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The Long, Dark Night by Erin Tyler It was one minute past midnight on February 2, 2451, and the town of Parkside was as silent as a tomb. The only people outside were Junior, his men, and a few stragglers who made themselves rare. There was a striking dichotomy there that night: peaceful silence and blind fear. The temperature dropped to below freezing after 11 pm, and the lights in the vast majority of the houses were out, but most people in Parkside were still awake. The stragglers I mentioned were sometimes nice folks who brought Junior's men coffee, blankets, snacks, and kind words. Others were just people who didn't, or couldn't, sleep. Everyone outside kept quiet, but they were all shivering hard, even the people who normally didn't mind the cold. When it came to the houses, the deputies usually just passed by, keeping an ear open for any trouble that could be within. Sometimes they knocked on doors, and, when they were needed, they entered. Accounts of what they heard and saw paint a picture of Parkside indoors that night: quiet prayers in rooms lit by a single candle; short, fierce arguments between spouses, friends, and siblings over all kinds of things, from old wounds to missing their chances to leave; Dr. Phillips, seemingly everywhere at once, binding wounds inflicted by that damn yapping monster, Spot. Then there was the Tims house... or rather, what remained of it. One of the deputies took a risk by climbing over the wreckage. He didn't find Roger, not that night. Roger was under there, though. But he wasn't, uh... you know. When the deputies went to visit Nancy, they found she had locked herself and her children in a bedroom at a friend's house. She wouldn't talk through the door, but her children did, and they said she was... ...Well, she was still there, and breathing. The cries of children could be heard intermittently in the night, their wails sometimes the only thing the deputies could hear. Most of Parkside's young children were in bed after intense, focused coaxing by their parents and caretakers. Three children, however, were still wide awake. After the thunder and noise was heard to the west, Bee tried to slip out of her bedroom to see what it was. This was a situation that was very different to her, though; there was actual danger out there, and she knew it. After spending a good 10 minutes psyching herself up, she grabbed the door handle and pulled. It didn't budge. She twisted the knob, but it did nothing. "Go to bed, Bee," came the ghostly voice of Alan from the other side of the door. "I am in bed!" she said quickly. No response. "I'm kinda in bed?" Nothing. "I'm not tired! I already took a nap!" "I know," her father replied. "I nailed the door shut while you were asleep." There was so little force in the way he said it, Bee could tell he wasn't punishing her for anything. He wasn't even remotely upset with her. "...Go back to bed," he sighed, abandoning all further discussion on the matter by trudging away. Bee stood in front of the door, puzzling over this new impediment. It didn't help ease her anxiety, though. She turned to the window and considered other possibilities. "Not tonight, Bee," Annabelle said. Bee turned to her sister. "Someone's gotta go out there," she said, with some trepidation. Annabelle sat at the edge of the bed near the wall. Gary was lying behind her, unconscious and breathing shallowly. She held his hand in her lap and rubbed it. "I know... but not tonight. We know everything we need to know." "No, we don't! The bad guys could have a... I dunno, a weakness or something!" "Do you think you'll find that out?" Pause. "Do you really want to go out there?" Indeed, there was something missing from Bee; her pep, her vigor, her energy -- it was gone. Let me put it to you this way: the girls didn't have designated beds because, in the interests of preventing Bee from destroying one of the pieces by constantly bouncing on it, they switched them up so the damage could be evenly distributed between the three. Bee hadn't bounced on one bed that night. Not one. Poor little Bee was miserable, and she couldn't, and didn't, hide it. "It's okay, Bee," Annabelle said. "Take a break tonight." Bee's face turned in a way that made Annabelle a little nervous. The girls claim they don't have a psychic connection, but Annabelle could read her like a book: It's the last break I'll ever take. "...I think Gary squeezed my hand," Annabelle said, quickly changing the subject. "Has he said anything?" Bee asked, almost glad to follow along. "I think he called me 'Mom.'" Bee sighed, then clambered up to the bed. "Dummy," she said, rubbing her brother's hair. "Big dummy. What were you doing, you big dummy?" She gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Mmmwah." "So, what's going on out there?" Annabelle asked