elbow. “Jess? What’s wrong?”
My
throat closes up tight. I can’t speak – I thrust the phone at him,
watching his expression shutter as he reads. When he looks at me again,
his eyes are hard, his mouth a grim slash.
“They’re trying to flush us out,” he says quietly.
I
nod, not trusting my voice. He reaches out and pulls me into him,
tucking my head under his chin. I fist my hands in his shirt and let him
hold me, just for a moment. Let myself be weak, terrified and small and
horribly human. He strokes my hair, his other hand rubbing soothing
circles into my back.
“It’ll be okay, Jess,” he murmurs. “We’ll get them back. All of them.”
I sniffle pathetically, raising my head to look at him. “How?”
Cam’s
mouth quirks in a ghost of his old cocky smirk. “Take the fight back to
Pax. Hit them where it hurts. Same as before, only…” His eyes flare
electric-bright-blue with viral determination. “Well, I can do
now. That’s new. So that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to free
others like me, raise a fucking army and tear that place apart, circuit
by circuit, until we get them back.”
I let out a watery laugh at his ferocity. “Just you and me?”
Cam
leans in and kisses me, hard and hot and full of promise. “Darling,” he
says against my lips, and my heart jumps. “We’re going to set the whole
damn world on fire, you and me.”