Charlotte, who was hanging by the window, as she continued to rub Gary's hand. "...Stars," Charlotte whispered. "Hm," Bee said. "It sounds like the clouds are gone." "Blinking stars." Charlotte was staring at something in the sky. "Blinking-?" Annabelle's eyes went wide. "Bee!! The mon-mono- ohgoshdarnit-!!" "-Monocular," Charlotte whispered, keeping her eyes on one very specific thing high above her. "Monocular!! Top drawer!! Hurry!!" Bee slid off the bed, pulled the apprentice monocular I had given them out of the top drawer of a small dresser, then rambled over and handed it off to Charlotte. The quietest Carson put it up to her eye and watched the sky with it. There wasn't enough room in the window for two little girls to stand side-by-side and look out, leaving Bee consigned to the floor. "What is it?!" she whispered up, with great interest. Charlotte continued to watch the blinking lights in the sky as they drifted over the horizon. When they were gone, she lowered the monocular and looked at her sisters. "...Well?" Annabelle asked, also with great interest. Charlotte stood on the bed, for a moment, in silence. Her mouth hung open. Her head was a little tilted. "...I want to draw a picture," she said. Meanwhile, I was staring at another picture. "You empowered him," I stated flatly, after a moment of silence. "I did not," the Sea Witch of Norfolk replied, a little offended. "I attempted to scare him off, and he... did not respond in the way I had hoped." I leaned forward. "Yeah, I know. You just showed me the video. They were cheering for him!" "Dear," the Blood Witch of Atlanta said. She was dressed in a fluffy white robe, like she was ready for bed. A piping hot cup of tea sat on her desk to her right. The Sea Witch was clad in a light gray undershirt. Once again, her hair was pulled back into that painful ponytail. "The Secret Service was already willing to fight and die for him. That hasn't changed." I was a huge mess -- crooked wig, torn and bloody clothes -- which is why I felt a little irked when I saw them, clean and sparkling. I waved my hand at the monitors, which was pointless because they were also on the monitors. "Look at the video! They were carrying him on their shoulders!! They think they're invincible now!!" "Dear," Blood repeated. "They practically are!! It's an army of 8000 men!! That's greater than the size of the entire order-," Sea threw up her arms, "-Jesus Christ!! Why the fuck am I explaining-sorry, High Mistress-why am I explaining this to a robot?!" "...It does look pretty bad, dear," Blood offered. "Perhaps you should have sat this out." "Metal practically begged me to help!!" "She didn't beg you!!" I yelled. "I did!! And you showed up 10 fucking hours late!!" Pause. "Sorry, High Mistress," I added. "Uh," Blood said. She blinked, then, "...Dear, she was only trying to help." "Like she helped The Mistress with her family?!" A pause. Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up, I thought. ...No, actually, I want to hear this. Sea looked like she couldn't believe what I had said. "...You can't be serious." She rubbed her mouth. "So... Metal programmed her robot to get surly with me. Classy. I suppose I should learn to expect that from her." She leaned forward and reached out to turn off her radio. "Wait, Sea dear, don't go," Blood pleaded. "I can be at the mouth of the Charles River in 16 hours," Sea added curtly. "I'll save your life if you can hang on that long... unless you think I'll be a pain in the ass again. Sorry, High Mistress, and goodnight." She switched off her radio before anyone could add anything else. I leaned back hard in my chair. "She couldn't have started out sooner?!" I grumbled. "Natsuko, honey, calm down," Blood said, a line of strain in her voice that I noticed. "I am calm!!" "No, you're not." Blood pulled herself up straight. "You're hurt and frightened. I understand. Believe me, I do. I've been there before. But you won't get anywhere by taking it out on those who care about you." "You think she cares about us?! She won't work with us!! It's like she barely wants to look at us!!" Blood sat in silence for a moment. Then, a polite little smile wandered onto her lips. "Us?" I hadn't realized I had said it. I rubbed my eyes. "...I meant... aaaggghh..." "You're really afraid for her, aren't you?" I continued rubbing my face. "High Mistress," I croaked, "I just... I just... watched... so many people die, I just..." I wrapped my arms around my chest. "I just watched a 14-year-old kid get stabbed to death." Blood breathed out. "I tried to fix him with penicillin. Eh- uh... penicillin! I just watched a man get his... his throat... torn-" "-Stop," Blood said, mercifully. "It's not your fault, Natsuko." "But he was coming after me and-" "-No, stop. It's not your fault. You're not to blame for the actions of Bellows or any of his soldiers." She weaved her fingers together on her desk. "They'd like nothing more than to convince you they have no choice in what they do. They want you to believe your actions reach their logical conclusion in their own actions." She shook her head. "That is never the case, Natsuko. They have a choice, and it is nobody's choice to make but theirs, and the choice they make leads them down a dark and terrible path. The choices you made, you made only because you thought they were the right choices. You do not deserve this kind of treatment from them, and least of all from yourself!" ... ...I wavered a bit in my chair. The way she said it was so cool, level, and unpracticed; it wasn't opinion to her, it was hard fact. I could see why she was the High Mistress. "...Uh... th-thank you, High Mistress." "Also..." Despair was etched in the High Mistress' wrinkled face, but she kept a stiff upper lip. "...I will inform Sergeant Tims of his brother's death." "Sh-should he... hear it from me?" I asked weakly. "No, it's alright. I know how to give bad news. Thank you for informing me, dear." I felt so relieved. How do you tell a man that his brother is dead? I still don't know. "Jesus... Thank you so much, High Mistress." "Anytime, dear." A pause. "Oh, and dear?" "Yes, High Mistress?" "I don't want to come off as rude or anything, but... who are you?" Pause. Silence. ...She can't possibly mean what I think she means, I thought. She's pretty old. A little Alzheimer's, maybe? "...I'm Natsuko, ma'am." She smiled. "No, you're not." ... ...And I thought, Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. "I can understand if Metal doesn't see it," she continued. "She takes some pride in her work, and Natsuko was the first robot she built on her own after Sheila passed. But the simple fact is, dear, you don't act like a robot." "Oh Metal's I mean The Mistress she's a really good programmer!" I rambled. "She's not that good." Blood was smiling, but it wasn't tinged with something nasty like President Bellows, or even with the tact and obligation to be nice like Alan. She was only trying to be sharp without coming off as impolite. "Would you please tell me who you are, then?" I paused. I wasn't sure what to say. There was something kind of badass -- something I can't describe with justice -- about this little old lady and her cup of tea. I really could see why she was the High Mistress. "...I'm a, uh..." I sighed. "...I'm a... brain... she found." "A brain?" "...Yeah." I described what little history of myself I could remember, and the neurology lab I had found in the basement of Massachusetts General Hospital, and the time when the two intersected. I described some of my time as Miki-chan, and how I had swapped out for Natsuko. "Can I see, dear?" she asked. I hesitated. "Uh... it's kinda gross." "I'm an immunologist, dear. 'Gross' is a relative term." "...Oh! Um..." I paused. "I'm still a little, uh... self- conscious...?" She sighed lightly. "You can step off-camera for a moment." "Uh-huh." I stepped out of her line of sight, took off my wig and mask, then I found a screwdriver (there were plenty around). As I approached the radio again, I hesitated. "Hello?" Blood called after a moment. I waved my hand in front of the camera. "Hello!" "Hey, uh..." I dipped my head in front of the camera, thinking I was going to startle her with my metal skull, and hoping I wasn't -- I didn't want to give the old woman a heart attack. But there was nothing; she didn't make a peep or bat an eyelash. "Uh," I said, and I showed her the screwdriver, and I showed her the screws holding in the top plate of my skull. She watched as I put them together and removed the plate. And I showed her my brain -- the only biologic part of me left after centuries. She scratched her chin in thought. "That is a brain!" she confirmed. "...Yuh-huh," I said. She considered this. "And you said you were in storage in an Old Republic laboratory, correct? That means you were probably in there since the 21st century. Early 21st, at the earliest." "...Uh, since 2015, ma'am." A pause. "2015!" Pause. "A-D?!" What other epoch could it be, I wondered. "...Eeeeehhh, yes, ma'am." Silence. I could hear background noises from Blood's office: a couple distant voices, and what sounded like the soft drone of an AC unit. She slumped a little in her seat. Then, she pushed her chin to her chest and gave a little mischievous grin. "Ohh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!!" she giggled. "That is so naughty!" My reaction was a little too strong. "What was I supposed to do, just sit there?! I couldn't stand being Miki-chan!!" The High Mistress sat up. "Now, dear, calm down. I didn't mean anything. I thought..." She giggled. "Well! This must all be very different for you!" "To say the least," I grumbled. "Everything is awful." "If nobody else has said it, dear, then...," her smile came off as a little forced, "well, welcome to the future." I grimaced, which she probably couldn't see me do without a face. "I have more questions than I can count about what your life was like back then, but you probably don't want to hear them right now." "You're surprisingly cool about this," I said. "Again, I'm an immunologist, dear." "I mean, with me deceiving The Mistress... uh, Metal." "Oh, I'm not. I'm fairly upset about that." I froze. "What exactly is your plan for Metal?" she hummed. "Uh-um, plan?" "Yes, your plan." She put her elbows on her desk. There was a savvy look in her eye. "She imprisoned you for 14 weeks. I don't expect something like that would end up being mere water under the bridge." "Eh-I-I'm not going to do anything." Her eyes went wide. "Really? Hm." Her doubt was obvious, but she maintained discretion. "Because, you know dear, we frown on that sort of thing in the order. We don't grab people off the streets and imprison them. We don't kidnap, and we don't force anyone to join us. If you have a valid complaint against the Metal Witch of New England, as it sounds like you most certainly do, then you may seek restitution through us." There is a "but" somewhere in here, I thought. A big but. "...Uh, um... maybe..." "We will hold a hearing," she continued, "and if Metal is proven to have committed a wrong against you with malice aforethought, then we will punish her. Punishments can range anywhere between fines, denial of membership benefits, and stripping." Pause. "Eh, stripping is the act of reclaiming all of a member's assets. For Metal, that'd be her robots and other assorted equipment." "Wh-no! I-!" "-But..." There it is, I thought. "The accused party has the right to face their accuser. Which means Metal has the right to know it was you who issued the complaint against her." Pause. "Which means she has the right to know you're not really Natsuko." "I don't want to... strip..." I sighed. "Look, I don't want to hurt her! I just want an apology!" "Which you won't get unless she knows the truth." I slumped in my own chair. "...Then I won't issue a complaint," I croaked. The High Mistress stared at me. She smiled gently. "This isn't sustainable, dear," she said. "You have to tell her." "She'll freak!" Another pause. The High Mistress had been dancing around this issue, but she couldn't avoid it any longer. "You have to," she said, more firmly, but without raising her voice. ...Is that a threat, I thought, but I said nothing. "Metal has been hurt before, dear. She's been hurt by the order. I don't intend to let that happen again. You have to tell her." Pause. "If you don't, I will." I was frozen. "She'll kill me," I stated. "No, she won't." "Oh, yes she will!!" "...You don't know that, dear." "Yes, I do!! You do, too!! She's a mentally unbalanced rageaholic!!" "...That's a little strong," Blood mumbled. "No, it's not!!" Blood sighed, then rubbed her eyes. "Having her find out on her own, rather than telling her, will only fuel her cynicism. Telling her the truth, showing her... what's really happening... may be just what she needs. It's better she hear it from you than me." "It's better that she never finds out!!" I cried. "She's going to, one way or another, whether you like it or not." The High Mistress' voice was so soft. "Please," I begged, "don't do this to me!!" "I'm not doing anything that wouldn't have happened otherwise, dear. Metal would-" "-I'll die!!" She paused. "-Metal would eventually find out on her own anyway. And I promise she won't kill you." I felt sick. I felt angry. I didn't want to talk to this little old lady, this woman who was doubtlessly somebody's grandmother, anymore. "You can't promise anything," I croaked. "I know-" "-You don't do anything!!" I yelled. "You sit on the other side of these fucking monitors, pretending like you know what's going on, but you don't!!" I was on my feet at some point -- I don't know when that happened. "Metal and I are the ones on the ground here!! We're the ones facing this shit!! And no, I'm not sorry for saying 'fuck' or 'shit'!! I'll curse all the fuck I want, because I'm an adult, god-damn it!!" The High Mistress didn't say anything. She didn't move or even blink. She simply sat there next to her cup of tea. And I briefly, so briefly, wondered what she could really do. Roger -- poor Roger -- told me she lived in a place called the "Fortress of Blood." Great schools, he had said. Despite her age, I could totally picture her in a white lab coat, teaching kids how to cut open frogs. Kids. That's what she commands: the modern equivalent of college students, and their professors. She's also got the Whitecoats, but how big can they be? They couldn't spare one guy to protect The Mistress; she had to build her own security. And I kind of realized that, in that moment, because she's an immunologist. Not a general. Not a president. Just a little old lady, somebody's grandmother, trained in medicine and sitting next to a cup of tea. And, like Alan, she wasn't angry in the least. She was so very patient, and so very tired. "Dear-" she started to say. I unplugged her. I dropped to my hands and knees, reached behind the desk upon which the radio sat, and unplugged it from the wall outlet supplying its power. I had done it without thinking, and I only realized I had done it when I looked up at the monitors and saw they were all dark. And after a moment, I thought, I hope she calls back. Although I could not cry, I sat bow-legged on the floor and did anyway. ...Things were... kind of a blur after that. I tried to sleep, but my eyes wouldn't stay closed. When I tried for any prolonged period of time, they inevitably snapped open. I would be struggling to catch my breath, even though I didn't need to breathe (not in the traditional sense, anyhow). I gathered stuff from The Mistress' list. It took me a grand total of 10 minutes. I spent an additional 30 minutes double-, triple-, and quadruple-checking my work. I had found everything she needed, or at least something reasonably similar. I stared into the junk-lab. Miki-chan stared back at me and said nothing. That's because her speakers are unplugged, I thought. She looked pissed; even without a face, there was something accusatory in her eyes. "...I'm sorry," I said, then I turned and plodded away because I couldn't stand to look at her. I imagined her going, "Hmf!" when I did. Yeah, that'll show me, I thought. I wasn't being sarcastic. I didn't know what I was being. I was just... kind of there, and kind of not. Eventually, I found my way to The Mistress' bed. I wasn't sure what time it was. I'd say 2 am, maybe. There were four hours left until... something happened. Something bad. I sat on the edge, unable to sleep, then I slipped over. I wedged myself between the bed and some piece of junk, I don't know. There was a laptop nearby, and I flipped it open and poked around through the accumulated knowledge of four Metal Witches of New England. There was so much great stuff in there: plans for machines I never could have conceived, even with the knowledge I had gained since I first awoke in the junk-lab; videos from mistresses past testing these marvels. And a picture -- a single picture in a jpeg file. It was a painting done in faint watercolor, with hues of blue and green and brown and gold. There were nicely-dressed people in it. In the foreground, a man held his arm around his wife's shoulders. Their faces were nondescript, with only the barest lines to mark eyes and a nose, but they were clearly human. Their little daughter pointed at a figure in the near distance holding a hoe, which paused to look over its shoulder back at them. It was a robot, gold and shiny. It looked fantastic. They looked fantastic. The town... it was clean, and bright. The roads were paved. A small solar-powered vehicle waited patiently behind a horse-drawn cart further in the background. There were people there, too, in the fields and the houses and the roads. And there were robots. I could see their gold-painted bodies far, far in the background; I assume they were all based on some standard template. There was no fighting. There was no fear. Nobody brandished any guns. There was no smoke, no blood. Just the town. And that was its title: "THE TOWN," as it said in tiny letters in the bottom left corner of the painting. When I looked at the bottom right corner, I couldn't stand it. "B. LANE." At some point during the longest night of my life, High Mistress Blood called the Flesh Witch of New Orleans. "I'm calling everybody," she explained, "to keep them up-to-speed on the situation in Parkside." "...Well, thank you very much, High Mistress, but..." Flesh yawned. "I don't see how this affects me." "It affects everyone, dear," the High Mistress said, slightly unconvincingly. "Mmm," Flesh said. "You're feeling the burn, aren't you?" Blood hesitated. "I'm despondent, Flesh," she groaned. "I can't sleep!" "Hmm." Flesh's wrinkly face softened. "It's okay, Blood. This was a long time comin'." "Everything Brooke worked for... everything we hoped for!! It's all about to be wiped out!!" "We'll have other opportunities." "Not within our lifetimes, Flesh. Nothing we'll ever see." Blood fell silent. Flesh was silent for a couple moments before her face twisted up. "You know who's to blame for this, don'tcha?" "Oh, Flesh, I don't want to point fingers right-" "-It's Sea!!" Blood was a little shaken. "...Sea? Wh-what do you-" "-Don't tell me you haven't noticed, Blood! Sea's had a bug up her butt when it comes to the current Metal from day one! The way she got taken by Sheila?! The ten-year delay in telling Metal about her family?!" Flesh huffed angrily. "If it were up to me, I'd have tanned her hide!! Then I would have sent her upriver to Memphis, so Mind could screw her head on straight!!" "...I didn't know you felt so strongly about this, Flesh," Blood whispered. "I've got 16 children!! 56 grandchildren!! You better believe family is important to me!! When Sea disrespected Metal like that, she disrespected me, too!!" The High Mistress was too tired for this. "Flesh... I... I've talked to Sea, and-" "-No, no," Flesh shook her head. "I'm not blaming you for nothin', Blood. Sea's actions were her own. I'm fine with you not tryin' to micromanage everything." "...I talked to Sea about it," Blood explained anyway. "She.. understands her actions were wrong..." Blood rubbed her eyes. "I think..." "Again, no blame to you, Blood. I'm just sayin', Metal's had a bad taste in her mouth for the whole order 'cause Sea left it there. Her refusing to activate the L-P... it makes sense..." Her voice lowered, and she added, "in its own way." Blood sighed, then leaned back. "...Then maybe... this is a blessing in disguise..." "It's a deep-cover blessing!" Blood cracked a weary grin and rolled her head back. "Once Metal sets up a new shop somewhere... I don't know where... we could, maybe, re- introduce her to the order, somehow? Get her more involved. Try to pair her up with the others, get her into more collaborative projects." "Hmmm," Flesh grumbled. "I doubt that'd work." "How come?" "I tried it already, a few years back. It didn't pan out." The High Mistress sat up. "I never heard about this." "Metal made me promise not to tell anyone else. I think she was embarrassed." Flesh huffed. "It's a silly thing to be embarrassed about, the silly woman!" "Well, what was it?" Flesh sighed. "I had an old project, on hiatus for years. I was looking into growing nerve cells, and I realized Metal could help me with some of the electrochemical aspects of the project. So I hit her up for help, and she accepted." "...Was she embarrassed because she failed?" the High Mistress cooed. "Poor dear." "No! She succeeded!" "Whuh-?!" "She got the whole thing working! Metal's help put me years ahead!" "...But then what's the problem?" "I offered to reimburse her, to continue to show her goodwill. All she wanted was a sample of the final product. She gave me the specs..." Flesh's mouth slowly parted into a wide, wicked smile. "And ho, boy! What specs!" She laughed wickedly. "...I don't understand." Flesh's smile soured. "Long story short, Blood, I gave her what she wanted... and nothing happened. She never used my gift. She pretended like it didn't exist." Flesh shook her head. "I'm not mad, though. Just disappointed. The woman wouldn't know how to make herself happy if someone printed it out for her in an instruction book!" "Ohhhh," Blood said. "That's too bad." "What's even worse is, if she hasn't destroyed it already, she's probably going to let it be destroyed by Bellows when he takes down Sky Tower." Flesh paused, then slouched. "I guess this does affect me," she grumbled. "Welcome to my night, dear." Blood lifted her teacup. "Earl Grey?" Flesh asked. "Bourbon," Blood replied before taking a swig. At some point, I realized there was somebody downstairs. After Alan had charged into Sky Tower with Charlotte's picture, and Junior had followed with a chip on his shoulder for all things robotic, I had convinced The Mistress to install a few security cameras in the lobby. After I jimmied Leviathan loose from the door frame into the stairwell, I checked the camera above it and found it still worked. Two of the other three cameras had been broken by explosions and gunfire. This will do, I guess, I thought. The guard desk was gone. One of the guard-bots was gone with it. Its surviving sibling/partner had taken a beating: it was missing a leg, and one of its arms was damaged far beyond repair. Strangely, he seemed sullen. I may have been experiencing displacement, but he wasn't very responsive, despite the fact that his power supply was fine. I found and re-attached his leg, but he didn't stand up. I handed him a gun, but he didn't seem interested enough to even wrap his hand around it. I even managed to recover his spiffy guard hat, but he didn't seem to care. Again, it was probably the mood I was in. He had never expressed any sort of emotion in the past, nor had he been given the capability to feel anything. I considered that he might be sad over the loss of his buddy when I realized that was impossible. It's more likely there's something wrong with his processor, I thought. I'm just trying to distract myself with my little dress-up robot game. But looking down at that robot, some part of me didn't quite believe that. "...Hhhhey, um," I said to the guard-bot. He didn't look up. He didn't stir. He was powered on, but it didn't make a difference to him. "...I gotta go, um... up," I mumbled apologetically before leaving Leviathan and the guard-bot to watch the door. Hours later, I was in The Mistress' bedroom and waiting either for her to return or death. A laptop was open next to me. I saw a flash of movement on the screen, and I quickly grabbed it. "Who's out there?!" I blurted. There was no response. "I said-" I realized the microphone was off -- I switched it on. "Who's out there?!" "-The fuck?!" said the person on-screen. He was in the dark, although he was clearly carrying a firearm. He took a few steps back and held his assault rifle in his hands as he looked around for the source of my voice. I kinda-sorta recognized him (i.e., I guessed who it was). "...Junior?" "Where the fuck are you?!" he called out. "Junior..." I sighed. "Junior, calm down." He remained tense. "Put the gun down, Junior." He didn't put his gun down. "Where are you?!" "I'm upstairs." Where else would I be, I thought. "What do you want?" "Where are you?!" I felt that little sick feeling I had before he arrived again. "I'm upstairs, Junior," I repeated. He kept looking around, battle-ready. "I'm not going to attack you," I grumbled. That didn't convince him. "Do you want to know where I am?!" I snapped. "Look up, at the door above Leviathan!!" He paused, then slowly turned his chin up. "I'm up there, in the fucking loudspeaker!! I shrank myself down and now I'm speaking to you out of it!! Isn't that creepy as all hell?! Isn't it spooky?! Boooooo!! Boooooo!! I'm a witch!! Be scared of the spooky witch!! Boooooooo!!" He didn't say anything for a couple seconds. Then, without anger, "...Really?" I could have been agape, but I would have had to be surprised. I wasn't. "...No, I'm on the top...," I mumbled. "What do you want, Junior?" He looked up at the camera, at me. He put his gun down. "...What are you?" he asked. His voice held no wonderment, but he was curious. Is that all, I thought. "I'm a..." I paused. I couldn't think of what to tell him. After a few moments, I started to feel awkward and nervous. He waited for a response, which made it even worse. "...That's a-a... a loaded question," I uttered. "What do you mean?" "I mean, do you really want an answer?" "Yeah," he said, kind of irate. "I mean, do you want an answer from me?" He had taken a couple steps toward the camera. I could see his face in the low light of Leviathan's lamps, and he looked confused. "...Huh?" "You don't trust me," I explained. "You think I'm a demon." I paused. Something true occurred to me. "...So... fuck it. I'm a witch." "W-wait, what?" "I'm an evil witch, and... I was sent here by Satan to... I dunno, kill your cattle and... rape... goats." "...Rape goats?!" "Yeah, why not. I roll like that." I looked square into the screen. "I'm sure you can guess all the super-evil stuff I do on your own. If it's evil, I do it. So why don't you head back to town?" He didn't move. "You're lying." ...That was surprising. I was learning to expect the unexpected from Sheriff Galen "Junior" Foster, Jr.. "So... you don't think I'm a witch?!" "Why don't you tell me," he replied. ...But I just did, I thought. Oh, fuck it. "I'm a person trapped in the body of one of The Mistress' robots. She doesn't know yet." "Bullshit." Oh, god-damn it. "What do you want, Junior?!" "I want the truth," he stated. Not yelled. Stated. "I already told you the truth!" "What is it, then?" "I'm a person!!" "Bullshit." "Oh, god-damn it!! Go home, Junior!!" "Not until you tell me the truth." ...I was dumbstruck. I already told you the truth what is it then I'm a person bullshit oh god-damn it go home Junior not until you tell me the truth I already told you the truth what is it then I'm a person bullshit oh god-damn it go home Junior not until you tell me the truth I already told you the truth what is it then I'm a person bullshit oh god-damn it go home Junior not until you tell me the truth I already told you the truth what- What. What? What the fuck?! What?! WHAT?! ... ... ...And I knew... ...I would never give him what he wanted, or get what I wanted... ...This way. I wasn't going to go down and show him my brain -- he didn't want to see that, and I didn't want to show him. A technical explanation would take days -- no, years! -- and he didn't want that, either. He wanted something... terse. Simple. Something that didn't demand much of him, but... Something clicked. "...I don't... hate you," I said cautiously. "I mean, I...," I struggled to think of the right thing to say. "I don't... not... respect you." "Bullshit," he said, but more quietly. "You handle that gun like a boss," I stated honestly. "You are the serious, no-bullshit protector of Parkside... and I feel sorry for the stupid son-of-a-bitch who thinks he can fuck with you." He was frozen. "...Um... what's... 'like a boss?'" "A phrase. It means, 'really well.'" "...Oh." ... ...He didn't look like he had any idea of what to do or say. "...Um." "You're a total badass. I can respect that." "Uhhhhh..." I felt a little uncomfortable asking him so directly: "What do you think I'm... we're... doing up here?' Junior chewed his lip a little. "...I dunno." "Really? Because you've given me the impression you think you have an idea." I tried to be calmly curious when I said, "Be honest. I mean it, be brutally honest. Don't hold back. What do you think we're doing up here?" Junior thought about it for a while before settling on, "Evil?" He sounded doubtful, but not so much that he thought it was totally unlikely. "Whuh-evil? What does that mean? What do you mean, like... we're doing evil things?" "...Yeah?" "Wh... what evil things?" He sighed. "F-fuck, I dunno. Evil... shit." Pause. "Junior, I don't... I don't even know... that's too vague. Are you accusing us of something?" He didn't say anything. "You're a cop. You... do... law stuff. Is it okay for you to... do all this... against someone, when all you have is some vague hunch?" "Burned down the town," he mumbled. "That was years ago," I groaned. "Things are different now!" "Not really." I slouched. I give up, I thought. "What do you want from me, Junior?! I lie, and you call bullshit! I tell the truth, and you call bullshit! You've already made up your mind about me, so it doesn't matter what I say! What more do you want?!" No response. I was so fucking sick of this. "Why are you here?!" I yelled. He breathed in and out. "I always wanted to know..." And he froze up again. Honest to God. He looked up at the camera, and I realized that even he didn't know. To test this, I asked him, "Do you even know? I mean, why you're here?" He said nothing. "Do you know what you want to ask me?" Nothing. And I said, "...It's okay to say you don't know." Pause. "Hell, listen to me. I don't know, either." And something in him softened a little. "Where are you?" he asked after a few moments, with a little more interest in his voice. "Junior, right now, I am upstairs, curled in a fetal position by The Mistress' bed, afraid that the next person to walk in that door behind you will kill me." I didn't mention that Leviathan was completely out of bullets and was mainly there as a blockade (although he might have realized that on his own, due to the general lack of shooting in the room). "I am speaking to you using a machine that's... well, it's like Roger's machine. And... it's like the machine Alan used to make his voice sound louder, when those K-H-E creeps tried to take his girls. It's like those two machines... together." "...Oh," he breathed out, and wavered a bit. He must have been exhausted. "Yeah, okay." "If you don't get it, that's not a problem. There's plenty to not get. I don't get most of the stuff I come across." "N-no, I get it," he said. "I get it..." He looked troubled. "You look tired, Junior. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?" Junior stood there for a while, lost in his own head. He looked down at the guard-bot on the floor. "Hey," he said. When the guard-bot didn't respond, he gave him a light kick. "Hey," he said more sharply. He held up his gun single-handed and pointed it at the guard-bot, which looked up sluggishly. "What's up with your metal... guy?" "The barking guy messed him up. The other one's totally destroyed." Junior looked behind him, and it was as if he only then noticed the guard desk was totaled. It was kind of disappointing for the head cop in Parkside to be that unobservant, but I said nothing, Junior turned back to the guard-bot, then sneered. "So, what, your buddy's gone, and all you're gonna do is sit there and mope? Get back on your feet, you pussy." I thought, Wow, sensitive much? Then I realized he was basically insulting a toaster. "You should go home and sleep, Junior," I reiterated. "...Yeah," he grumbled, then turned to leave. "Hey, uh... Alan was kinda freaked out about that shit you gave Gary? The fuck's that about?" Oh, Jesus, I thought. "I-it was medicine, that's all. I didn't mean-" "-Doc Phillips said that Gary was well most of the night, though, despite... you know, the dozen fucking stab wounds 'n all-" "-Wait, what?! Gary's alive?!" "Yeah, just barely." "Holy shit!!" I nearly broke down. "Oh, thank God!! Thank God!!" "...Yeah, small miracles 'n all that." I felt some of the tension leave my body. "Junior... thank you. Seriously, thank you for telling me that. Shit, I thought I had killed the kid!!" "Dumb little fuck probably did it to himself," Junior mumbled. I hadn't quite heard him. "What?" "Eh..." Junior paused. "Nothin'." He trudged over the broken glass back toward town. "Junior?" I said, and he paused. "Good luck, man." And after a couple seconds, he replied with, "Yeah, you too," before he left. Like he said: small miracles. Are you ready for a big one? One that's crazy? One that's science?! To Be Continued...